Chapter Text
God Bless the American Postal Service.
It took only five days for her little surprise to get to New York all the way from Cincinnati. This was definitely going to be a long shot, but the idea of going to Emily's apartment and not hearing the new arrangement that Roark was trying to play broke her heart. She didn't want to buy a new guitar while waiting for the other one—she had already spent a car down payment on it—so she looked for an easier solution.
Her guitar from when she was in a band in high school.
It was an electric guitar, so it was a bit different, but it would be a new challenge. Something that would take his mind off the memory of wood pieces on the floor and cruel laughter.
Before sending it, her dad took it to a guitar shop downtown for a tune-up. The strings were new, and she could see her reflection in the red details on the body. It looked absolutely beautiful, just like it had when she was eighteen and playing at house parties where the smell of weed and sweat clung to everything for days. She did have to buy a new amp, but it was worth it.
It was like riding a bike. No matter how long it had been since she last played it, it all came back to her the moment she connected it to the amp. After playing a couple of scales to warm up her hands, she started to play simple riffs. It was the usual nineties rock-pop vibe with an extra dose of teenage angst.
After trying it out for a couple of hours and making sure everything worked perfectly, Andy packed it all up and headed out.
This was a bad idea, she thought as she loaded everything into the car. It was none of her business, but what was she supposed to do? Granted, Emily was probably going to kill her for giving her fourteen-year-old son an electric guitar and an amp capable of causing tinnitus. But Rory proclaiming that he was done with music the last time she spoke to them was simply not an option.
Music was—no, scratch that. Music is the best remedy. No matter what stage of life you are in, there will always be a song that makes your chest ache with relevance and understanding.
Was it something he would end up doing in the future? Probably not. But having a creative outlet, a hobby where his brain could fully shut off from all the math problems, was going to be a lifeline. Andy remembered how important having that space had been in high school, when everything felt too much and emotions were too new and confusing. When worries about the future clouded her mind. Andy knew journalism was her passion. But there were also doubts about who she was when she wasn't writing a fluff piece for the school's paper or interning at the local news station. Who was she other than a walking typewriter?
First, she tried painting, and that was better left in the past. So she decided to stick with what she knew she could do—write. During her sophomore year, she took a creative writing class. Writing stories and inventing worlds where magical creatures lived among humans. Werewolves and vampire rivalries. A decorated female pirate falling in love with a beautiful redheaded mermaid. It was all fine and dandy, but she needed more.
That was when she found a beautiful cherry-colored guitar at a local garage sale. The moment Andy saw it, she knew she had to have it. Running home and taking fifty dollars out of her car savings was a no-brainier. She spent hours sitting in her garage learning how to make her left hand move without needing to look at it, stretching her fingers until they ached. By the end of July, she had more calluses than any other sixteen-year-old girl on the block.
(And even a journal filled with lyrics.)
During her junior year, the county decided to host a battle of the bands to show its appreciation for the arts. It was a purely political strategy by the superintendent, who wanted to appeal to younger voters ahead of the upcoming congressional election that he was coincidentally running in. He lost, but that wasn't what mattered.
What mattered was that an all-girls band called Midnight Girls needed a new guitarist.
Long story short, they won the whole thing with a Radiohead cover and some Andy Sachs originals. The prize was one thousand dollars and the chance to record an album. It never went further than playing local shows and school events, but it was exactly what she needed to ease the stress of college applications and high school romance.
Hopefully, it would give Roark that same sense of peace and self-discovery—even if only for a short period of time.
It was a bad idea to go up the stairs, but Andy needed those ten floors to get her speech together. Worst-case scenario, Emily screams at her, pushes her out, and tells her that she hates her, to forget their existence, and that Andy had completely ruined her late father's legacy. In which case, she might as well just die.
(She was joking…sort of.)
God, she didn't even check if they were home before getting in the car like a maniac.
When she finally made it to the door of the apartment, all she could feel was her heart trying to beat out of her chest and drops of sweat concentrating on the back of her neck.
It was now or never, Andy tried to hype herself up before knocking. It didn't take long as she could hear the subtle taps of footsteps on the other side. It was a melody that she had memorized, it was wholeheartedly Emily trying to walk fast yet composed. When Andy first met Emily, she thought it was because of the heels, but nope, it was just how she walked and it was so incredibly adorable. Andy let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, shoulders releasing all the tension her body had built for over the past week.
When the door opened, a smile immediately came to Andy's face at the sight of Emily in a light blue Dolce pajama set. Before she could speak, Emily's eyes dropped towards her left hand where she was carrying the small portable amp and then to the guitar case that was just over her shoulder.
"What in the bloody hell is that?"
"It's an amplifier, Em."
"I know what it is. Why do you have one?" She moved to the side to let Andy into the apartment. Andy didn't even have the time to take her shoes off before Emily continued to question her. "Andy, when I said I support your choices, I'm going to have to draw a line on supporting your most definitely failed DJ career."
"I'm not becoming a DJ. This isn't mine, well at least not anymore. It's for Roark, it's an electric guitar."
"What? Andy!" Emily responded in shock.
Andy quickly put the amp on the floor and raised both of her hands as a signal of peace. "Look, I know it's not my business, but I did something and before you start crashing out on me, I want to give this to Roark first."
"Fine," Emily complied easily enough. "He has been quiet, more than usual. Don't push him to talk if he does not want to."
Making her way to the teenager's room took shorter than she anticipated, but if this was truly a bad idea then Emily would have sent her home. Momma bear instincts were no joke.
Knocking on the door and waiting until hearing the soft "come in" from the other side of the room before opening the door. When she opened it the sight was not a new one, yet her heart ached. Roark was on the bed, head hanging from the edge almost touching the floor, in his hands was a beat-up paperback copy of The Martian by Andy Weir.
"Hey Rory, how you feeling?"
"Pathfinder just broke because of the evil drill," Roark answered her without taking his eyes off the book.
"Over halfway done? When did you start the book?"
"Today," the teenager responded like it was no big deal. Yeah, 17 chapters of a sci-fi. Light reading. Roark lowered the book to look at her. "What is that?"
"Well, I can't have the next Johnny Marr go dark on us," leaving the doorframe and fully entering the room and dropping the amp on the floor. Behind her she could hear Emily—the redhead now standing by the doorframe still removed from the scene but ready to jump in if needed—and Wynnie coming out of her own room asking if that was Andy. "You still need to practice while your guitar is being fixed."
She didn't finish speaking before Roark moved so fast he almost fell off the bed.
"Wha—What?"
"Andrea, what did you do?" Emily scolded but Andy ignored it.
"I found a place where they can somewhat fix it."
"How? It was in pieces," Roark finally responded after a couple of seconds of his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"The guy said they won't be able to reconstruct it but they will be able to use pieces of the old guitar to make a new one."
Andy removed the guitar case from where it was hanging from her shoulder. Roark took it with shaky, hesitant hands. He set it on the bed, taking a deep breath and slowly turning the zipper open. The shiny cherry red looked back at him.
"It's a bit old but we'll call it vintage."
"Holy Shi—a Gibson? Where did you get this?"
"It was mine from high school. It should work, tried it earlier," Andy said, raising both of her shoulders in a shrug and making a dismissive motion with her hand. "Years ago, that's not important. It's yours—if you want it, of course."
The force from the hug that Roark gave her was enough to make Andy almost lose her footing. Soft murmurs of thank yous coming from her shoulder where the teenager had smashed his face. He was growing almost daily, by the end of the year he was gonna be the same height as her. Andy hugged him back with the same vigor, rocking right and left. "You shouldn't lose your grandad twice."
She didn't dare to let him go first so they stayed in the embrace for a couple of minutes. One of Andy's biggest regrets was not answering that call ages ago, if she had maybe there would have been more hugs like this. More nights of the four of them watching a movie on the big television in the living room, tears and scrapes that she would have cooed and kissed better. Andy didn't like to dwell on the what-ifs but it was inevitable when she was surrounded by the people she loves and will forever love until she was just bones in the ground.
(Hopefully not alone.)
Rory slowly dropped his arms and went back to the guitar, picking it up. He then looked to the doorframe where Emily and Wynnie were still standing, he picked the guitar up holding it up so they could fully see it, Roark gave a smile so bright that the brightest star in the sky would never compare. "Do you see it? It's so beautiful and shiny."
"I see it, sweetheart. It's a beautiful gift."
Andy took the opportunity to look at what she determined to be the most beautiful view since she walked into Elias-Clark almost 22 years ago. Emily's nose was a little red and her eyes were shining with unshed tears, but there was a smile on her face. There was a pure look of adoration, one that did not stop when the redhead turned to her.
"Thank you, Andy," Emily praised, her smile never dimming.
Wynnie, even as perceptive as she was, was still a nine-year-old and broke the tension. Leaving her mum and going to her brother, she asked the most important question of the day.
"Can you learn Taylor Swift now?" She asked with the most serious tone a four-foot girl could muster.
It was almost midnight when she got home. Andy would usually stay and spend the night when it got too late…or sometimes when neither women were ready to say goodbye, but she had a meeting in the early morning for the Singapore shoot.
While she was in the bathroom finishing her skincare routine, the soft buzzing of her phone rang from the bedside table where it was charging. Leaving the bathroom, she went to pick it up, hoping and praying it was not a Runway emergency. When she saw the contact name, Andy picked up with a smile on her face.
"Hi Em, is everything okay?"
"I—I just wanted to call and thank you again. You are so kind, Andy. I don't know what we did to deserve you. It means a lot to him, but to me as well. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart."
"I just want you and the kids to be happy. There is nothing better than that."
"Oh please, I remember you saying the same thing when your silly football club won," Emily responded probably attempting to lighten the conversation.
"Thank you for the reminder," Andy fired back, knowing that her smug tone would make the Aston Villa in Emily's blood boil on behalf of all Birmingham. "You should wear the jersey more often. After all, a deal is a deal."
"No, shan't," Emily responded, trying to fake annoyance, but Andy could clearly hear the smile from the other side of the phone. No matter who disagreed, Andy would now say there were eight wonders of the world, the eighth being Emily Charlton, VP Creative Director at Coach, who would never in her life touch a football jersey by her own conviction, yet wore an Arsenal jersey after Aston Villa lost against the Gunners, making the North London team one win away from winning the treble. Watching them win the league at the Emirates was memorable, and to never forget it, a photo of the four of them at the stadium now lives permanently on her lock screen.
Breaking Andy's inner daydreaming, Emily piggybacked onto this evening's events. "Haven't seen him smile for a whole week. You did that, Andy. He only stopped playing because it was only a matter of time until the neighbors started to knock. But he has been listening to the CD—he likes the covers, but the originals are his favori—"
"Wait, Em, slow down. What CD?" As far as she was aware, she hadn't put anything in the pockets, but she also did not know if her father, wanting her to reminisce on the past, had put it there. Hopefully it was just some old CD that had nothing to d—
"The one that was in the pocket of the case. Darling, I had no idea you could write and sing. Roark is now saying he needs a journal to write all his lyrics. You inspired him."
Oh motherfuck—