“Why you here so early?” I repeated.
“I couldn’t sleep so I planned on messing around with vocals in the booth. I didn’t think you’d be here this early,” she admitted.
“I always show up early, so when the artist shows up they can jump straight in the booth.” I pushed my chair backwards. “You can hop in if you want though.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I nodded and hopped up. I paused.
“Oh yeah.” I tapped my pockets to feel where my box was then plucked it from my pocket. “I got this for you.” I held the box toward her.
Her eyes jumped slightly. Then they went from the box to me, back and forth.
“You know I was joking about needing a bigger ring, right?”
“Yeah, alright.” I scoffed. “Well my pops wasn’t joking, and besides, I’m cool with upgrading you. Fake marriage or not, I don’t want nobody walking around talking about how I’m cheap and won’t cash out on my wife, especially for some shit that should be the single most important piece of jewelry I’ve ever gotten them.” I watched Myome pop the top open and her eyes widened even more.
“Ain’t no fucking way.” She forced a small laugh. “Drix, this is insane.”
“Shit ain’t two carats no more.” I chuckled. “Pops said you needed some shit on your finger that let men know you was off the market before they even spoke to you, so…” I shrugged.
Myome continued to stare at her new ring. It was nine carats, pear shaped with halo design and a white gold paved band.
“Well I’m sure everyone in a room with me will know I’m off the market with this thing on my finger.”
“Good.” I walked over to the couch and collapsed. “You gon’ stand there and stare at it all morning or get in the booth.”
“Drix, this is one hell of a ring.” She turned toward me, ignoring my statement.
“Act right and I might let you keep it in the divorce.” I kicked one of my feet up on the coffee table in front of me.
Myome laughed. She shook her head then set the box on the soundboard and slipped a jump drive into it. She tapped a few buttons for the music to fill the room, set it up, then headed into the booth.
I checked my emails, messages, and socials briefly but found myself staring at Myome through the large glass as she recorded. She had her eyes closed, one hand on her headset and her other hand moving while she adjusted the way she was singing.
It was a ballad.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard one from her group. They mostly did up-tempo music. Sometimes one of them dropped a rap in their shit. For the most part, they stayed in their lane.
Myome sounded fucking amazing. Her voice was good, even when it wasn’t buried beneath a beat and heavy production. I liked how stripped down she sounded and found myself drifting toward the soundboard without even thinking about it.
I adjusted the instrumental, letting some of the instruments drop off before Myome hit a high note. She didn’t falter when I messed with it. Her eyes opened but she followed through and I locked in automatically, making a few more adjustments on the fly.
When she finished, she blinked at me through the glass.
“What do you think?”
“I think you sound amazing,” I said immediately. “I also think your production could use a lil bit of work. Come out.”
“Okay.” She set the headset on the microphone and sauntered out.
I nudged my head to the seat beside me and she collapsed into it. I played what she had recorded so far, both of us sitting in silence while we tried to decide what we liked and didn’t.
“Check this.” As soon as the song ended, I started adjusting shit, moving her vocals and chopping it up, keeping the parts I really liked, moving the ones I somewhat liked, and fully deleting whatever I didn’t. “Now, I want you to go in, lay that first verse a lil softer than you did the first time, do that second chorus the exact same way, and hit that shit on the last verse, but once you get to the chorus round it out and float it.”