Accidental Notes: A Novel

Chapter 37

Be Santa

Not sure what this story is? The synopsis is available here.

Catch up on chapter 36 here.

The morning of my last-chance audition, Grayson tags along with Dad and me for a trip to the grocery store. Dad needs to restock on food before going back to his apartment. Whenever I ask how long it’s been since he’s stayed there, he skirts the question. Grandma’s cupboards are nearly bare now, emptied of all but the essentials that will get us through until I go home.

I told Dad I didn’t mind a few days on the couch at his place, but he shrugged me off. My guess is he’s using me as an excuse to live with the ghosts of his mother and son for as long as possible. As much as I think he’d be better off moving on, I don’t think he ever will. But that’s not anything I can change.

Five hours before my audition, it’s hardly something that matters. I’d caught Grayson up on what happened yesterday, although I left out the part about the ax, and invited both him and Dad to come to my audition this afternoon. I figure if Mom will be there, they can be, too, and I wouldn’t mind having Grayson’s help making sure Zoom is working while I play.

Grayson agreed quickly, but Dad hedged like usual. Said he didn’t want to distract me. But honestly, I’d asked him to be polite. I don’t want him there, not the way I thought I would when I arrived.

The whole time we’ve been at Fred Meyer, Grayson and I have kept our hands interlocked. He holds on too tight, and I like that. When we reach the frozen dinners and Dad slows his pace, studying each one, Grayson lets go of me.

I send him the grumpiest face I can muster, but a smile sneaks through anyway. “Now? Really? It’s cold here.”

“I have something to show you.” He pulls out his phone and clicks for a few seconds before holding it out to me. He’s smiling, but the phone shakes noticeably in his hand.

He’s going to drop it, so I take it instead of reading over his shoulder. Grayson had opened the sent folder in his email. Right at the top? The subject line APPLICATION FOR 2023 LOS ANGELES MUSIC CAMP: COMPOSER TRACK. I look at Grayson over his phone, and he’s smiling at me, his cheeks burning red in the fluorescent lighting of the store.

“You went for it?”

“I did, but I won’t hear back for a while.”

I grin. “With the new song? It’s finished?”

He runs a hand through his hair and looks at his feet. “I even wrote down the score.”

“I kind of can’t believe you wrote it down.”

Grayson’s laugh echoes off the glass doors in the frozen section. “Had to, for the camp. I started right after you left yesterday.”

Dad still peruses the TV dinners, even though his cart is half-full of them.

“What did your mom say?”

He breaks eye contact. “I didn’t tell her.”

I touch his shoulder with my free hand. The excitement in my voice is obvious. “You didn’t tell her? Not at all?”

Any hesitation that remained on his face evaporates, like he was waiting for my approval. “Eh. Payback, right? She sent a song without asking. I sent one without telling. Plus, this is what I want, not her. I’ll tell her if I get in, but if I don’t, it’s okay that I tried and failed. Maybe I’ll let her know. Maybe I won’t. I’d rather just talk to you about it.”

There’s a small chance we stare at each other too long, a small chance that becomes absolute when I realize Dad’s nowhere in sight. I hand back Grayson’s phone and we race to catch up. Grayson’s hand brushes against mine and I catch it.

“So,” he says when we slow down again. Dad’s moved on from frozen dinners to the beer aisle, which smells like aluminum and earwax. “Is talking to you about it going to be an option? Have you thought about what happens when you’re home?”

“I’m always thinking about what happens when I’m home.” I run my thumb along the edge of his hand in mine. “All I know for sure is I don’t want it to be nothing.”

“You thought about it even when you said you’d need another — ” He checks the time on his phone with his free hand “ — four hours and twenty-eight minutes to think about nothing except the audition?”

I stick my tongue out at him for the time thing, but he’s right. And he knows me. There’s something reassuring about being known, even as he teases. I take a breath and lean into his side. Grayson unlaces our fingers and slides his hand around my waist instead. “I know I said that was all I cared about, but I’m less worried than I was. This failure won’t define me.”

He kisses my forehead, just at the edge of my hairline. I don’t know if Dad’s watching us. I don’t particularly care. “The others didn’t, either, you know.”

“I’m learning that.”

Dad moves on again, a 24-pack of beer taking up half his cart. He never looks back at us, never calls us forward to come with him, and now I’m not even sure why I was invited to the store. The time with Grayson is nice, but it makes me remember my first trip with Dad, right after I got here. Dad seemed, briefly, so eager to make me feel welcome. I wonder what changed.

Then again, I probably know.

We pass a bin in the main aisle with a green sign labeled in large white letters. “BE SANTA: GREAT GIFTS FOR STOCKING STUFFERS.” A second sign is taped below it. “NOW 50% OFF THE LOWEST MARKED PRICE.”

The bin is nearly picked clean, but I pull a theater-sized pack of Nerds from the bottom. It rattles and Dad turns to me. “A snack for the plane ride home? You can put it in the cart if you want to.”

It’s the first thing he’s said since we got here. I clutch the candy against my chest and reach for my purse with my other hand. “It’s fifty cents, Dad. I’ve got this.”

His next glance doesn’t even last a full second. “If you’re sure.” He joins a checkout lane and doesn’t let me go first. I shrug and pull Grayson along with me to a self-checkout machine at the end of the row.

My father was a fairy tale, a myth I used to believe in like Santa Claus or a fairy godmother. But just like I stopped believing in Santa Claus, I’ve stopped believing in my dad. I hate how certain I am that once I get on that plane, I’ll never see him again. I had been so excited for our reunion.

Sometimes anger is the right emotion to fall from fingers onto piano keys, but not for “Heaven Can Wait.” I need longing and hope and a chance at a future, and I’m not going to find these while I’m disappointed.

I’ve deposited two quarters and taken my Nerds and receipt before Dad’s even started to pay, so Grayson and I wait together, sitting down on a bench meant for taking your blood pressure just outside the pharmacy. I’m not going to touch the machine, not with my audition coming up, but it reminds me I need to refocus. With my hands on my lap, I make octave shapes I know would be perfect if this were a piano, because muscle memory has drilled them into me so long. But Grayson puts a hand on my shoulder the moment I press down.

“You’ve got this, you know. Maybe it’s okay to let the audition happen when it happens.”

A week ago, I would’ve told him that was easy for him to say, since he wins without trying, excels without pushing himself to the breaking point. But it isn’t a week ago anymore, and I’m starting to wonder if he won because he didn’t push himself to a breaking point. If he relaxed, and trusted himself, and it paid off.

I take his hand and squeeze it too tightly, until I feel his bones rearrange for a minute against mine. When I let go, I say, “What was the best book you’ve read this year?”

He tells me, and I listen, and the only thing on my mind is the words being said to me and the person who’s speaking them.

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