That morning I made a special breakfast for Zoey because she had finals today and I knew she was nervous. She had composed a special melody in preparation and she had spent a long time fine-tuning it. Sometimes, after we had had sex, she would leave me in bed and go into the living room so that she could play the melody over from her computer and make notes on what to change the next day when she was back in the music room on campus.
I liked to lie in bed and listen silently. Sometimes it was like she was composing the soundtrack to my life. I had just finished setting the table when Zoey emerged in jeans and a white blouse. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and she looked nervous but ready.
“Oh my God,” she said, looking at the spread on the table. “I can’t believe you made breakfast.”
I had made waffles, eggs, sausages, crispy bacon and orange juice. I had also bought an assortment of fruits, and I had arranged them together on one plate in a colorful display that I had placed next to the maple syrup and a small bunch of flowers I had picked early that morning.
“I wanted to send you off properly,” I said. “Today is a big day, and you’re going to do amazing.”
Zoey sighed and sat down. “You think?”
“I’ve heard your composition enough times now to know how good it is,” I said. “Trust me… you’re going to blow them away.”
Zoey nodded. “I’m nervous…”
“Nerves are a good thing,” I said. “Just channel them into your music, and you’ll be fine.”
Zoey nodded and leaned in to give me a kiss. “I wish you could be there.”
“Really?”
“Well… I’d be a little more nervous, but I think the moral support would be nice.”
“I can try to be there—”
“Don’t be silly,” Zoey said immediately. “I know you’re busy. You have to be at the station. I was just thinking out loud, that’s all.”
She glanced to the side and noticed that the paintings I had collected from my parents’ house had finally been unearthed from the brown paper they had been wrapped in. Zoey went over and looked through them.
“Not my best work,” I smiled.
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “It’s beautiful… you must have been really young when you did these.”
“With that first painting, I was probably eight or nine, and the last two paintings were probably when I was around twelve or thirteen.”
“We should display these somewhere.”
“What?” I laughed.
“I’m serious,” Zoey nodded. “These paintings are the evolution of your artistry… they deserve to be displayed on our walls.”
“I don’t know…”
“We’re doing it,” Zoey said decisively. “When I come home in the evening we’ll find a place for them, ok?”
I smiled. “Ok.”
“Good.”
We had just finished breakfast when I looked at Zoey and ran something by her. I had been wrestling with the idea for the last two days now, and I figured since it wasn’t going away, I would just voice it out loud and see if it sounded ridiculous or not.
“So… I’ve been thinking lately.”
“Hmm?”
“Of calling my mother,” I said.
Zoey smiled. “I was expecting something… very different.”