Shy (15 page)

“It is. It's a stage piano that professionals use, and it has lots of different onboard sounds that composers and songwriters can use to create music and then record it.”

“Hmm. And with all that, he's a scientist, too?”

“Yeah. Well, he's a graduate student in physics, works out at the lab with his dad, and plays in a band called the Neutron Stars.”

“Wow.” She's silent a moment, then she says, “He sounds like an intelligent young man.”

Buoyed by her support, I say, “He is. He's brilliant, in fact. He could have gone to any Ivy League college in the country, but he wanted to go here. He's a guy who really knows what he wants. I expect he'll wind up working out at the lab and playing the heck out of his digital piano in his band.”

“Well, he certainly sounds like an improvement over Jake Harper,” Mom says.

My defensiveness comes back and I want to snap at her, but I try to keep my voice calm. “Jake and Granville are two very different people. Comparing them is like comparing apples and oranges. Pointless.”

“It's a shame Granville is just a friend,” Mom says. “He sounds much better suited for you than Jake. Much more on your level.”

“Oh, well,” I say.
Oh, well
is my phrase of choice when Mom makes me feel annoyed, squirmy, uncomfortable, or a combination of all of these. “I guess I'd better get off the phone. He's going to pick me up any minute.”

“Have a good time,” Mom says.

“Thanks. I will.”

When I end the call, I see that I have a text. It's Granville, saying he's outside my dorm. I quickly text him back, telling him I'd been talking to my mom and I'll be right out.

I leave my dorm and hop into his car.

“Your mom?” Granville says. “Are you two getting along a little better?”

“I guess. At least, she hasn't found anything huge to pick on in a little while. Maybe because I didn't go home this past weekend and I haven't let her keep me on the phone very long.” I sigh. “Is it bad that I feel better about myself and about life when I don't talk to my mom as often?”

“No,” he says. “It isn't bad at all. Given how critical she is of you, I'm not surprised. A mom should accept you for who you are. Guide you, love you, and give you advice, but not try to change you into something you're not.”

“Does your mom ever try to pull that kind of stuff with you?”

He frowns. “Not really. She's kind of the opposite. She tends to treats me like I made the universe. I'm her favorite child. I can do no wrong in her eyes, and Hetty can do no right. Of course, Hetty is my dad's favorite child, so I guess it evens out.”

I try to imagine what it would be like for Mom to think everything I do is golden. “Does your dad treat you like my mom treats me?”

“No. He can be a hard ass with his expectations, but that's just his personality. He's a very cool, remote kind of guy. A mega-egghead scientist.”

“You're not that way,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Nope. I learned from him that I didn't want to be so chilly to everyone.”

“He's chilly to your sister, too?”

“Well, kind of, but not quite as much. He's nuts about her, and she's a daddy's girl. So I guess he does have some of those messy old emotions, after all.” Granville grins at me but there's sadness in his eyes. He has a difficult family dynamic in his way, too. I guess there's no such thing as an idyllic family. All families have some degree of problems and bullshit.

Granville adds, “I'd really like for you to meet Hetty sometime. I think you two would really hit it off. You have a lot in common. You're both introspective, internal girls with a lot of musical talent, and you're both deep thinkers.”

Introspective
and
internal
. I smile at him. I love how he describes me. So nonthreatening, even complimentary. In his view, internal is good. And he never, ever uses that horrible word shy.

He doesn't live all that far from campus. I wonder if Granville, like Jake, has roommates, but he's never mentioned any, so I assume he doesn't. Or maybe he just didn't think to mention them. I guess I'll find out. I don't want to ask, because it might sound like I'm wondering about whether it'll be just the two of us, alone.

When we reach his apartment complex, I gape. True, it's not that far off from Jake's in terms of distance, but in terms of cost and atmosphere, it's worlds away. Grand Commons Square—where Granville's apartment is located—versus Wheeler Hall, where Jake's apartment is located. Big difference. Wheeler Hall is kind of dingy and the apartments are small, cramped, really not much more than glorified closets. Already, from the outside, I can tell these apartments are spacious, and when Granville leads me inside his, I see it's even more spacious than it seems from the outside.

There's a high ceiling and a staircase to a second level. It's more of a condo than an apartment. The walls are eggshell white and the carpet is a sleek beige. The furniture is gorgeous, with threads of beige, gold, and green. The living room features a hardwood floor, while the kitchen boasts sandy-colored ceramic tile. In the living room, I see a digital piano, two speakers, and other studio equipment, including a laptop computer. Along the wall are two guitars, one electric and one acoustic, propped on stands, and a couple of amps. Near the digital piano sits the karaoke system.

What a marvelous place! “This is an incredible apartment. And I love the musical living room.”

“You're going to love it even more in a few minutes,” he tells me.

I hear footsteps coming down the staircase and glance up.

A stocky guy with a crew cut, thick glasses, and a beard is coming down the stairs. He's got red hair and freckles and an easygoing expression.

“Hey there, Sy,” Granville says. “How's it going?”

“Okay. I'm kind of cross-eyed from reading three chapters’ worth of nucleic acid biochemistry.”

I look more closely at him. He actually is slightly cross-eyed underneath his thick glasses. I start to giggle, unable to help myself. He looks at me and his grin widens.

“This goofy guy is my roommate,” Granville says. “Sylvester Graham. Call him Sy, though. He never answers to Sylvester.”

“Name makes me feel like Rambo,” he says. “Not a good fit.”

“He's my lead guitarist,” Granville says, “and he's also a first year grad student in molecular biology.”

“Cool.” Something about Sy puts me at ease. He seems to be a sweet, unassuming guy. Nerdy. Laid back. Not somebody who makes me feel like I need to put on my social armor lest I be jousted to death.

“This is Frannie Forsythe, my friend I told you about, who's a whiz at classical piano and a great songwriter.”

Sy's smile grows even warmer. “I've heard a lot about you. I've been looking forward to meeting you.” He seems kind of shy himself, which works to put me even more at ease. I'm not good at meeting new people, but sometimes, when they're also shy, it helps relax me. That isn't always the case, though. Other times, when I've met shy people, neither of us can relax enough to juice up any social grease between us, and it's terribly awkward. Sy, though, is a friendly shy guy. It's a good combination.

Regardless, it's hard to converse with someone I just met, and the silence starts to draw out between us. I don't have to worry, though, because Granville jumps in for me.

“We're going to work on music,” he says. “Do some recording on my Kawai. Have you ever played a digital piano, Frannie?”

I shake my head. “I've heard a lot of good things about what they can do, though. I have a feeling it will blow me away.”

“Some of them are better than others,” Granville says, “but you'll like this Kawai.” He looks at Sy. “Would you like to do some recording with us, buddy? We could lay some really cool tracks. Original music. We'll play around with a couple of Neutron Star songs, and Frannie might want to experiment with one of her songs, too.”

I love how Granville provides enough social grease for me to feel comfortable. It isn't like this with Jake. He isn't shy, but he's just not very friendly to many people. He's a good, kind-hearted guy, but he can be pretty distant, taciturn, even stern. He's not much on bullshitting and social stuff. When Jake and I are around people, it can be pretty awkward, except, of course, when it's just me and him. Then we're both relaxed.

Well, most of the time.

I sigh a little, not wanting to think about Jake right now. But I can't help but wonder what he's doing, what he's feeling.

Whether he's wondering what I'm doing, what I'm feeling.

“Thanks, Gran, but I'm going to hang out with Karyn tonight,” Sy says. “She's been deep into reading chapters in physical chemistry, and I bet her eyes are crossed, too. Maybe even more than mine.” He grins, then glances at his watch. “She's going to pick me up any time.”

“I'm sure you could both use a break,” Granville says.

Sure enough, the doorbell rings and Sy lets in a small, reedy girl with long blond hair. She's wearing a floral patterned blouse and looks like she'd fit in really well at Berkeley or any open, laid-back college. She's really pretty and gives Granville a wide smile. “Hey, Gran.” Then she regards me with an open, friendly expression.

“Karyn, this is Frannie, my new piano-playing friend.”

“Hi. I've heard a lot about you.”

All of Granville's friends are saying that about me. Usually, people saying that kind of thing makes me nervous because I worry they're saying bad things about how I'm quiet, shy, boring, and a wooden head, but with Granville, I don't have to worry about that. It's clear how much he likes me and respects me, and it warms me from the inside out.

I still don't know what to say, though, and shyness eats at my insides until Granville says, “We're going to work on recording music today. What are you guys getting into?”

Sy and Karyn look at each other, giggle, and blush. Answer enough.

Granville chuckles. “Well, have a good time, you two.”

“Nice to have met you,” Karyn says to me as they head for the door.

“Hope to see you back here soon,” Sy says.

I smile and say thanks. Well, I survived that pretty well. Mom wouldn't be proud, but I'm feeling pretty good. And it's enough.

They leave and Granville takes me into the living room for a closer look at his equipment. Our first stop is his digital piano. It has a red wood finish and a full keyboard with eighty-eight keys.

“It's a Kawai MP11, one of the best stage pianos made. It's a heavy sucker, but I take it on our gigs because it sounds amazing and has lots of features that make a show rock.” He turns it on, then flips switches on a sound system to which the digital piano and speakers are attached.

“This is the best grand piano sound I've ever heard on an electronic instrument,” he says, pushing one of the Kawai's many buttons. “Try it out. It has incredible action.”

I begin playing Chopin's Nocturne Opus 9, Number 2 and sigh in pleasure at the digital piano's crisp action and rich sound. When I reach the first trill, the Kawai obliges in beautiful style. I've played lower-end keyboards in the past, here and there, and I've never found them to be meaningful musical instruments for nuance or expression, whether in classical music or my own compositions. But this Kawai truly does music justice, and I can see why Granville, also a classically trained pianist, is impressed.

“Wow,” I say.

He grins. “You ain't seen nothin' yet.”

I laugh at his attempt at a country accent, a comically bad fit with his cultured, sophisticated manner. Jake flashes into my mind, Jake with his country accent straight from the hills of East Tennessee. I love the expressions he uses, like
finer than frog hair
and
all gommed up
. He has a funny side, which, when he's in the right mood, comes out when we're alone, and it regularly comes out onstage with the Hickory Hollow Boys. Jake is a creature of many colors, far more complex than the simple country boy people assume him to be based on his accent. And he has a toughness and a ruggedness about him that seems to belong to a man living a hundred or more years ago.

I can't stop wondering if he'll call. I hope he will at some point, but I'd rather him not call right now. He wouldn't be pleased, me being here with Granville in a gorgeous, pricey condo, surrounded by incredible electronic musical instruments and recording equipment. Talk about making him jealous.

I know Jake doesn't feel good enough for me, and damn Mom for reinforcing that in him and even talking him into breaking up with me. But standing here with Granville, I wonder if Mom did me a favor. Not that I think Jake isn't good enough for me or that he's less good for me than Granville. At least, not because of their economic situations. But my relationship with Granville is opening me up to a whole new dynamic of friendship with a guy and to a possible romantic involvement that's less dark and edgy, and more open and sunny. Jake doesn't do
sunny
. He's an evening boy in which the moon sometimes brilliantly shines.

My stomach twists again. He has been my only love for so long. I had hoped we might come back together and last forever. But reality keeps intruding and my new relationship with Granville excites, encourages, and inspires me. Besides, Jake pushed me aside, not the other way around. It wasn't my fault Granville came bearing a gift and Jake reacted the way he did. He keeps taking himself out of my picture, yet he gets upset when Granville arrives and I'm happy to see him. It frustrates me. Jake is volatile. I never know where I stand with him, relative to the maelstrom that whirls in his head.

With Granville, what I see is what I get.

He taps the karaoke unit. “We'll do whatever you want with this. I'm not pushing you into anything.”

I appreciate his thoughtfulness. “I'd like to try a little something with it. Well, as long as, you know, it's going to be just you and me. I'm not quite ready for anybody else for a while.”

The look he gives me in response to what I've said warms me from head to toe. “Just you and me. I like that, Frannie.” He brushes a lock of hair away from my face and then cups my cheek in his fine-fingered hand. “I really like you, do you know that? You're a wonderful person.”