Life Is A Risk

Telling Isabella

The thing with booking a gig for Isabella was that, at some point in time, Isabella had to find out about said gig. Jada sat on the secret for a day, wrestling with how to tell Isabella.

She ended up blurting it out over dinner. Sonny had a late-night wedding shoot, and Carlos was off at college, so the two of them had decided to order pizza and were eating it on the floor of the living room, a cheesy rom-com playing on the TV.

"I booked you a gig," Jada says, as though it was the most casual thing in the world. Getting right to the point was better than beating around the bush when it came to Isabella.

Isabella froze, pizza halfway to her mouth. "You did what?"

"I booked you a gig," Jada repeated, ignoring the horrible sinking feeling in her gut. "To remind you why you play music."

"Jada." Isabella put the pizza down. "Sweetheart. I told you. I don't play anymore."

"Hear me out, okay?" Jada asked. "You don't have to say yes, but please, just listen."
Isabella bit her lip. She looked like she was having a mental debate with herself. Jada prayed inwardly. The only sound was a conversation happening on the TV.

"Okay," Isabella said finally, nodding. "Shoot."

Jada breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. This is the perfect opportunity to start up your career again," Jada said, in her most convincing manager-voice. "It's at a small, but well-known club, with a fairly well-known band that's super removed from your style. It's perfect!"

Isabella sighs. "I'm not sure, Jada." She reached out and grabbed the remote, turning off the TV with one hand. "It's been so long, but I still don't know if I'm ready."

Jada reached out one arm and tugged Isabella closer. "I didn't mean to push you. I just - I think you could do it. If you wanted to."

Isabella hummed noncommittally. "I don't know."

"Here." Jada shifted to face Isabella, reaching out to cup her friend's face with one hand. "How about this? You meet the guys. You don't have to decide whether or not to play the gig yet. It's there if you want it, but if you don't, we can cancel. But meet the boys before you make that decision."

Isabella was silent for a long moment. "I guess," she said, "That meeting the band would be okay."

A smile split across Jada's face. She knew that this wasn't a guarantee that Isabella would play the gig, that it wasn't close, not by any means, but it was something. It was something, and that's what mattered.

"We'll go tomorrow," Jada decided. "To meet the boys. We'll meet them at the club. Now let's finish this movie, you were right, it's actually not bad."

"See?" Isabella shoved Jada's shoulder playfully. "You should listen to me more often."

Jada laughed and nestled into Isabella's shoulder. They watched the rest of the movie in a slightly sad, slightly happy silence, the remaining pizza forgotten.

----------

Jada falls asleep watching the movie, which does not surprise Isabella at all. Jada falls asleep watching movies more often than she watches them to the end.

Isabella spends five seconds debating the likelihood of waking Jada up before gently pushing Jada's head off her lap and standing. Jada lets out a little grumble and shifts around. Isabella stifled a giggle when Jada sleep-sneezed.

There's a beat of silence and then Isabella moves. Her father still isn't back from his photoshoot, and probably won't be back for another few hours. She pauses at the door and looks back at Jada. It doesn't seem like her friend is in the most comfortable of sleeping positions (and she'll almost certainly have a crick in her neck tomorrow) but Jada's never taken kindly to being woken up, so Isabella decides to leave her be.

While her mother would have described the night air as 'cool and crisp,' Isabella thinks that a better descriptor would be 'freezing'.

Isabella finds herself wishing she'd had the foresight to bring a blanket or a jacket with her, because the winter weather combined with the wind makes the journey through her front yard extremely cold. For a moment, she entertains the idea of going back and getting one, but at the same time, she knows that she'll lose her nerve if she does.

The studio doors seemed tall and imposing. It was certainly different to the days gone by, when the doors seemed like they could take Isabella to a world where her problems were small and her triumphs were large.

The doors were heavy when Isabella pulled them open, although it could have been her own reluctance.

The air inside the studio is slightly dry and musty. Isabella walks to the piano as if in a trance.

The sheet on the piano is cold and rough when Isabella runs her hands across it. Somehow, she works up the nerve to throw it back, and then the keys of the piano are visible.

They feel like ice under Isabella's feather-light touch, yet the moment she feels them, Isabella pulls back her hand as if she's been burnt.

She starts to cry, because suddenly everything is too much, and it feels as if her mother only died yesterday and her mother is dead and she's not coming back and it hurts and it hurts in ways that Isabella can't even begin to explain because there are no words.

Her legs give out.

"I'm sorry," Isabella whispers in between gulped. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She repeats the words like a mantra.

Jada finds her asleep in the studio the next morning.

They don't talk about the tear stains on Isabella's face, or the fact that the sheet on the piano has been half pulled off.

They don't talk at all.