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French Press Coffee

"We are at Starbucks and you're getting black coffee?" I ask Cally for the thousandth time; they look at me with bored eyes. I'm sipping an iced matcha, with no cream.  Bouncing my leg up and down nervously. I'm about to play Cally THE song. The one I'm releasing in a few hours that I've hidden from Cally for months. 

Cally, my nonbinary, poet best friend puts their hand on my thigh. "Breathe Luce, If I hate it, you can just cancel everything". They joke and I roll my eyes. 

Starbucks smells like coffee and books, business suits and baked goods. It's the middle of the afternoon, it's quiet the place mostly empty.  "Honey, you're the greatest, talented at singing and songwriting. And babes, if all goes wrong you still have a pretty face to hide behind. You were like made to be a star". Cally says calmly and I nod. 

They plug my old wire headphones in, and I press play on the track. I see it start and spend the next 3 minutes and 48 seconds watching my phone play the whole song. I can't bear to look at their face. 

The song is called opera. It's not an opera. But I like the way the word looks. I wrote it during a mental breakdown (the time I write most of my songs) Cally isn't stupid, they will know what every lyric means, and who every lyric is about. 

When the song finishes, I look up from my phone to take the headphones back. Then I see it a look of utter shock on my friend's face. "It's that bad?" I ask slowly and then a tear rolls down their face. 

Cally NEVER cries. I think I've just won the lottery. 

"Were you crying when you recorded that? How does your voice do that, I- I. The emotion. And the lyrics! The lyrics holy shit Luce. Oh my god! My best friend is a genius. Wow. Are you- Are you okay? Like what the fuck, you need therapy!" They rant and I sit there laughing bittersweetly my eyes filled with tears. 

I don't know a lot of people, my parents died when I was young, and my grandparents raised me. My grandmother died a few years ago. It's really just Cally, my grandpa and my brother Jude. (I sent him the track and he sent a lengthy voice note about how proud of me he is) He lives in Chicago with my grandfather, they moved there last year for some medical treatment. My brother has a disease I have selfishly forgotten and never googled. I can't bear to know what he's going through. I can't bear to know I can't stop it. I can't bear it. It's too painful. It's to horrid. 

Cally finishes their drink and then we walk back to my apartment, it's a one-bedroom apartment, with a small bathroom and a kitchen that's also a dining room that's also a living room. I don't mind. There are books, empty teacups and papers scattered everywhere, on every surface. The piano is open and there is sheet music that's been freshly written over on it. 

It's not dirty, just cluttered. 

Cally moves some books to sit on the two-seater couch while I get changed in my room with the door open so we can still talk. This is very normal for us. We went to college together and boarded together. They have accidently seen me naked way too many times. 

Cally and I studied literature, creative writing, French and world musical theatre. Because I'm not just a perfectionist I'm also a multitasker among other things. 

"So, this song is going to be like, on iTunes at midnight?" Cally asks as I take my college sweater off to put a nice dress on. My record label is throwing a party for the new single. It's a new record label run by Ed Shearen. I've met him once in real life and facetimed with him few times. He lives in England and is the boss of my boss. It's called Gingerbread Man Records. 

Ed will be there tonight, I'm one of the first artists to go sign with him and so it's a super big deal. It's a lot of pressure. But if The Ed Shearen thinks I'm talented I'll take it. Though, 90 percent of the reason I signed was because Aaron fucking Dessner is my producer now. He's the most talented, genius, down to earth person you can meet. I've been a fan for years.