Parker was buckled into the seat in front of me. I could see his elbow propped up onto the ledge of the car window. Even from the back seat, the black interior of the large SUV made me feel like someone else. Like I was a pop star, driving from a press event to an ampitheatre, instead of a girl that played bass in an indie band, headed to one of Edmonton’s newish bedroom communities. But keeping me grounded, Parker and I were talking about the newest album put out by one of our favorite bands, one that had meant so much to us since the days that we were just kids jamming in a basement.

“How far did you make it before you fell asleep?” I wanted to know. “Did you hear the last song?”

Between the five of us in our own band, we’d pre-ordered one copy of the record and listed Grant’s ranch house as the shipping address. It showed up, a day later than it was supposed to, on audiophile 180-gram vinyl. Grant had a record collection more impressive than all of us combined so naturally he had several different turntables at the studio. Parker and I had set one up, with speakers, in our room, and the rest of the guys had done the same in theirs. Since the record had been charged to Rich’s credit card, they got the first spin. Parker and I had finally gotten to listen to it the night before our cruise in the SUV down Whitemud Drive.

Parker responded, “Last one I heard had like a hollow bass in the intro. I think it’s one of the ones with just a letter name?”

I didn’t have to ask him what he meant. A handful of the songs had only letters for titles: E, Z, U, O. But none of those were the last song. Since I had the bottom bunk in our room, I’d been responsible for turning the record over when Side A finished. I’d glanced at the dust jacket and the last song had a real title, “Undress Me”. I was curious as soon as I saw it and was practically gasping for air once I heard it. The title wasn’t even close to suggestive of what the song would be like.

“Okay, tonight you have to hear the last few tracks. Especially the last one,” I insisted. “It will…I swear it will break your heart but then put it back together again.”

The song had punched me right in the gut and then enveloped me in a soothing embrace. Tears had welled up in my eyes. There was a lot of music, good music, that came out of our scene, but there were few bands whose music felt as personal to me as Saves The Day.

“That’s kind of how every song on the album is though, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” I agreed. “But the last one especially.”

I didn’t think I was being overdramatic. Or maybe I was overdramatic by nature as a musician. I’d heard on more than one occasion that musicians felt differently and had amplified emotions, compared to everyone else. We all had bands that took us to higher ground, and when there were bands that we could collectively agree we enjoyed, it was to a varying degree. Parker loved Saves The Day, but not as much as me. The only other person I could think of that felt the same way as me was Rich. As teenagers, we’d had times where we sat in the basement of his house, playing the first few Saves The Day albums for hours on end and talking about how well the urgency and desperation of the words and music came together, how it felt like they were songs we could have written ourselves.

“Well, anyway,” Parker noted, “there are definitely a lot more spins of the record to come. There’s a lot to learn from.”

The bands and the songs we loved were always a source of inspiration to our own songwriting. In our formative days, part of the reason we began our band was because we wanted to capture that same sense of urgency. We wanted to make what meant so much to us, not just listen to it. Even though we’d had some success in the last few years, we never stopped learning from our peers. A new album from a band we deeply admired was an opportunity to study, brainstorm, and improve.

“I’m really stoked that this came out while we’re recording,” I mused out loud.

“We should probably stop talking shop now,” Parker suggested. “Ben here probably wants to throw himself out the window. How pretentious do we sound?”

From my spot in the backseat, behind Parker in the passenger seat, I had a decent view of Ben’s profile and his hands on the steering wheel. He was clean shaven and his hair was buzzed shorter than it had been in the last few weeks, short enough that he didn’t have to maintain it. I saw a thin smile appear on his lips at the mention of his name.

“I don’t mind,” Ben interjected. “The way you guys talk about music is the way people in hockey talk about hockey.”

Roughly all the time not at the studio and not out in the city with the band was time that I spent with Ben. Most of it was spent engaged in horizontal activities at his place. But the time in his truck, to and from his place, I picked the music and probably delved into too many details that didn’t make a difference to him. I knew his body and I knew what he liked behind closed doors, but beyond that, most of what I knew about Ben was through the music I played through his stereo.

He wasn’t as into the heavy music choices that I provided as I thought he would be. I’d started with the loudest and angriest selections that I had, remembering the first time I’d ridden in the Lincoln, when he said he was expecting me to play some powerviolence. It was a far cry from the music my own band played but it was still independent, still underground, still related. It was music that made me want to finger point and stage dive—something that I’d outgrown after many bruises. It got me riled up and I thrashed in my seat. Ben liked it, but he only nodded along.

I took a more ‘user friendly’ approach after that, playing music that was still hard, but less chaotic. I played melodic hardcore, which was meant for head nodding and pensive thoughts. I played some early 2000s Drive-Thru Records selections meant for singalongs. I played straight up rock music and artful indie. Ben liked Defeater, didn’t like the vocals for Something Corporate, and loved Sink or Swim, the first album by The Gaslight Anthem—so much so that we’d listened to it twice.

He didn’t have to like all the music I liked, because he was only sleeping with me. But at the same time…it was comforting that he could appreciate good music. I’d always been passionate about the music I loved and the music I played. As egocentric as it was, I always thought very highly of my own music taste. Knowing Ben could appreciate some of the same music as me made me feel like I was sleeping with a guy who wasn’t just some big, dumb, handsome jock, and I liked that.

Maybe that was why I’d agreed to go to Thanksgiving dinner, which we were en route to. I told him I would go but only if I could bring one of my bandmates. If I had Parker with me as a buffer, then it was less likely Ben’s friends would figure out that we were just benefits—they would just think that Ben had made some weird friends since he landed in Edmonton and we wouldn’t have to answer any questions. Ben suggested that I bring all of my bandmates. It would be a feast, after all.

But even if my boys already had an idea, Parker was the only one who’d ever seen Ben, and the only one I’d explained the situation to. I loved my bandmates, and Rich and I had been getting along well, but I didn’t want to have a discussion telling the guys that we were benefiting from Thanksgiving dinner with hockey players because I was sharing benefits with one.

Parker nearly lost his shit when I asked him if he would go with me and told him about Ben’s occupation. Parker was the only gay member in our band and the only one who somewhat followed the NHL. He must’ve been the only person from British Columbia who liked hockey but also hated the Vancouver Canucks, and it was exactly why he agreed to go with me. He said he liked the thought of rubbing shoulders with some Oilers. He also said that I really needed to look Ben up on YouTube, because apparently he had some ‘interesting’ history with the Canucks, and any of our Canucks fan friends from back home would hate me if they knew who I was hooking up with.

I was glad Parker was with me. Ben was pretty quiet when we were alone together. There was no way I could get through a couple hours of niceties with strangers without a little help from one of my own friends; I knew Ben wasn’t going to speak up and be much help. So we were three on the way to his friends’ house—four, if you counted Roscoe. The kitten had been clawing at the cage door of his carrier for the last ten minutes. I’d just watched him, sitting on my hands and forcing myself not to let him out. I knew the carrier was for his own safety while we were in the car, but I couldn’t take it anymore and unlatched the door as soon as we drove past the welcome signs of a residential community. Roscoe skipped right into my lap while Ben and Parker carried on their conversation.

When we pulled into the driveway of a brick-faced townhouse, I unbuckled my seatbelt and scooped Roscoe up. Parker was first out of the car and opened the door for me. He grinned at me and wiggled his eyebrows as if to say he understood why I did what I was doing with Ben. I rolled my eyes at my friend as we followed Ben to the front door.

It was a bubbly little blonde who answered the ring of the doorbell.

“Benny, you’re here!” she exclaimed and followed up the outburst with a big hug. A few seconds passed before she noticed Parker and me standing on the steps behind Ben and then her smile reached from ear to ear. “And you brought friends!”

Ben responded with a chuckle and patted her shoulder. “Just like you asked. Where’s Barks?”

“Oh, this is awesome! Come on in, you guys!” The excitement never left her voice. “Cam is out on the deck grilling corn right now. He’ll be thrilled!”

She was a little ball of energy, a very gracious and attentive host. She made a big deal about taking our coats and having us sit down in the living room before finally introducing herself as Kelsey. Her husband Cam, ‘Barks’ as Ben called him, was the next introduction, handing all of us bottles of Sam Adams Octoberfest. The beer was malty, dark, and very seasonally appropriate.

There was a huge chance that I learned more about Kelsey and Cam in the next 15 minutes than I’d learned about Ben in the last month. Cam was from Winnipeg and they’d met in Medicine Hat—Kelsey’s hometown—when he played junior hockey there. They were high school sweethearts. Both of them were 25. They liked Edmonton because it reminded them of home. Kelsey said it was the first time in a long time that Thanksgiving Day had the feel she was looking for. As someone who’d been born and raised on Vancouver Island, and not very used to real weather, it was almost like telling me she enjoyed the sound of nails on a chalkboard. I constantly hoped that the first snowfall wouldn’t come until after my band and I had left town.

Ben hadn’t lied about the feast. We’d been the second group of people to arrive and when it was time to eat there was a group of ten people in total flanking the table. If anyone planned on propping their elbows up, they were out of luck. Between the turkey, the eight different side dishes (there was even a vegan option), the spiral ham, the plates, and the wine glasses, there was barely any shoulder room. I was in between Ben and Parker, and Ben’s body was wide enough that I was practically jammed up against his ribs in the cramped space.

Just as Ben had promised, though, dinner was fine. Besides practically sitting in his lap, he didn’t touch me and no one asked what was going on between us. Cam and Ben’s teammate—I didn’t know his first name because they only referred to him as ‘Jonesy’—was the glue for most of the meal. He had great stories about the streets of downtown Nashville at 2 AM and enough puns to go around for dessert. People had side conversations among themselves. Parker and I took pictures of our food for Instagram, and then he had to explain what Instagram was to the non-iPhone users in the room.

From there, Parker became just another one of the guys in the room. I would have bet he was the most punk rock and had the best music taste of all of them. That usually meant somebody that was a bit standoffish and avoided social situations with ‘normal’ people, but actually, I also would have bet that he was the coolest guy in the room.

In one of our rare lengthy conversations, Ben told me that playing major junior hockey was the opposite of being one of the most popular kids in high school. He hadn’t hung around after school, he didn’t get to know his classmates well, and he didn’t go to any of the school dances. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do those things, but hockey meant more and it was all-encompassing.

If Ben and his teammates all had the same experiences as teenagers, well Parker definitely had them beat there. For one, he was the drummer of The Automatic Flowers, the most coveted position in the band. He knew about things—sports, math, technology, skateboarding, and literature. Plus, Parker had skater-heartthrob good looks: dimples in his olive complexion, shaggy dark hair, and puppy dog eyes. And while neither Ben nor I had gone to any dances, well, Parker used the spring dance of our senior year to announce by the way, I’m gay.

I smiled while I watched one of my best friends interacting with the hockey guys and their friends later, when dinner had been devoured. They were out on the deck, their voices and the chilly October air floating inside through the open sliding door.

“How long have you two been dating?” Kelsey asked me.

We were sitting in the living room, slowly swirling and drinking the last of the wine. At our feet, Roscoe was playing with his buddies, Jester and Lola, the cats that belonged to Kelsey.

I glanced at her momentarily before I looked back outside. Shit. Ben and Parker were standing next to each other. She must’ve thought that I’d been admiring Ben. The woman was smart. Ben had left me alone for the most part, but if she thought I was looking at him, and if she’d seen the coy smiles we’d briefly exchanged when he handed me a piece of pie earlier, then she knew.

“We’re…” I paused. “We’re not together.”

“Really? You guys look so cute together,” she suggested. “Is it because of the band thing? No intra-band dating allowed?”

“Do you mean Parker?” I squinted at her. Okay, so she didn’t know. And she did see me looking at my drummer. “He isn’t my boyfriend. Parker is gay.”

Kelsey’s cheeks went crimson as the dots connected in her head. The next thing she said was long and drawn out. “Ohhhhhhhh.”

“Wait,” she followed up soon after. “Who did you mean when you said you aren’t together?”

It was my turn to turn crimson. She hadn’t assumed anything about Ben and me. She hadn’t even been clued in. I’d just informed her all on my own.

“Oh, I get it.” A smirk formed on Kelsey’s lips. “You’re the one Ben’s been spending all his time with. No wonder he hasn’t come around with much frequency.”

“That’s me,” I replied weakly, well aware that I’d be in the awkward position of answering questions about the guy I was sleeping with next.

“How’s that going for you?” she wondered, “being with Ben but not being with Ben?”

If I cared what strangers thought of me, I probably would have feared to know what she thought of me, as nice of a person as she was. Kelsey obviously wasn’t one of those girls who’d latched onto a hockey player for financial security or to be seen. She was married to Cam who she’d known since high school. In her time being a hockey girlfriend and then a hockey wife, she’d probably seen her share of bottom feeders with their claws latched onto her husband’s teammates. Would it make a difference to her if I told her I didn’t even know about Ben’s occupation when we met at the bar, or that we were only enjoying each other until my band left town? Did it matter to me if it did make a difference to her?

Good thing I didn’t care. I’d been worried about answering questions about my non-relationship with Ben, and I was pretty sure the rest of my conversation with Kelsey was going to be a bit uncomfortable, but her judgment wasn’t going to hurt me.

“I think it’s going well,” I answered honestly. “We provide each other with what we want.”

There was no denying that Ben and I had gotten comfortable with our arrangement. We didn’t ask each other personal questions. We didn’t open up. We had sex. And let me tell you, it was amazing. Ben was…experienced. Not to say that Rich had been bad—we’d been on tour so much during the course of our relationship that any sex was good sex. Rich had never left me unsatisfied. But Ben was on a different level. He didn’t ever ask if I was okay or if it hurt or if I liked what he was doing. He already knew. He kept calling and I kept going back for more. No way did I want to stop, not until I had to leave.

Kelsey took a sip of her wine and cleared her throat. “You don’t know Benny very well, do you?”

I knew that I definitely didn’t call him Benny. I knew his last name, Eager (which I thought was like a pun itself), but I’d never used it to find out any information about him like Parker suggested. I didn’t know where Ben was from or exactly how old he was. He knew what I liked and I knew what he liked, which for our purposes, was more important.

I shrugged. “I guess not.”

“I’ve known Ben for a couple of years. I practically lived with him when he and Cam were roommates,” Kelsey told me. “He’s almost like a brother at this point.”

“Okay…”

“Is it okay if I tell you a few things about him?” Kelsey asked. “I know that he’s pretty quiet unless he’s chirping at guys on the ice.”

She had me curious there. Ben wasn’t much of a talker. Even on that first night at the bar, when I went home with him, I’d done most of the talking. And when he’d driven me home after, his questions had been forced, which was why I thought he wasn’t very smooth. He was a man of few words.

So I obliged Kelsey. “Sure.”

“Obviously he’s a guy and he’s not going to turn down the opportunity to sleep with someone he finds hot. But be careful with him,” she advised. “He won’t stop you from breaking his heart either. He’s more fragile than you think.”

Notes

Just two quick things I want to point out to avoid confusion:
- For anyone who is a bit rusty on their Canadian geography (and why wouldn't you be? hehe), I think I should point out that the city of Victoria, BC is located on Vancouver Island. Vancouver Island is different from the city of Vancouver, BC, which is on the lower mainland of BC. As stated earlier in the story, Delia grew up in Victoria (Vancouver Island) and moved to Vancouver, later, with the band.
- Instagram, as we're all aware, is available to Apple and Android users now but it wasn't available for Android users until March 2012. This Canadian Thanksgiving chapter takes place months before that, when it was exclusive to iPhone, iPod, and iPad.

Extended Chapter Notes

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