Becca Back
Becca came to town. That’s how it starts—my ex-girlfriend rolls back in and suddenly we’re acting like we never stopped. Before the Tegan and Sara show at Columbia Club we’re on the U-Bahn already buzzed on Lambrusco and whatever that weird Beck’s Green Lemon beer was, the kind of stupid pre-game drinking where you can’t believe you’re both laughing this hard at nothing.
The concert itself is a blur now, which tells you something about the state I was in. Smoke-free venue, which meant nothing except the smell of beer and sweat and perfume and something vaguely like a döner stand. The crowd was exactly what you’d expect—some genuine chaos in terms of who was who, couples pressed against each other like they were the only two people there, lipstick smeared, the Quinn twins up there doing their thing with guitars, and that moment when Sara said thank you and it was somehow the sweetest fucking thing you’d ever heard. Red stage lights. A lot of very big cups of terrible beer.
The next morning I deserved the head I had. Seriously deserved it. Which is why Marten and Nicki found out I wasn’t making our thing—and I feel bad about that, genuinely, because I’d been looking forward to seeing them. But Berlin’s not going anywhere. Next time will be better. It always is.