And Washtub Prophecy was only part of the problem. Ethan and I had started talking more, since our fashion afternoon, so it was nice to spend time with him on flights, or backstage. But I missed Caleb fiercely. It was like a constant ache in my chest, a bruise that twinged whenever it was touched.
I’d never felt like that before. Not about anyone. And knowing that Caleb was out there, in Stormville, in his comfortable bed, with the smell of leaves, freshly turned soil, and, faintly, cigarette smoke wafting in through the cracked window, the sound of him singing low as he strummed his guitar, and probably a pan of that damned hash on the stove…it made me feel ridiculous.
Because why was I here, in an endless parade of cold beds with anonymously pressed white sheets and designer soaps that all seemed to smell like lemongrass, when I could be there with him? Why, when the returns felt like they diminished every night? When I knew what I wanted, and it was him, and not this.
We’d picked up our middle-of-the-night phone conversations since I’d been on tour, so at least I got to hear his voice after I got back to the blank, sterile hotel rooms.
Tonight, at the sound of his low, raspy, “Hey,” I found myself unexpectedly choked up.
“Hey.”
There was the sound of rustling, like Caleb was resettling himself.
“Where are you?” I asked. I wanted to be able to picture him exactly.
“Mmm, I’m on the porch. It was strangely warm today—hello, global warming.”
“It’s the end times,” I agreed.
“Yup,” Caleb said, sounding singularly unconcerned about it. “The sun was shining, and I brought in the beets and planted garlic.”
“You like beets?”
“Never had ’em, don’t know. They’re a beautiful color, though. That supersaturated red. So red the color bleeds out.”
I loved the way Caleb described things, sometimes stark and sometimes lyrical. I never knew which it would be.
“What’s wrong, babe?” Caleb asked, and his voice did that resonant rumbly thing that I associated with lying in bed in the dark, my head on his chest, hearing his words through the bone and muscle under my ear. I imagined I was lying there with him right now, his rough palm on my back, his warm skin against mine.
“Everything,” I whispered, closing my eyes. Then, when a beat went by in silence, “Wow, that sounded really emo, sorry. No, uh, I’m okay.”
“That little fucker still all over your ass?”
“Nah, he avoids me now that I proved to have the terrible taste not to want to be friends with him. No, I just…”
I let the sentence hang on the edge of a cliff because, as sometimes happened, I wasn’t sure what I meant until I said it, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to say it yet.
“I just miss you a lot,” I said. Which I did know I meant.
“I miss you a lot, too,” Caleb said. “After all, without you here, who am I gonna feed all these beets to?”
I smiled.
“Make Rhys eat them. He’ll eat anything.”
“He likes it, hey, Mikey!”
“Uh, what?”
“Jesus, nothing, you just reminded me how young you are. Okay, changing the subject. So,” he drawled suggestively. “You miss me, huh?”
“Whatever, shut up, you miss me, too.”
“Yeah. I do. I really do.”
“Listen, I have an idea, but I don’t know if you’ll go for it.” I’d been waiting for a good moment, and this seemed as good as any.
“Does it involve you making this a video chat and you being naked? Because I assure you, I’ll go for it.”
I felt my heart rate spike at the memory of a few nights before. On a hotel bed in a city I’d already forgotten, I’d followed Caleb’s orders to strip in front of my tablet screen and jerk myself off while he watched, telling me to slow down, speed up, squeeze harder, lighter—as if it were his own hand working me from thousands of miles away. I swallowed hard.
“Um, no, not exactly. I was thinking maybe…what would you think about flying out next week and meeting me for our show in New Orleans? We have an off day before the show, and I know you love the city—we could walk around, hang out, eat those…doughnut thingies you like.”
“Beignets,” Caleb murmured.
“Yeah. I’ll buy you all the beignets you can eat if you’ll come hang out with me.” I kept my voice light, but held my breath.
“Listen, Theo…”
That was not promising. I hadn’t comprehended, until the moment I realized he was going to say no, how desperately I wanted this to happen. Disappointment cut me to the quick, and I tried to think of anything I could say to cover up how devastated I felt.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t love to do that,” Caleb said, after a while. “I’d love to see you, see you play. And I do love the city. But I, uh…I haven’t been there since…It’s not a sober city, Theo. I’ve got a lot of memories, know a lot of people…”