Afterward by Jennifer Mathieu Page B

should tell his parents they’re just wasting their money.
    â€œOkay,” he says, setting his pad down again. “So maybe she’ll come back. You two like the same bands?”
    He skips over Dylan so easily I wonder if he’s going to come back to him later. I hope he doesn’t.
    â€œI don’t know if we like the same bands,” I say. “I mean, she likes this one band called The White Stripes. I listened to them, and they were okay.”
    â€œSo it could be fun,” he says.
    I don’t respond. I guess it could be fun. It could also be really awkward. And anyway, she may not even come back, so why am I even worrying about it?
    I think about playing that Ludwig all by myself. I think about listening to Green Day songs in my headphones, closing my eyes and going through them and then opening my eyes and realizing I’m all by myself except for my mom checking on me by staring out the kitchen window every five seconds.
    â€œMaybe,” I finally anwer. “Maybe it could be fun.” I stare out the window again. I’ve already said more than I thought I would, and I really don’t want to keep talking.
    I guess Dr. Greenberg senses as much because he says we can wrap it up. As he walks me out all I feel is exhausted, like I’ve just run for miles instead of sat on a couch.
    *   *   *
    Because my life couldn’t be any stranger, when my mom and I arrive home after my session with Dr. Greenberg, Caroline is waiting for me in the driveway, sitting cross-legged next to her practice amp, her red Fender resting in her arms. Her ten speed is laying on its side in the grass. How did she make it over here on her bike with all that gear?
    â€œOh my,” my mother says as we pull in, and she presses her dark pink lips together like she does when she’s nervous or angry or mad. She taps her manicured nails on the steering wheel. “Oh, my,” she says again. Then she takes a deep, careful breath.
    â€œMom,” I start, my pulse racing, “I didn’t mention it, but Caroline came by the other day when you were gone, and we talked about playing music together, and I want to play with her, and we’ll only play here not at her house. If that’s okay?” I sound like I’m five years old, begging for a Christmas present that’s way too expensive.
    My mom’s eyes open up a little bit at my speech, and her eyebrows pop up and down a few times like twin jack-in-the-boxes. I’m waiting for her to tell me that she needs to talk to my dad and Dr. Greenberg and Dr. Sugar and maybe the president of the United States before she lets me play with Caroline. But she just takes a breath and peers out at Caroline. Then she finally says, “You’re sure you’re okay to play with her?”
    I nod. “I just want to see what it would be like. To play with another person.”
    Her eyes well up a little with tears when I tell her that.
    I look at Caroline. She’s eyeing the Volvo, scrambling to get up, still holding her guitar by the neck.
    â€œOkay, you can play music, but just for a little bit,” she says, blinking back tears. “Your dad will be home soon, and we’re having dinner together.”
    When I was little and Jesse would come over, my mom would always invite him to stay for dinner. She won’t with Caroline, of course. Not that I think I would want her to.
    We get out of the Volvo, and my mom smooths out her khaki skirt and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
    â€œHello, Caroline,” she says, her voice neutral. “It’s nice to have you over to play music with Ethan.” Like she knew all along this was the plan for today. Like it was already on one of her To Do lists. Find Ethan someone to play music with.
    â€œThanks for having me,” Caroline says. She glances at me and gives me a little half smile. “Hey,” is all she says.
    â€œHey,” I