Everyone But You

It was all about the sunrise as Ryan sat carelessly fingering the chipped piano keys of the baby grand that had recently parked up in his front room. It took up most of the space that was left after the sofa and the tables and the chairs, the guitars and piles of CDs and magazines, but he quite liked it there, it looked kind of majestic, especially at seven AM when he couldn't sleep and the sun was streaming through the half-open shutters like it was, tiger-stripes painted in shadow across the backs of his slender hands. His roommate didn't like the piano playing, didn't really get it because he was an architect training to be one or at least working in an office and he thought of the world mostly in strict angles and manners of degrees, was inflexible in his insistence the piano was a waste of money as he was that his drinking wasn't getting out of hand.

But as it happened Robbie was out, probably in somebody else's bed across town. Ryan didn't really like him, was just having him here for the money, because he felt sorry for him because he had a kid with a woman he hated, but sometimes they shared a few good conversations over a couple of beers crawling over and over the thin patch of common ground they both had.

Ryan stayed there for a while, feeling his ass grow numb on the hard piano stool, the material rubbed away from years of use into a hole straight onto the wood, but as with everything old, Ryan thought it had a nice kind of charm about it. Eventually, when the light had been streaming full through the window for longer than he cared to think about, he got up and went in search of some food, picked up his cell and ignored the texts from his manager asking to meet for lunch. He'd been in a heavy pensive kind of way for the last few days and he was wading his way out of it, slowly. He made himself some eggs, and stood eating them facing the window that looked down the five storeys onto the boulevard. He liked to watch the tops of the cars as they rushed by, count the coloured tops like he used to sit counting beetles in the soil as a child.

The phone rang. He looked at it wildly as he always did, wide brown eyes, quizzical expression, but all that faded as he approached, picked up, and said softly, "Who is it?"
A voice hit him between the eyes like a friendly fist. "It's Jessica, I think you remember me from the other day."
Ryan swallowed and rested his hand on the wall, then his head on that. "Yeah, I remember." Closed his eyes and a pushed out a swear. "I mean, sure, uh, come on up, I'll just..."
He hung up and buzzed her up, buzzing inside as he looked around the unkempt apartment and wondered what she'd look like on top of it. There'd be a big contrast, he figured.
He opened the door and peeked round as she emerged from the lift, sliding her hair over her shoulder in one irresistible fluid movement. He looked down.
"Hey," she said.
He looked up. "Hey," he said, offering a cautiously warm smile. And then, "Where's Brendon?"
She cocked her head to one side, frowned a little. "Um, at home. I don't know. Do I need to take him everywhere?"
He inhaled sharply and looked around in wide-eyed panic. "Uh, no. Of course not."
"No," she echoed, pausing for a slow difficult moment before she said, "So I don't mean to be rude but I've got a tight schedule..."
Ryan looked at her blankly. "Oh. You're here for the records."
"Uh, yes," she murmured, swept her fringe from her eyes. "Is this a bad time?"
"No, it's-" he shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat. "It's fine. Come in."
Jessica looked down and slipped past him, almost brushing the arm holding the door open.
"Nice place you've got here," she said flatly.
Ryan closed the door behind her, fiddled a little with his hair before his eyes which were being forced down made there was slowly towards her face which eh caught for a moment off-guard as she was looking out of the window, the same spot more or less he'd been standing moments before. He wondered if she counted the tops of cars and thought they were beetles.
"Take a seat," he said, gesturing towards the setee. She nodded a little and Ryan noticed how tightly she seemed to be clutching her purse in her hands. She seemed to contradict his place perfectly, all neatly tailored shining like a new penny against the mismatch of objects fabrics and materials.

She lowered herself onto the low divan so elegantly that it mesmerized Ryan who for a moment forgot he should have been looking away. His eyes caught hers and then darted away like a rabbit.
"So how come somebody like you's interested in vintage records?" He asked, crossing in front of her to the cabinet in the corner where her kept stacks of the things.
"What do you mean somebody like me?" She asked perkily.
Ryan turned around to look at her sitting there taking up a neat square foot or so of space there and he gave a little shrug.
"I don't know," he said, allowed himself a small smile. "You seem too straight for it, you know? It's like," he said, taking out a small pile of records and sliding them onto the coffee table in front of her, "Hipster musicians and wannabees, guys like me, they do all that stupid kind of stuff. Not..."
She looked at him intently. "I don't fit your little picture, right?"
He swallowed. "You're so..." He mouthed a few words but they didn't fit. "Chic and corporate and I don't know, not this." He gestured willy at some abstract idea.
"What's this?" She asked, imitating him, grinning.
He grinned back and placed a few more records on the table. "I don't know," he shrugged awkwardly.
"I don't know?" She repeated. "I don't know? Well, I'll tell you Mr. I don't know that you shouldn't presume so much, should you?"
His eyes met hers and for a moment he pretended she hadn't asked him a question just so he could pause and look. But then she pressed play again and went,
"So anyways, show me your stuff."
"Uh, I don't know," Ryan murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck as he walked around to take a seat beside her. He waved at a couple of records on the top, gave an stiff nod. "Got some Turtles, Stones, here's a couple Doors..."
Jessica leaned forwards and skimmed her perfectly manicured fingertips across. "Mmm," she murmured, fingering the edge of one slip where the corner had been torn off completely, the front spattered with tea.

Ryan had never felt so nervous in his life.
"Mm," Jessica said again, jabbing her thumbnail in between her teeth.
"They're not right," Ryan said, his instincts in his gut pushing his stomach down into his legs.
She took too long with her hesitation for him to think otherwise. "No," she said, "It's not that."
Ryan lowered his eyes and bit his lip, shoulders slumped, the buzzing eagerness gone from his eyes.
"It's just," she started, and he felt her begin to turn towards him in the seat, felt her body heat, the hair sliding over her shoulder, the faint breeze it caused past his cheek as it went, the gentle floral scent it carried with it. "Looking at these, they've all been, you know, loved. And I thought that'd be such a cute thing to have at my wedding, you know, a symbol of what Brendon loves in the form of something that, I don't know's, been loved too. But now it just seems..." She sighed and looked into Ryan face. "Corny. It seems stupid. And now I know you think I'm a silly little girl for having got so worked up about it."
Ryan did not turn his head, couldn't. He swallowed. "I don't," he murmured. "Think that."
"I just wanted it to be right. But I'm, I don't know..."
Ryan could hear her voice getting thicker, clogged up my emotion that she didn't want to be there, and honestly, neither did he, it was making him prickle all over and shift in the seat he couldn't get out of because it was so old and squishy it just dragged him back again.

She surprised him by getting to her feet.
"I'm sorry," she said, sweeping her fringe from her eyes.
"Don't be," Ryan mumbled, getting to his feet finally. "Really, just, I don't know. Take some time. Take a look."
"Take some time?" She asked, and Ryan jumped a little when she snorted in laughter. "Time is not something I have a lot of.
"No-one's rushing you."
She looked at him quizzically. "You've clearly never planned a wedding."
He looked about helplessly. "Look, I, uh..." He shrugged.
She eyed him closely but did not say anything.
" I just wanna help y'out. I didn't want..." He scratched his head. "Didn't mean to upset you."
Jessica looked down, gave a slight smile, a tense one, and then took a step back towards the sofa like she was thinking of taking another seat.
"No. I apologise. I shouldn't have come here."
Ryan's eyes grew wide and eager again and he hated that he could feel them doing it.
Jessica pressed her lips together, rolled her eyes a little. "You know, it was so stupid. I didn't want to ask Brendon for your number so I went through his phone. And then he saw me and I explained and we argued. We never argue. But we argued over you."
Ryan didn't know whether he was supposed to be saying sorry or thanking her.
He needed to get her out of his apartment, or keep her there. He wasn't sure which.
"Do you...Do you maybe want a coffee? Or something?" He asked timidly. "I mean, maybe now I've messed up your plans you have to go look for some other pretty vintage thing to go on your tables."
Jessica snorted and ran her fingertip underneath her eye as if she was wiping away an invisible tear of amusement.
"Fuck the tables," she murmured, turning back towards the table, and Ryan watched as she went and slowly took a seat again, sliding her bag off her shoulder.
He moved quietly closer to her until he was near enough that his extended hand was hovering over her shoulder. He placed it down there carefully, gently squeezed out the tension.
"M'friend got married last year," he mumbled, "I remember, she hired a dozen people to help but in the end she felt it was all up to her, she took on all the worry, she didn't need to."
"Yeah," Jessica murmured, nodding forcefully, "That's just what it's like. I keep thinking if something goes wrong on the day it's going to be all my fault, because it's my wedding."
"It's Brendon's wedding too."
"Yes. But he doesn't..."
Ryan took a seat beside her. "If anyone's gonna stress surely it should be you both. And is he stressing? It didn't look like it the other day." Ryan blinked back at her in surprise.
Jessica smiled slowly. "You know, you're talking a hell of a lot more than you did the other day. You a psych on the side or something?"
Ryan blushed and looked down. "Don't know," he whispered. "I'm a musician."
"Well, so is Brendon," Jessica murmured, jabbing her thumbnail between her teeth again, "And all's I get from him is, don't stress so much and it'll be alright. But I don't want it to be alright. I want it to be right."
Ryan twisted his hands together in his lap.
"What I mean to say is, thanks. It's good to have somebody else's opinion on this."
Ryan looked hopeful. "It is?"
Jessica nodded and offered another smile, and this time Ryan didn't bother to look away, and neither did she, and he sat up straighter, emboldened, swayed towards her a little before she grinned suddenly,
"So where's that coffee?" And he snapped out of it, glimpsing the flash of silver on her finger, and his large brown orbs sank towards the floor as he stood up trying hard to hide the disappointment in his face.