Loving A Moretti - THE OBSESSION

Chapter EIGHTEEN

Few days have passed and Jennie had decided that staying inside was no longer an option.

“You’ve been in this apartment all week,” she said, standing in front of the door with her arms crossed.

“I went outside yesterday.”

“You went downstairs to get coffee.”

“That counts.”

Dean looked up from his phone. “It really doesn’t.”

I stared at both of them from the couch. “You two are very judgmental for people who spent half the morning arguing about what to order for lunch.”

“That was an important discussion,” Jennie said.

“Very important,” Dean agreed.

I laughed and reached for my jacket. “Fine. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere with people,” Jennie said.

“That sounds terrible.”

“You’ll survive.”

A little while later, the three of us were walking through the city with no real plan beyond finding somewhere interesting to stop. The weather was warmer than it had been the previous week, and the sidewalks were crowded with people taking advantage of the afternoon. Delivery bikes slipped between cars, music drifted out from open storefronts, and every few blocks someone seemed to be selling something from a folding table.

Dean stopped when he noticed a row of food stalls ahead.

“I’m getting something.”

“You just ate.”

“That was lunch. This is different.”

Jennie rolled her eyes. “You have the metabolism of a teenage boy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I laughed and followed them toward the crowd.

We wandered for another twenty minutes, stopping at a few stalls and looking through things none of us needed. Jennie bought a pair of sunglasses she immediately claimed were ugly, which apparently meant she liked them. Dean found a vintage jacket and spent ten minutes pretending he wasn’t considering buying it.

Then we heard music.

It came from farther down the block, carried above the noise of the crowd by a guitar and a woman’s voice.

I slowed down.

The singer stood near the corner with a small speaker beside her and a microphone in one hand. A handful of people had gathered around, some sitting on the low steps nearby while others stood with drinks in their hands.

The song was familiar.

I knew the melody before I could place the lyrics.

Jennie noticed me stop.

“You know this one?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Dean looked between us. “Are we staying?”

“I want to hear the rest.”

So we stayed.

The singer finished the song a few minutes later, and the crowd applauded. She thanked everyone before setting the microphone on the stand and reaching for her water.

A man near the speaker called out, “One more?”

She laughed and shook her head.

“I need a break.”

Someone else shouted, “Get somebody else to sing!”

A few people laughed.

I smiled and looked away.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jennie said.

I turned toward her. “Think about what?”

She gave me a look.

Dean’s attention shifted between us. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing.”

Jennie pointed toward the microphone. “She sings.”

I frowned. “Jennie.”

“What? You do.”

“I sing at home.”

“You’ve been singing since we were seventeen.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to sing in front of strangers.”

Dean nodded toward the small crowd. “Technically, they are strangers.”

“That isn’t helping.”

The performer had started talking to the crowd again when she suddenly looked in our direction.

“You,” she called.

I looked behind me.

She pointed directly at me.

“Yeah, you with the black jacket.”

I froze.

Jennie immediately stepped back, laughing.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

I shook my head before the singer could even finish the question.

“No.”

The woman laughed. “You sing?”

“I don’t perform.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The people nearby laughed, and I covered my face for a second.

Jennie leaned closer. “Just one song.”

“You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“I am. That’s why I’m telling you to do it.”

Dean was already smiling. “Go on.”

I looked at him. “You’re both terrible.”

The performer held out the microphone.

“Come on. One song. If you hate it, you can blame me.”

I should have said no again.

Instead, I walked over.

The microphone felt heavier than it looked when she placed it in my hand. I glanced at the small crowd, suddenly aware of how many people were watching.

My heart started beating faster.

The performer smiled. “What do you want to sing?”

I named a song.

She nodded and spoke briefly to the guitarist.

A few seconds later, the first chords started.

I took a breath.

Then I sang.

The first line came out quieter than I expected, but my voice settled almost immediately. The nervousness faded with the melody, replaced by the familiar feeling I always got when I stopped thinking about how I sounded and simply followed the song.

The crowd had been talking when I started.

By the second verse, most of them had gone quiet.

I noticed someone near the front lower their phone from whatever they had been doing and turn toward me. Another person stopped walking. A little girl sitting on the steps leaned forward, watching.

I kept singing.

When the final note faded, there was a brief pause before the crowd broke into applause.

I blinked.

The guitarist grinned at me.

The singer took the microphone back. “Okay. You definitely lied when you said you don’t perform.”

I laughed. “I didn’t say I was bad.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Jennie was clapping harder than anyone.

Dean shook his head as I walked back toward them. “You’ve been keeping that to yourself?”

“I didn’t know I was going to do that.”

A woman who had been standing nearby stopped me before I could leave.

“Do you perform anywhere?”

I stared at her.

“Sorry?”

“Anywhere. Bars, small venues, open mics?”

“Oh. No.”

She nodded toward the performer. “You should.”

I smiled awkwardly. “Maybe.”

She handed me a small card. “There’s a place downtown that has live music on Thursdays. They let new performers sign up. If you’re interested.”

I looked down at the card.

“Thank you.”

She smiled and walked away.

Jennie leaned over my shoulder. “You’re keeping that.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

Dean looked at the card. “You should go.”

I slipped it into my jacket pocket. “You two are very invested in this.”

“You’re good,” Jennie said simply.

The way she said it made me look at her.

She wasn’t teasing anymore.

I glanced toward the performer, who had already started another song. People were still gathered around her, and a few of them were looking in my direction.

For years, singing had been something I did because I loved it. Something private enough that I never had to decide what it meant beyond that.

Now I had a card in my pocket from a place I’d never heard of.

Maybe someday wasn’t as far away as I’d thought.

We continued walking after the crowd thinned out, eventually stopping for food at a small place a few blocks away. Jennie spent most of the meal replaying the performance on her phone, stopping every few seconds to tell me which part she liked best.

“You’re being annoying,” I told her.

“You’re welcome.”

Dean looked at the video over her shoulder. “The second verse was really good.”

I smiled.

“The second verse?”

“Yeah.”

Something about that made me think of Larkin.

I reached for my phone.

There were no new messages.

For a moment, I considered sending him the video.

Then I stopped.

He’d heard the song yesterday. He’d listened carefully enough to remember the part I’d almost deleted.

I didn’t need to prove anything to him.

Still, I found myself smiling at the thought of telling him.

When we finally headed home, the city had started to darken around us. Storefronts glowed against the sidewalks, traffic filled the streets, and the sound of music from somewhere behind us disappeared into the noise.

I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and felt the edge of the card.

I pulled it out once more.

Thursday — Live Music & Open Mic

I read it twice before putting it away.

Maybe I’d go.

For once, I wasn’t thinking about whether someone else would be there.

I was thinking about the microphone.