![]() ![]() There were plans to go on to another party, perhaps to a club, but the goodbyes took too long and when the clock touched three, numbers dwindled until there was no excuse for Zoe and I not to separate. Whatever had hummed between us was still there. I didn’t wait for an answer, squeezing back through the window and helping her through. “Ah.” We fix our gazes on anything but each other. “Well, not seeing someone per se but sort of, I dunno.” “Yeah, I think so.” Neither of us make the next move, despite knowing what it is. ![]() I brought myself a bit closer, close enough so that our noses grazed and. I can’t remember if it was the first chorus or the second, but she pulled me a bit closer and she’s as tall as I am, so the gaze was direct and intense. She feigned disinterest at first, making a face which said, “Now who’s the cheesy one?” But after a moment, she took my hand again, and pulled me close. I played How Can You Mend a Broken Heart from the tiny speaker on my phone. I led her through the living room, through the corridor where friends were still debating the same things they were a few hours before and were likely to continue, through my friend’s bedroom, where, if you negotiated your way through the tiny window space, there was a balcony where two people could stand. She considered for a moment, before taking it. “Fair point.” There was a quiet between us, not quite silent, something humming. Two, coming from the guy who’s tryna dance to slow jams at a house party with a stranger.” “Maybe… How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?” And, besides” – She gestured to the room, bodies pressed up against the walls, the middle of the space, empty. Maybe it was the drink, but I felt brave. Be Your Girl was fading into You Don’t Know My Name. We both stood there, a little awkwardly, nodding to the music. I took the bottle, poured a little for me, a little for her, and gave thanks. It wasn’t quite a smile we shared, but it wasn’t far off. She was as tall as me, so the gaze was direct and intense. Her eyes scanned the scene, glimmering in the soft darkness of the room. That’s when a woman appeared beside me, brushing my elbow. All I wanted was something to tide me over before the walk home. Some ducked out early and others took a seat in the living room, tipping over tipsy toward drunk, convinced they just needed to rest for a moment. It was that time of the night, when the music had begun to slow and we’d long started to sway. The makeshift bar – a table swarmed by bottles and mixers – wasn’t in good shape, but it was the wrong side of the countdown. I patted my pocket for the tiny bottle of rum I’d split with friends, but someone else must have had it. I needed a drink, having raised my cup to my lips and come up empty. It was a New Year’s house party, and I was holding up the wall with my shoulders. Sets down her chopsticks and brushes a stray braid from her eye line. “We’re both adults here.” She slides closer to me in the booth so that our knees knock. Long, soulful cuts like these, where melodies loop and progressions build, take me away, elsewhere.Īnd then I’m back in the room, and without meaning to, I’m saying, “I’ve got this record at home. ![]() But I know how to feel, how to surrender to the plucks of a guitar, the croon of a horn, those choruses which speck my arms with goosebumps. At a house party, I’m more likely to hug my back to a wall than to slide across the expanse of a small dance floor. ![]() I love how the first notes you hear are as much an exclamation of joy as they are about tender heartbreak. As the song progresses, she sings along, matching each note so it’s not just perfect, but hers. I recognise the opening notes, those quick drum patterns, as does she – Joy and Pain by Frankie Beverly and Maze. “Better.” I don’t know what to do with this, how not to psych myself out, so I’m grateful when a new song starts up. “I guess so.” She smiles, her eyes glittering from more than the alcohol. ![]()
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