Seriously.

I felt a moment of resentment. Not that I expected anything else, but Dad wouldn't have done it. Parker did.

And jamming in the living room with Rafe, Parker, Kareem, his partner--- can't remember if we were introduced--- and my parents was really amazing. I should feel honored, in awe--- something. And I was. Except I'd seen it all my life. So I wasn't.

I usually enjoyed watching them jam. I enjoyed the stop start process of creativity. I enjoyed the tidal wave emotion of it, the synergy generated by it. Except tonight I wanted Rafe to myself. I wanted to understand the outcome of our previous conversation.

Rafe showed them a song he'd been working on. Possibly the one he'd started in the bedroom yesterday--- or was that this morning? They listened, liked it, started playing parts with it. My dad was an excellent guitarist. And mom—well--- if you've never heard my mom sing---

Kareem was into it--- suggesting stuff--- Parker too.

I listened. The song was about---- us. Not break up's, not sex. But longing--- misunderstanding--- wanting something so badly and being uniquely afraid to go after it.

Rafe's voice was perfect—filled with unquestionable desire--- sweet fiery longing--- the kind that takes your breath, and leaves you stranded in the middle of rain forests with nowhere to go but up. His falsetto tossed you around and ate you up--- and Mom---- she picked it up so quick--- I could hear her harmony, her melody--- her anticipation---

Until suddenly it was me singing. I could hear his thoughts, feel his need. I closed my eyes and pitched in..... humming, howling.... Literally rushing to meet every note. Sweet and decisive.

Rafe doesn't sing ballads much. He can, that's not in question. But his personality is so turbulent, it would be a waste not to utilize all his energy.

I did not realize when everyone else dropped out, and Rafe was left singing with just me. The music simply flowed and I heard it and felt it and knew it couldn't be denied. And when he stopped and I opened my eyes the first thing I saw was Parker's eyes, still--- stunned.

The room fell silent. I looked at Rafe. He was nodding smugly. But my parents were staring at me with interest. They hadn't really known I could sing.

"How long're you guys staying?" Parker asked. "We could lay that down. I'd love to help Kareem... Mom, are you up for it?" It was a given that Rafe and I were in. Seriously. Rafe was totally aware of my hesitation. He knew I was about to decline. He laid his guitar aside, rubbing my back, twirling my hair. It was such a claiming thing to do. Nobody questioned it at all. In fact, I think at that point Parker must have thought we were engaged and he was the last to know.

"I'm up for it. Tomorrow is free. You collaborate quite a bit, don't you Rafe?"

"I love to." He announced, still focused on my back and my hair. I wiggled to get him to stop.

"Kareem--- we didn't ask you, but do you think it has potential?" Mom smiled winningly. She was artist enough to know when a song was amazing. This one was.

"I would like the chance to tweak the lyrics in a couple of places, and add a few instruments. Yeah, I'll make time. Tomorrow if you want. What do we have to do to book time?"

"Book time?" Parker hooted. "We have all the time we want." Meaning we owned the place, they would have to make time for us.

That seemed to satisfy everybody. I was still leaning forward and I saw my dad's eyes were on me. I thought for two seconds he was about to ask to speak to me in the other room.

"Okay. I'll set it up. What a find, Rafe. This was amazing. There was so much energy in this room. Aubrey, you picked a winner in this boy. So glad you're both here." Parker was going on, and I kept Dad's eye, biting the inside of my lip, not wanting to tell him in front of everybody that I couldn't possibly enter a recording room with all of these incredibly talented people and produce this song that already spoke volumes to my innermost heart. Not wanting to tell him just how much these lyrics were mine and Rafe's.

It wasn't late, but it was time to go. Hugs and kisses all around and Kareem and his friend left first, then Parker went to find Natalie. Dad excused himself to check on a sick horse, and then go to bed, and Mom asked if we were staying up, which meant that they were not.

Rafe looked at me after saying goodnight. "So, you grew up here?" That was just chit chat, an ice breaker, the answer was obvious.

And I had to answer. "Yep."

"Your room in the teen wing?"

"I never needed the teen wing. I'm all alone here in the main house. My room is actually right around the corner, on the upper floor. But we're not going there."

His eyes widened at the challenge. "What's in the room, Aubrey?"

"Nothing special." I said pulling him by the hand in the opposite direction.

He sidled toward the hall, it being the only place bedrooms could possibly be. There was a bathroom, and a library, and a hall closet, and then a fork, and three bedrooms. Mine was one of them. The farthest one.

My eyes must have strayed to it. Not to the room itself as I couldn't see through walls, but in the general direction, enough to give him a clue. "Rafe, no."

He loped across the balcony, past the bathrooms to the fork and took the right direction unerringly. There were two doors, he opened the first, looked around at the spare furnishings and closed the door giving me a once over. I stood there waiting.

"Please." I said, hoping it would be enough, recalling Kell's admonition not to allow anyone to see this room.

Suddenly I felt very self-conscious. The Barbie's, the Lego's.... The TV stand with Harry Potter DVD's.

He peered at me, tip toeing in the direction, his hand on the doorknob. "You don't want me in here, do you?"

"It's nothing, just little kid stuff."

"Oh? How old were you when you moved out?"

"Old enough, but it's...." He turned the doorknob and flipped the light switch, I waited in mortified anticipation of the laughter that didn't come.

He went inside, so I followed, unable to resist seeing his reaction.

He saw the bedspread--- ugh. He saw the lava lamps. He saw the coat hangers full of fanny packs. He saw the piano with stacks of notebooks and music on top.

"You play?"

His voice was unaccountably serious. He wasn't making fun of me at all. I walked to the piano. "Yes. Years and years of lessons. Put myself through school teaching--part of the way anyway."

He nodded, leafing through the music. He saw there a few renditions of his own earlier stuff. He picked it up, flipped it at me and smiled. I colored.

He moved to the standing shelves, loaded with the things teenage girls collect: picture frames with pompom girls, dance pics with guys, camp pics, the works. Trophies, ribbons, nick knacks, souvenirs of trips and places. The stuffed animals on top were fairly telling. He picked one up and made it make kissy faces at me. He looked at the other shelves, with the Barbie's and Lego's and ignored them. He pushed open the bathroom door and then shut it again quickly, opening the closet door and flipping the light.

There were some clothes, but more telling was the CD collection, the hockey sticks, the skateboard, the pompoms. All these—the trappings of youth, gave no real clue to the me I am now. But watching him smile nostalgically as he looked around set me at ease. He wasn't mocking me at all.

But he did find extra pillows--- "Are these real feather pillows?"

I glanced inside the closet and saw that indeed they were--somebody, I think Melia, had given them to me a few years ago for Christmas. Rafe pulled one out and stuffed his face in it, smelling it, feeling its squishy softness.

"I don't think I've ever held one of these. They're like--in old movies."

I had never smelled one, and wondered if they smelled like--- what were they goose feathers? I looked for a tag, and that's when he hit me square in the face with one.

I staggered backward, tripped over my own bean bag chair hidden in the corner of the closet and scrambled over the top of it to get out of his way. With a grunt, he slammed me again. I had no choice but to retaliate--- and I would have, but Rafe had put the bed between us. I looked in the closet, thinking I knew where two more such pillows resided, when I spotted two large one piece pajamas. We used to call them stripies. At one point they came in red and white or black and white stripes, looking like old time prisoner get ups. I held up a hand.

"If we're going to have a true pillow fight, then we need to put on these stripies."

"What are stripies?" His straightened suspiciously, so I tossed him the black and white one. He blinked in surprise at the horizontal stripes, the cut off feet, the white zipper.

I closed the closet door. "Whoever is dressed first gets the first hit!"

*******