Page 38 of The Invisible Roommate

“Seriously, if you had an album of lullabies, I’d play it for Kellen Jr. every night,” Angie added, with dust from a powdered doughnut coating her hands.

A woman with white hair wearing a pink sweater said, “If you had any album, I’d play it night and day!”

Gerard half winced, half glowed under their praise. Usually, it was Garret as the lead singer of the group who got all the attention. This was a welcome change.

“Let’s not give our new guy a big head just yet. We’ll save that for when he nails his first solo,” said Regina, offering him a clandestine wink. “Now Angie, you promised to show us some new baby pictures.”

The apartment smelled of baking spices when Gerard returned, still floating on the high of a successful rehearsal that morning.

Slinging his scarf onto the rack beside Emory’s lab coat, he asked, “What did you make?”

A green-striped apron hung suspended in the kitchen. A pair of airborne oven mitts clutched a baking sheet. “Cookies,” Emory said brightly, setting the tray on a cooling rack.

“Are we having dessert for dinner?” Gerard asked, drawn in by the alluring scent of melted chocolate, cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg.

“I figured we’d have them after dinner while we listen to your second album,” he said as if this were an activity they had already agreed to do together. Emory must’ve enjoyed their self-titled album more than Gerard thought. “The cookies need time to cool.”

Gerard had skipped the doughnuts at choir practice, but these gooey-looking creations were not as easy to resist, so he reached out a sneaky hand when he thought Emory’s back was turned. Before he could steal one to sample, Emory surprisingly and playfully smacked him away. “I said they need time to cool.” Up close, bracketed in by the counter and the kitchen table, Gerard felt the heat of Emory’s invisible body exacerbated by their proximity to the still-hot oven. His breath hitched up into his throat as he raised his arms in surrender.

“Go wash your hands. Dinner will be ready momentarily,” Emory said, stepping back from what might or might not have been a moment. Gerard wasn’t good at reading facial expressions even when he could physically see them, but whatever transpired there by the oven had felt as gooey as those cookies looked. He ventured into the bathroom, replaying the moment over in his head.

“You’re going to waste all the hot water,” Emory called after some time. Gerard’s hands had turned violently red from the scalding slosh he’d let go on too long.

When Gerard came to the table, he began to eat. Emory asked how choir practice had gone, but Gerard barely answered. His mind was too preoccupied by the cookies. “Are they from scratch?” Gerard asked.

Emory laughed in a way that suggested he was rolling his eyes. “Don’t make me enforce a ‘no dessert until you’ve eaten your vegetables’ rule.” Emory had boiled chicken breasts with a side of broccoli and potatoes. “But if you must know, they are from scratch.”

“What kind are they?” Gerard asked.

“Autumn chocolate chip. We used to have these at the campus dining hall every October, and they were a big hit,” Emory said. “I don’t indulge in sweets often, but when I do, these are the cookies I always crave.”

“How did you have the time to do all this?” Gerard asked. It was a more bountiful spread than he was used to, not that he was complaining. He popped another bite of potato into his mouth.

As Gerard ate, Emory went to the counter and plated the cookies, sliding them one by one off the cooling rack. “I woke up earlier than usual and couldn’t fall back to sleep.”

“Were you uncomfortable? Those pillows aren’t the best,” Gerard said. But in fairness, he’d frequented hotels with whole pillow menus, so he wasn’t exactly a good judge.

“It wasn’t that. I think I was too excited.”

His words swayed between them for a second. “About?”

“After we listened to your debut last night, it made me want to read more of that book.” His sleeve made a droopy arrow in the direction of the music and physiology book that lay open on the counter. Gerard had mistaken it for a recipe book. “While the cookies baked, I kept learning more about how the body reacts to music. Studying physiology and pharmacology, I got a three-sixty view of how the bodily systems worked and how various drugs could aid biological processes, but the more I learn how music works, the more it reminds me of a drug—specifically, a therapeutic.”

“Why do you say that?” Gerard asked, happily falling into a pattern they’d developed. Every time Emory talked science, Gerard sat up straighter and scooted a little closer to the front of his seat as if he were preparing to take notes. In some ways, he missed being a student. Since he knew his mind better, he could’ve asked for proper accommodations.

“Music can counteract the release of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline and even lower your heart rate and blood pressure. Of course, I was aware of music therapy, but I never gave it much credence, especially when it came to pain management,” Emory said. “Therapeutics are of extreme interest to me. I think my serum could be one if I learn how to properly flush it from the body when needed.”

After they both ate dinner, Gerard set the iPod to play Overload, and Emory cleared off a spot on the coffee table for a plate of his cookies. Even though he was stuffed from dinner, Gerard couldn’t stop himself from snagging one and taking a big bite. The cookies tasted like leaves crunching underfoot, crisp mornings, and a soft, knitted scarf tied twice around his neck. So much pleasure wisped over him that he grabbed a second before he’d even finished his first.

“Perfect example! Take chocolate—it has biologically active phenolic compounds, which have been used in medicines to treat disease. Other than tasting good, it’s been studied for helping cholesterol, cognitive function, and cardiovascular problems. You are physically putting that into your body,” Emory explained. “Music is what—vibrations? Our ears are taking in sound waves and translating them by sending the electrical signals to our brains. It feels too simple.”

“Sometimes simple is effective,” Gerard said as the opening track to Overload filled the room.

Crowded dance floors, world tours,

Bass so good it shakes the floors,

Naaaaaaa na-na, naaaaaaa na-na.