Party of Four

Relearning the Grammar - Cole

The transition from Christmas to the second week of January felt like a song shifting from a slow, melodic verse into a fast-paced bridge.

The “grammar” of the guitar was coming back to me in fits and starts. Every night, after the house went quiet, I’d sit in my room and just…exist with the Martin. My callouses were rebuilding. That dull ache in my fingertips was a welcome reminder that I was real again.

Other than the one I’d written on Father’s Day, I wasn’t writing full songs yet. I hadn’t even put music to that song yet. But I had fragments of melodies that felt like they’d been trapped in my bones for over a decade.

“You’re doing it again,” Riley commented, leaning against the kitchen archway while I sat at the table, absentmindedly tapping a rhythm against my coffee mug.

“Habit,” I muttered, though I didn’t stop.

“It’s a good habit,” he countered. He looked down at the packing list on his tablet. “Nica’s almost done upstairs. Are we sure we have enough diapers for the drive? Kingsport is a massive city, and I’d rather not be hunting for a Target in an unknown metropolis while Poppy is screaming.”

“We have enough for a small army, Rye,” I reassured him. “Besides, Nica and Jason both know the city. We have GPS. And, we can always have more diapers delivered to Jason’s.”

Nica had started her transition back to Stella’s in November, and each week Eli gave her a few more hours than the week before. He was slowly shifting her back into full time. Now that she was almost at forty hours a week, she’d insisted Riley and I didn’t need to rotate our schedules so that one of us could be with her and one of us with Poppy. We could just… work. And whoever was home, had Poppy. When all three of us worked a shift, we had my parents to fall back on. Since Poppy’s birth, they’d both dropped down to part time at their jobs, wanting to enjoy every second of grandparent-hood that they had.

Stella was evolving too. During our leave, a few people had been fired, and a few people had been hired. Luckily, no one in our friend circle had been let go. Nica was overjoyed to find out Yasmin was gone. Then there was another server that had been hired over the summer, Becky, who didn’t last, along with her son, David.

New hires included “The Two Bens.” Ben L. was young and shy, still finding his footing as a server, but he was efficient and focused. He got along well with the guests, even if he was still nervous around his coworkers. Ben C. was a chatterbox, but he was also a veteran server who managed his tables with the skill of a military commander. Trevor was my favorite of the new hires. He was a transfer from Hawaii, who had the perfect balance of outgoing and laid back. He was easy to talk to and joke with. And he had good weed.

The changes at the restaurant though also made the trip to Kingsport a welcome reprieve.

Nica came down the stairs carrying Poppy’s diaper bag like it was a heavy-duty rucksack. She looked a little frazzled, but determined. Her curls were pulled back into a messy bun. “Okay, jersey is packed. Extra socks are packed. The tickets are packed.”

“Breathe, Peaches,” I placed my mug in the sink and joined her in the entryway. “It’s a straight shot across I-10. We’ll be in the city before you know it.”

“I know,” she said, leaning her head against my shoulder for a brief second. “I’m just nervous. It’s our first trip with a baby.”

“It’s our first trip,” Riley pointed out from the archway.

“That makes it even more nerve-wracking,” she said while I scowled at him.

“The trip is going to be great,” Riley reassured her. “I’ve already planned the route. We have a coffee stop in Tallahassee, and a lunch break planned. We’re on a schedule, but a comfortable one.”

“Oh no,” Nica shook her head, frowning. “I never stop in Tallahassee. The traffic is so bad. I fill up on gas here, and don’t stop until I reach Kingsport.”

“Okay, so not Tallahassee,” Riley pulled his phone out. “But we’re traveling with a baby, so we’re probably going to have to stop somewhere… How’s Monticello?”

She winced, but nodded, “There’s a McDonald’s there.”

I looked at the two of them — the woman who had saved me, and my brother who had rebuilt me, — then I looked at Poppy who was already in her carrier and trying to chew on her toes. “Well, if we’re ready,” I opened the door and we started carrying luggage out to the Mini. Nica’s massive suitcase that she was sharing with Poppy, mine and Riley’s duffel bags, the portable playpen, and the bouncer were all loaded into the back of the green Countryman, along with my guitar. Riley secured Poppy’s carrier in the back seat and climbed in beside her. Nica started the car, and I reached across the middle console to give her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

“Here we go,” she whispered, putting the car in reverse. “You ready back there?”

“Road trip playlist is queued, GPS is primed, and the princess is currently preoccupied with her own socks,” Riley reported. “We are officially a go.”

The drive out of Emerald Bay was quiet. The morning fog still clung to the marshlands as we hit the highway. For the first hour, the only sounds were the soft hum of the tires against the asphalt, and the low indie-folk music Nica had chosen to keep Poppy calm. I watched the pine trees blur past, my mind wandering to the guitar case tucked safely in the trunk. I’d packed my journal in the case too, hoping Kingsport might shake loose the bridge for that Father’s Day song.

By the time we hit the outskirts of Monticello, Poppy had decided she had enough of the “scenic route.” Her small squeaks escalated into a full-blown siren blare that filled the cabin of the Mini.

“Aborting the non-stop plan!” Nica called out over the screams. Her knuckles were white as she searched for the exit sign. “Riley, tell me that McDonald’s is close.”

“Zero-point-two miles, on the right,” he informed, his voice remarkably calm as he tried to distract Poppy with a rattle. “It’s okay, Pops, we’re stopping.”

We pulled into the parking lot like we were there for a pit stop. Riley had Poppy out of her seat, and headed toward the building before Nica even killed the engine. I watched them go, then looked at her. She was staring out the windshield, taking a long, shaky breath.

“You okay?” I asked, reaching over to rub the back of her neck.

“I forgot how loud she can be, especially in a small car.” She closed her eyes as she leaned into my touch.

When Riley emerged from the McDonald’s fifteen minutes later, he was carrying a calm, freshly changed Poppy in one arm and a tray of coffees in the other. He looked entirely unfazed by the chaos.

“We’re back in business,” he announced, handing Nica the tray through the window. “Next stop, Kingsport city limits.” He climbed back into the car and began buckling Poppy into her carrier. I handed him his coffee once he was settled, and Nica restarted the car. “I’ve adjusted the ETA, we’ll be there right as the afternoon rush starts. I also found a back-way through the Northside that should cut out the downtown traffic.”

Nica took a sip of her coffee, a knowing grin forming as she looked at Riley in the rearview. “The Northside, huh? Look at you learning the geography.”

“I did my research,” Riley smirked.

“That back-way include bypassing 95, and going straight to 295, and over the Marble Gate?”

“Yes,” he blushed.

“I told you she knows Kingsport,” I grinned.

As we merged back into I-10, the flat Florida landscape began to give way to the more industrial, sprawling outskirts of the metropolis. The skyline of Kingsport began to peek over the horizon — the high-rises and the massive bridges that spanned the river.

“Almost there,” I murmured, watching Nica’s expression shift from nervous to focused.