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how difficult it is to drink a standard mug of hot coffee quickly, especially while trying to appear not to be doing so. He was about two-thirds to the finish line when the question he dreads most was broached, from Rachel, naturally.
“How’s the music going?” Darren gave her a look of surprise, mostly from a sense of obligation to show a bit of consternation that she knew information about him that he hadn’t himself shared. Off his look, she added “You’re a musician, right? Jo said you’re really good.”
Jo nodded, looking from Darren to Rachel and back again, as if she was trying to convince both of them that she was quoted correctly. “I haven’t played out in a while,” is all Darren could think to say, the humblest response and also very true.
“You write songs and everything?”
“Supposedly.”
“That’s amazing. And what do you do in the meantime?”
“Whatever. Temp stuff, odd jobs that come along.”
“That’s great! So when you get on a roll again, you’ll be free to take time off.”
Darren nodded and took as big a sip as possible of the still somehow scorching brew, one more towards releasing himself from this hell. Though her words and the delivery were kind, he was sure he wasn’t imagining the taste of mocking behind everything she said.
“I could never learn an instrument. I guess I didn’t try that hard, but still, I’m jealous. I always dreamt of being a rock star. Oh well. Everyone has their own talents I guess.” Rachel paused for a moment and added, almost as an aside to Jo, “I’m good at other stuff."
Darren turned from Jo’s shocked but amused reaction to see that Jim had entered the room and placed himself in a position on the floor where he could see all three of them. He locked eyes with Jim and then looked away to the floor, as if in pity. Darren continued keeping his attention on the cat as