Give It to Me

The closer they got, the farther they went. If she survived high school being invisible, she can surely ignore Garrett’s presence for two more months. That was Mauve’s mindset after that fateful last night in New York City.

However, the bassist was not having it. He was losing his mind. Every time he wanted to have a conversation, all she did was find a way out. It wasn't that difficult to do when you’re playing every night and your only waking hours were spent in sound check and of course, eating.

Finally, they had a free day before another show in New Haven. Garrett was up and about earlier than he usually is. Sitting on the booth, he was writing an amateur screenplay on his Macbook about a ghost hunter.

Like clockwork, the redhead woke up at 10. She crawled out of her bunk, careful not to wake Pat who was sleeping in the bunk below her. She moved the curtain separating the sleeping quarters and the lounge-slash-kitchen-slash-dining area out of her way. The bassist instinctively looked her way. Mauve managed to utter a “good morning” to him without really looking.

“Yeah, morning.” Garrett replied, with a smile on his face. He was desperately trying to be casual. “I made coffee already.”

She nodded then headed to the small bathroom to brush her teeth. After, she grabbed a mug and poured herself some liquid caffeine. On the sofa, there lay an acoustic guitar and a few sheets of scribbled-filled papers. John was probably writing again. The redhead didn't want to mess with the vocalist’s mess, so she had no choice but proceed to the booth.

Garrett had enough and broke the beginning awkward silence. “You haven’t really talked to me since New York. Why are you so worked up?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

If he wanted answers, he was finally getting it. “Why’d you have to tell me that?”

“Tell you what?”

“That it was a date. Last week, at the diner. Then, the kiss that night.” Mauve sighed, staring at the hot brown liquid in her mug. “I’ve had enough guys fuck with my feelings.”

The bassist was baffled. “It was. Why do you think it wasn’t?”

“Look, I’ve been in this situation for a few times already. I hate it.” She was now looking at him. “Shit, there’s even this one guy who thought it was fun to make me feel special for months. When asked if we were together, he’d just say nothing.”

“I am not playing with you. I’m not trying to mess with your head.” He moved his laptop away and took her hands in his. “In behalf of the shitty guys who lead you on, I am asking you, Violet May, on a real, official date.”

She looked at him incredulously, speechless. “You are aware of what you’re saying right?”

“I am. I am terrible at this, okay.” Garrett confessed. “All I know is I started to care about you a lot. There, I said it.”

The whole group checked in to another hotel once they arrived in New Haven. Wearing the only clothing that wasn’t a t-shirt, jeans, or shorts she packed, Mauve checked her reflection on the mirror. Maybe it was really for this? was all she thought. He said the much clichéd dress code boys say, something nice.

“You look good.”

It was Kennedy and Pat, returning from being out and about the whole day. “Thanks,” she smiled nervously, “it’s a good change. I’m kinda over the t-shirt and shorts combo myself.”

She wore a sleeveless black dress with daisies all over and paired it with her trusty black Vans. The redhead didn’t bother to put on that much make-up but mascara and her fave Dr. Pepper Lipsmackers. The drummer and guitarist began watching Pineapple Express on HBO while she tuned their laughter out with a random playlist on her phone.

Once a knock was heard, the two men got out of their beds and answered the door. She yanked her earphones out of her ears and shoved it in her bag, together with her phone.

“Take care of her, young man.” The drummer greeted, letting Garrett in.

Garrett let out a conscious laugh. “Pat, seriously?”

“Listen, Gar. If Mauve isn’t here by twelve, we’ll hunt you down.” Kennedy announced, before Mauve swiftly went to the bassist’s side.

“We should probably go now,” she embarrassingly pleaded to her two roommates. “Mom,” looking at Pat, “Dad,” now looking at Kennedy, “I have my pepper spray with me. I’m safe, okay.”

This made everyone laugh as Garrett and Mauve walked out the door. “Well then, you two should get going,” the drummer chimed. “Enjoy you guys!”

The bassist insisted they did not need to ride a taxi as both walked through the well-lit streets. She could not help but ask. “Where are we going exactly?”

“You look beautiful.”

Taken aback with Garrett’s reply and still not losing the fan girl in her, she blushed a little. “You don’t look bad yourself with that coat of yours,” she smirked, “and you are not answering my question.”

He looked at her and grinned. Her lips formed a smile as if automatic. “First, we pig-out on sushi at this restaurant I’ve been referred to by a friend.”

“By friend, you mean Google?”

“Google is very helpful, Violet.” Garrett defended himself. “This is an official date, we have to eat dinner at a nice place.”

Their dinner was full of stories and banter. She aptly listened as he eloquently discussed his favorite Ryan Adams record. He asked about her experience at ASU with real curiosity as he never experienced college. They even debated which one between What Sarah Said (her favorite) and Transatlanticism (his favorite) is the better Death Cab For Cutie song.

After, they found a record store nearby. Garrett found some gems at the 2$ bin while Mauve sifted through the pop punk section. Suddenly, the bassist grabbed her hand and made her face him.

“We’ve got to go.”

“This is very Notting Hill, don’t you think?”

“I’m honored to be your Hugh Grant, then.”

“You know, trespassing into this highly gated park is just icing on the cake.” Garrett lay his head on her lap and he takes her right hand with both of his.

The two snuck in a closed park, one block away from their hotel. Letting themselves in, they sat on a bench.

She knew this was going to be one of her favorite memories. The kind of memory where you can recall everything: the feeling, the ambiance, and of course, the person. She’ll never forget how he hoisted her up and over to the wall. And the way they were hand in hand, walking under the moonlight. And the way he laid his head on her lap, looking at her like he didn’t also want to forget this moment.

“Again. Thank you, Mr. Nickelsen.”

He doesn’t say the usual reply. Instead, he draws invisible circles in her hand. “I like you, Violet.”

“You don’t even know my last name.” She laughed.

“Oh, God,” he closed his eyes in embarrassment. “I know everything but your last name.”

The corners of her mouth turning up, she replied. “Hudson. Violet May Hudson.”

She wanted to say she liked him too, but it wasn't that simple. This wasn't the typical boy-meets-girl story where they get together in the end and actually last. It was far complicated than that but until then, she wanted to savor every second.

After what felt like a lifetime, Garrett slowly sat up. "Come on, I have to get you home. Your Momma Kirch might kill me."

They arrived back at the hotel just before midnight. The bassist walked her back to her room. "Good night."

"Wait." He wedged his shoe so Mauve can't close the door. She stepped outside again and looked at him, questioning.

He looked at her. His body leaned in. Instead of her lips, his mouth zeroed in on her neck. She was anticipating the sensation of his mouth when he whispered, "I meant what I said earlier at the park."

Mauve awoke with the tapping of keys the next day. Her roommate was busy updating the band's social media accounts. "Morning, Pat."

"Morning," the drummer grinned. "I assume you had a great time, coming back late and all."
She groaned. "I am really beginning to think you're my mom now."

"Get real with me. What's the real score between you two?"

Before she could reply, her phone buzzed. She looked at the caller ID, sighed, and terminated the call. It was her mom again. Not that she did not want to talk to her parents, but she knew what they were going to say.

"Who was that?" Pat began to ask. "Never mind. Get dressed and answer all of my questions once we have coffee in our hands."

She put on her dress from last night and followed the drummer, already on his way out. They were greeted instantly by Kennedy in the hallway.

“Same clothes as last night,” the guitarist words trailed off.

Mauve groaned yet again. “No, Dad. I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Yeah, she didn’t. Wanna grab some coffee?” Pat changed the subject.

“Mind just bringing me some when you come back?”

“Sure. Iced, not hot?”

Kennedy gave a thumbs-up for a yes and headed back to his room to get his phone then knocked on Jared and Garrett’s door. Someone was joining the crew for tonight’s show.