I want to send a text about the dinner, about how awful Mom is being, how terrible Nana was, how good the food was, how much I missed California. But every text feels pointless, and when more replies keep rolling in, each of them responses to other conversations I’m not a part of, it feels like there’s no room to insert myself.

Like there isn’t a place for me anymore.

That’s overdramatic. I’m just in my feelings.

But still, it doesn’t feel good.

I leave my phone to charge, stepping out into the living room. Wyatt’s still outside, but he’s not on the phone, not anymore at least. The balcony isn’t a large one, even on the top floor. But it’s enclosed, offering this peek out onto the city below us, and way, way, way past that, the rolling waves of the ocean. I can almost imagine the warm sand in my toes.

I slide open the door, listening to Wyatt’s soft strumming. Usually his playing gets on my nerves, especially since he likes to do it when I’m studying.

But tonight, with the cool breeze rolling in from the ocean and the sounds of the city below us, it’s a nice touch.

“How are your parents?” I ask, walking out, leaning against the iron railing.

“Good.” Wyatt watches his fingers pluck the strings. “They were excited to watch Jeopardy! together for once, but they’re dealing with it better than expected.”

“Is that a song you’re playing?”

“What else could it be?” he asks with a smile.

I give him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, it’s a song.”

“Which one? Sing some lyrics.”

“I don’t, uh …” It’s hard to tell in the darkness, but I’m sure Wyatt’s cheeks are going red.

“Come on, I’ve never heard you sing live before.” I almost say in person but I feel like Wyatt knowing I’ve watched his videos will get me in trouble. “If I’m going to get you an audition, I need to hear what you’ve got.”

“Okay, but … can you close your eyes?”

“What?”

“I get stage fright. Do you mind closing your eyes?”

“You get stage fright, but you’ll post your covers online?”

Wyatt freezes. “You’ve seen those?”

I nod.

“You didn’t tell me you’d seen them.”

“Is that really information you would’ve liked to have?”

Wyatt waits a beat. “No, guess not.” He pauses again. “It’s different. When I’m singing to a camera versus in person.”

“Fine,” I tell him. “I’ll close my eyes when you start to sing.”