9 Chapter 9

It was a keyboard-forward B-Diva ballad from the 80s, familiar in the way it was immediately assignable to its decade and genre, but completely unknown to me in the specific areas of artist and lyrics. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“What?!”

“Who is it?”

“Who knows? Some eighties singer. She probably sang on ‘We Are the World.’”

“But it’s your favorite song?”

“One of them.”

I stood and extended my arm. “You wanna dance to it?”

He may not have technically hesitated, but he took the suggestion under advisement before rising to accept it. “Sure.”

We met on the square of carpet between the table and the bed. He put his arms around my waist and pulled me to him; I put my arms on his shoulders, middle-school style. He knew a few words from the second verse, which he sang among a string of hmsand heys, and he definitely knew the chorus, which he belted right up to the instrumental bridge.