I shook my head and smiled. “Have you seen Edward Scissorhands?”
She opened her mouth as if to say “ah,” and I left her with that vague understanding of how I used to do me.
Drake arrived, this time with a few shots along with our drinks, and sat. He lifted his shot. “To two beautiful goddesses who I’m lucky enough to know and love. I never thought I’d come to a moment like this. To have the one who’s loved me unconditionally sit with the one I love unconditionally. I hope you two feel as happy as I do in this moment.”
Nora had her shot in one hand and her other over her heart. I leaned in, as close as I could to Drake’s ear. “I love you, babe.”
He gave me a sweet peck on the forehead.
Nora’s smile spread even further across her face, and I slyly wondered if the shot (which smelled like Jäger as I brought it closer to my nose) would change that motherly love sweet like honey across her lips. Would she be able to hang?
Woman was a rock star just like her son. She downed it, no problem.
Drake, on the other hand, made his sour-as-fuck face and stuck his tongue out like he’d eaten a ghost pepper.
A song played on in the background, an upbeat tune with downbeat lyrics.
I always wore too many layers
You could never fight your way to the center
Not bad lyrics. Not Drake lyrics. It didn’t matter. Nora and I were putting them back like we didn’t care what the morning would feel like. Drake took it a bit easier, but a smile still beamed with ease from his face, and I thought about his toast. I really would love to, one day, toast the same thing with Drake and Dixie. One day, I wanted to merge my realities into one.
That must be the ultimate place of ease. The pinnacle of joy. The essence of being yourself.
As I thought these thoughts and the alcohol adjusted my confidence, I started to think maybe I should write this shit down. I could be a lyricist.
But the singer on stage snapped me out of this dream I never wanted and found one that was still trying to come true.
“Thanks for listening, Shady people. Thanks for listening. We got a last song. It’s a cover for you that we’re going to change up to our style. Put a little electro-funk in it. But, we’re really hoping, really, reeeeally hoping, that someone else might join us. We got a tip-off that Seattle’s own Drake Jackson is in the house.”
The singer shaded his eyes from the spotlights. “Is that true, man? You out there tonight? If so, come on up!”
A spotlight traveled around the bar until it landed on Drake’s face.
The crowd hollered and whistled more loudly than they had for the band on stage. Nora and I clapped, too.
The singer on stage beckoned. “Yo! Everyone, at least every musician worth their weight knows at least one Pink Floyd song. Drake, you know many because I used to go and see y’all all the time when you played just down the road. I was hoping tonight, in a nod to your hometown, you’d come up with us. It’s a song I know you love.”
The keyboard started playing a melody with which I was vaguely familiar.
“Will you join us up here? You know this tune, man? I know you do. Don’t let Seattle down…” the lead singer continued to coax.
I turned to assess Drake. He leaned back, waved his hands to indicate he was giving it a pass.
“Aw, come on, buddy!” The singer raised his hands, urging the crowd to chant with him. “Drake. Drake! Drake! Drake…”
It surprised me that Drake didn’t look too enthused to go up. My God, this was the man who’d offered to write a stranger’s dead dad’s mamas cousin’s dog a song in the middle of the desert. These people were more than I ever was. Many of them were his fans. Maybe he didn’t know the song.
I leaned over. “Do you know this number?”
“Yeah. Course. ‘Comfortably Numb.’ It was one of my every weekend covers a couple years ago.”
The crowd continued to chant.
“Drake! Drake!”
“Don’t you want to?” I asked. “It’s not like you to pass up a chance to sing.”