Dissonance (4 page)

Logan and I decided to get comfortable for our meal in the living room instead of at the rather formal dinner table. I sat on the floor with my legs tucked to my side, leaning against the bottom of a plush chair, while he took the couch. His iPod sat on a dock by the T.V., serenading us while we ate.

I caught Logan watching me as I chewed. My knowledge of his perusal did nothing to faze him. "How are you so good with those things?" he asked, indicating the chopsticks in my hand.

"You can't use chopsticks?"

"I can, but only for bigger things. Meat. Sushi. Not for rice."

I shrugged. "Years of practice, I guess. I didn't have much time to focus on cooking in grad school. I would get Chinese pretty frequently, since I usually got two meals out of one order."

We ate quietly for a while after that. I could not shake the feeling that the whole situation was somehow awkward. Logan, however, seemed perfectly at ease. By the time he spoke, I was so tense that I half-jumped. He had the grace to pretend not to notice.

"Tell me about yourself." When I didn't respond, he looked at me expectantly. "I don't really know much about you, besides things Eli has told me."

"What has Eli told you?" I tried to sound nonchalant, even though the prospect made me incredibly anxious.

"Mostly praising your grades, your thesis, things like that. I have heard quite a few stories from when you guys were little. Also, he told me that you were the one that introduced him to Alex."

Silently relaxing, I thought about his question. "There isn't much to tell, really. I'm from Chicago, but you know that already. I majored in English and Music Performance. I just got my Master's Degree in English. That's pretty much it."

“Did you study an instrument or voice?”

“I did vocal as my distinction, but I also took the classes for piano.”

"You have a lyrical voice." His statement was the sort that might have grated me if it came from someone else. I’ve never been one much for compliments, but the way he said it was so genuine, so matter-of-fact, that I could tell he meant it. It was obvious he had enough game to talk me up if he wanted to, but he wasn't. We were building something else. Something like a friendship. He complimented me without a motive, so far as I could tell, and it was easily one of the best compliments I had ever received.

I cleared my throat to try to hide the blush creeping into my cheeks and the uncharacteristic nervous giggle that I could feel building inside. "Thank you." I took another bite of food, attempting to look nonplussed. "What about you?"

"I grew up here. Went to school for business." Something on my face betrayed my surprise, and he paused. "Yeah, not exactly my choice, though I can’t say I regret it. Now I work for my father's company by day while trying to figure out what I want to do with my music by night."

"Your father's company?”

"Yeah, he's the reason for the degree. He started Westfield Realty Group himself, and he’s always wanted to pass it down. I probably would have skipped college all together if he hadn’t encouraged both my brother and I to be prepared to take over when he retires. I was never really into the idea, but it was sort of my fallback if music didn’t work out, so I got the degree."

"You have a brother?"

"Yupp. Caleb. We have nothing like what you and Eli have. Caleb and I aren’t all that close anymore. He’s the extremely competitive type. In sports, in school, in everything. He always had to be number one. I didn’t have the same sort of drive, particularly in high school, so we have always had some issue understanding each other. I guess it boils down to the fact that I ended up being like our mom, where as he might just be our father incarnate.”

"Why is that?" It seemed odd that someone so...
masculine
would get along better with his mother.

"Why do I think I favor my mother?” he clarified, and I nodded in response. “She's an artist. A painter. She understands the blinding passion. If I could have been more interested in success than music, I would have. Gladly. My mom understands that. She always encouraged me to pursue music to any degree I wanted to, whereas I could tell my dad always wanted me to focus on something more important."

Unsure what to say, I just nodded.

"Don’t get me wrong, my dad’s a great guy. He just had different priorities than I did."

“
Had?
” I questioned.

Logan shrugged. “I’m not so sure where my priorities are at anymore.”

Quiet descended over the room again. I found myself wondering more about his father’s realty group, what sort of work Logan did there, what he meant when he by that comment about his priorities, but I didn’t ask. The last thing I wanted was for him to pry into my life, so I wouldn’t do it to him, either.

Eventually, Logan broke the silence again. "So Eli said you already have a job here?"

"Yes. It's a bookstore that specializes in rare books. The couple that owns it saw my resumé and offered me a job after a Skype interview." I was excited to start my new job, to have something interesting and diverting to keep me busy.

"Probably not every day that they get someone with a Master's," he said.

"Maybe not, but I’m not sure enough about anything to commit to something more long term. Right now, I just need a job that pays the rent for a while."

He looked a bit uncomfortable, but spoke after a moment anyway, "Don't worry about rent."

To say I was dumbfounded would be putting it lightly. "What?"

"I've got this place taken care of."

Obviously, it cost as much as I expected, and he knew I couldn't afford it. "I can't let you do that. I have to at least help pay for it," I insisted.

“There’s no rent. I… own it. Well, the company owns the building, so I don’t have to pay.”

"Oh.” I had no idea what to say. As much as I appreciated it, especially since I was sure I would need a second job to pay rent and my remaining student loans, he easily could have charged me rent anyway. “I don’t want to be a free loader. I can at least help with the expenses.”

"Don't worry about it, seriously," he repeated. “I have it covered.”

As uncomfortable as it made me, his tone brokered no argument. If he was someone else, maybe I would have found my wits and argued further, but something about him had them scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind. He completely disarmed me without even trying, I couldn’t remember ever being as unnerved by someone I had just met. Having him as my roommate seemed even more intimidating now.

After nearly an hour of discussing music preferences, prompted by my humming along to Chris Cornell’s “Preaching the End of the World,” I felt a lot of my anxiety leaving. Logan and I, it seemed, agreed about almost everything, but what surprised me most was that he even shared my affinity for classical music.

“You like classical?” I asked, not disguising my shock.

“I’ve studied piano since age five, and when I wanted to learn guitar, my mom insisted I take lessons from a classically trained teacher. Classical music has been a huge part of my life.”

I nodded. “Me, too.”

“So is Chopin you favorite composer, or was the ‘Raindrop Prelude’ just a nod to the weather?”

“I love Chopin, but I wouldn’t say he is my favorite. I really don’t do favorites. I have fleeting obsessions with artists, or pieces, or books. I almost never choose one to be the most important to me.”

“Do you compose?” he asked.

“Sometimes. I don’t even really mean to, but when I sit at the piano, sometimes the music just comes out on its own.”

He watched me for a while. I wondered if the way I talked about music like it controlled me made him think I was odd, but he never said anything about it. Eventually, his steady gaze made me too uncomfortable. I stood, and told him I was going to get ready.

“Alex will kill me if I don’t actually get ready and make myself ‘hot’ for tonight,” I say, rolling my eyes at my ridiculous best friend again.

Logan glanced at the clock, and then back at me. His gaze seemed perusing as he considered me. “I don’t think you need 45 minutes to do that,” he said, shrugging, “but I’ll admit Alex is a bit intimidating when she doesn’t get her way.”

Turning immediately to hide the inferno that was my cheeks, I retreated to the safety of my room. When I shut the door, I felt air rush into my lungs.
What the hell was that?
I thought. It was clear, already, that living with Logan was going to include a lot of me feeling embarrassed.

A few minutes after nine, I heard a buzzer sound, followed shortly after by Eli and Alex entering the apartment. I checked myself in the mirror again. My hair was styled with soft, wavy curls that I had pulled mostly to the right side of my neck. I had a purple satin tank on, paired with black skinny jeans and black patent leather pumps. My smoky eye make-up came out perfectly, thanks to intensive lessons from Alex over the years. All in all, I felt pretty good about the whole look.

When I walked into the living room, however, I saw that I was wrong. Alex had a stern look on her face that contrasted with her sparkly silver mini dress, wavy blond hair, and strappy heels. She did not approve.

“Really, Charlotte?”

“That’s how you decide to say ‘hi’ to me after this long?” She didn’t respond, but continued to stare me down. “What?” I asked defensively.

“You can do better than that,” she replied, encompassing my outfit with a wave of her hand.

I rolled my eyes at her and went to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. A surge of energy rushed through me when I noticed Logan’s eyes trail down my body. It was discrete, but it happened. Alex was still watching me with disapproval.

Exasperated, I sighed dramatically. “Fine! You pick something ‘better’ then.”

When I say that her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas, I mean it. She was thrilled at the idea of me becoming a life-sized doll for her to dress, running off to my room to search my closet.

As her flowing blond hair disappeared, I turned to my brother. “Can’t you control her?”

He just laughed in answer. “So that’s the new tattoo, huh?” he asked, pointing at my right shoulder.

On my back, in the center of my left shoulder blade, I had gotten a treble clef decorated with floral filigree. My therapist thought that getting a tattoo at such a moment of “emotional instability” was a bad idea. He said that it was ill-advised to make any major decisions for a while. I came in the following week with a still-healing tattoo and told him I was moving to Seattle.

“That’s it,” I responded with pride. Eli turned me around to inspect it, pushing the strap of my tank-top over a bit to get a clear view. Logan moved in closer, too.

“Is it by the same guy that did your lotus?” Eli asked, gingerly running his fingers over the ink.

“Yeah.”

“You have multiple tattoos?” Logan asked.

I turned back to face them again. “My first was a lotus blossom,” I explained, pulling at the hem of my pants to reveal the pink flower on the inside of my right ankle. Logan kneeled down to inspect the small design, making my heart pound with nervous energy. “And, Eli and I have matching Gaelic quotes on our ribs,” I indicated my left side, while Eli pointed to his right.

“Is that what that script is?” Logan asked.