“They’re colors. Middle C is sort of blue-violet. High C is lavender. The C above that is mauve, only brighter. Other notes are other colors, but always brighter as they go up.” She glanced at me to make sure I was following. “That’s how I could tell when Trip’s guitar was out of tune. The color was too dark. Then he tried to fool me, and it was too light.”
“Is it just with music?” I asked.
“No. Any sound. Like, your voice is a blend of red and orange—two of my favorite colors, by the way.”
“Does the reverse happen? I mean, do you hear sounds when you see colors?”
“No. But I can remember the colors of things I’ve heard.”
“Hold on… is that how you remember things I say?”
She nodded. “Other people too, but I pay more attention to you.”
“I kind of wondered,” I admitted. “I mean, your memory’s better than mine, but it’s uncanny how you can repeat my exact words sometimes.”
“Anything I’ve ever heard. As long as I’m paying attention.”
“Wow. That’s really cool.”
“I suppose,” she said. “But… it means I’m a freak after all.”
I sat up quickly and pulled her into my arms. “No! You’re special. Very, very special.”
She sniffled. “Sometimes I don’t think so. Yeah, I’m good at music and art, but you’re right, I can’t even do simple math.”
“Who cares? I don’t. Matter o’ fact, I think it’s cute.” I chuckled. “I used to think you weren’t paying attention.”
“I don’t. Not really. I never had to worry about time or money or anything else. My mom or brothers always did it for me. But… I can’t seem to focus when it’s numbers.” She shrugged. “I learned eventually, but I think I was in fifth grade before I could do my times tables. They wanted to hold me back, but my mother—” She laughed at a memory. “I think she threatened them. Their jobs, I mean. Like, for real.”
“I can totally see her doing that,” I chuckled. “What about your brothers? Do they know about… uh… what’s it called again?”
“Chromesthesia. It’s a form of synesthesia. The signals in my brain are cross-wired or something. And they know. My brothers, I mean. That’s why Rich has always been super-protective. He thinks I might break or something. Me? I just live with it. But I don’t talk about it, ’cause I know I’m different.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Sooner, I mean.”
“I didn’t want you to think I’m weird.”
“Of course you’re weird! So am I. But the only thing I care about is, ‘Can we be weird together?’”
“You really mean it?”
“Absolutely. I… don’t think I’d be happy with someone normal. I mean, like Gina or Leah or… any of the other women I’ve dated.”
“That’s a lot of women.”
“No kidding,” I laughed. “Although… I wasn’t really ‘dating’ most of them. Still, it took me this long to find the right one!” I kissed the top of Christy’s head and simply held her for a moment. “And I like that you’re different. Chromesthesia. Did I say it right?”
She nodded.
“That’s really cool. So… what’s my voice look like now?”
“The same red-orange, but with a hint of saffron.”
“Ha! A ‘normal’ person would’ve said yellow. Or orange-yellow.”
“Like Buddhist monk robes,” she agreed.
“But we aren’t ‘normal,’ are we?”
“No.”
“And, for the record, I think of colors like that too. Like, mauve isn’t the same as pink. It has more blue in it.”
“Exactly,” she agreed. “So… um… you don’t think I’m weird? For real, I mean?”
“I do think you’re weird, but I also think you’re perfect. Perfect for me, that is.”
* * *
Trip and Wren spent the next evening with Susan. They updated her on our progress, but then they must have stayed to hang out. Christy and I enjoyed a quiet evening by the pool, and we didn’t smirk too much when Trip and Wren returned and looked like they’d had an orgy.
Christy and Trip entertained us again on Friday evening. He was a pretty good singer himself, but he chose to harmonize or let her sing solo.
“I can’t believe I never noticed,” he said. “I knew you were an art prodigy, but I had no idea about the music.”
“I sing all the time,” she said. “Mostly to myself, but still.”
“I never listened.”
“Maybe ’cause I’m a woman?”
“No, that isn’t it,” he said firmly. “My dad’s produced some of the biggest women in country music.” He paused for a moment of serious introspection. “I guess I took you for granted.”
Christy’s eyebrows flew up, at least ten meters.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Trip continued. “I guess I always thought of you as Wren’s friend or Paul’s girlfriend, but never as a person yourself. I mean, yeah, I think of you as a person,” he added hastily, “but I never paid attention to what you do. That makes me sound like a real jerk, but…” He shrugged. “Anyway, since I’m apologizing, I’m sorry if you thought I was acting like God’s gift to women or something.” He glanced at Wren. “Isn’t that what you said?”
“Close enough.”
“I guess I’m used to being the best at everything,” he continued. “You can’t really blame me, though. In high school I was always the captain of the team, King of the Prom, you name it. It wasn’t until I met Paul that I finally had to face the truth, that I might not be the best.” He paused to let his words sink in.
“Wren blew me away too,” he added with a smile. “She’s the best at so many things. Not just cooking and— other stuff.” He’d almost said “women’s work.” He’d had a few drinks, and Wren decided not to make a big deal about it.
“Right,” he continued. “Anyway, she’s really good at a bunch of stuff I admire. Business stuff, like PR and marketing and advertising. I think we have a real future together, and not just in bed.”
“Oh, brother,” she said fondly.
“I never noticed how awesome you are too,” he said to Christy. “That was really dumb on my part. I can’t imagine Paul and Wren being interested in someone average.”
“I’m interested in plenty of people who’re average,” I said, “but not for anything serious. Like Lily. She was fun and cute, but not someone I want to hang out with. Not long-term.”
“Sorry,” Christy said.
“Don’t be. We didn’t know.”
“What ever happened with her?” Trip asked. “Never mind, tell me later. I’m trying to apologize.”
“Don’t let us stop you,” Wren laughed.
“I won’t! Anyway, I’m sorry, Christy. I didn’t mean to take you for granted. I’ll try to pay more attention from now on.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“And I’ll try to remember that I can’t be the best at everything.”
“Including being a swinger,” Wren said with a significant look.
“Right you are, babe!”
“Although,” she added, “you’re still pretty good at it.”
“But don’t expect me to swoon over you,” Christy said. “You have to put some effort into it.”
His eyebrows rose at the challenge. “Too bad you’re… um…” He gestured at her bikini bottoms and finished lamely, “You know, indisposed.”
“She isn’t sick,” Wren laughed. “She’s on her period. Women have them. Get used to it.”
“Yeah, of course,” he said. “But it’s too bad.”
“We can do other things,” I suggested into the silence.
“That’s really up to Christy, isn’t it?” Trip said.
“Whoa, that sounds pretty New Age,” I teased. “I mean, letting a woman decide for herself?”
“Dude,” he shot back, “I’m not that bad. I’m not as touchy-feely as you, but I’m not a total chauvinist.”
“You aren’t,” Christy agreed.
“But a little more touchy-feely would be nice,” Wren said. “You can practice on me.” She yawned and added, “In the morning. Sorry. It’s been a long day.”