I nodded and chewed my lip.
“It’s a tough one on some level. The boys were so close.” Her eyebrows knitted as she tried to formulate a conclusion. “But the thing is, I have a bit of a no-mercy attitude when it comes to my son. It’s just hard when you know the other guy is somebody’s son, too. I do feel sorry for the Frys but not for Jay. He’s a thief. Sometimes you have to teach people a lesson the hard way.”
Nora shifted in her seat and fiddled with her blouse.
I tried to lighten the mood again. “I, for one, probably only learned lessons the hard way.” I laughed lightly.
“Oh yeah.” She eyed me. “You don’t seem like you got into too much trouble. You went to college… law school. There’s lowercase trouble and there’s uppercase trouble. I’m guessing you were the former.”
“Come on, Nora. You’re ruining my street cred.”
She offered a playful smile.
“You’re right.” I dropped my head, pretending to be rejected from the cool gang.
I looked back up. Nora folded her hands on the table. “Just because you weren’t a rebel without a cause doesn’t mean you weren’t a rebel with one. That’s much cooler anyway.”
What did she mean by that?
“What you did to honor your dad was no small potatoes.”
The band started warming up just as Drake returned with our drinks. When he sat, a young woman in a slinky, tight cheetah print dress and Converse came over to our table. I was about to say we had drinks, even though it was obvious, thinking she was a server. But that wasn’t why she was here.
“Hi.” She waved to Drake. Then waved to Nora. Me. “Hi. Hi. I really hope you don’t mind but…” She was nervous. She put both arms out, stiff, excited splayed fingers almost like jazz hands in Drake’s direction. “Drake? I love Graphic Temple and, I… just… would you mind if we had a selfie together?”
Why had I not guessed that? In a city like Seattle, a place of self-professed music lovers but admittedly not a lot of breakout acts, would have celebrated and taken ownership of Drake’s success.
This fan didn’t see the hint of a grimace on Drake’s face that I saw. He was the type of guy who would want to be upfront and frank and tell this woman Graphic Temple was no more. Sometimes, though, Drake just needed to have another drink and enjoy it. He’d worked hard to get that chick to walk up to him and know his name. Just because Jay and Quinn were assholes didn’t take away how much he deserved recognition.
“Come on then.” He took two fingers and gestured for her to join him. “Course we can have a selfie.”
She stood behind his chair. She leaned over his shoulder and snap. I hadn’t seen a smile so big on a woman since the Henri Bendel closing down sale. And even though for a moment it made me happy, like it was a good omen for Drake’s future, it also ignited my rage again.
My comment about watching Jay burn wasn’t tongue in cheek anymore.
Our lady fan checked her phone, thankfully not asking for another selfie, and she left, thanking Drake profusely.
“Well,” Nora glanced at me, “it’s pretty exciting having a famous son.”
“Just as exciting having a famous boyfriend.” I bumped into her affectionately.
The microphone on stage screeched slightly, and a voice entered my ears. “Heeeelllooooo, Shady people! How are we tonight?”
A band had assembled on stage. Three men. One on a keyboard, one with a guitar, and the singer at the mic had a tambourine in hand.
The crowd didn’t go wild, but a few whistles managed to whizz through the thick, yeasty air, and two women who stood in front of the stage whooped.
The guitar strummed, cueing the others to go into a synthesized pop melody that reminded me of when I’d discovered Depeche Mode and made me long for my ripped fishnets. It wasn’t top indie pop, but it was fun, and as Nora and I had already downed our drinks, sending Drake for two more, we wiggled our shoulders in our seats.
Nora spoke over the music. “It’s pretty fun music. Do you like this?”
I leaned toward her over the table. “I used to be a bit of an emo girl.”
“What’s that?”
“Kinda of like Goth, sort of.”
“Like grunge?”