Sewanee laughed into her napkin.
“Ooh!” Marilyn exclaimed. “How about this? How about The Notorious Rakes?”
“Or just The Rakes,” Sewanee put in.
Nick looked at her. “The Rakes. Aye, that could work.”
“What kind of music do you play?” Marilyn asked.
“Americana, roots. But a bit indie. Singer-songwritery. Kind of.” He looked at Sewanee. “Jaysus, I’m terrible at this.”
Stu asked, “You got anything we can listen to?”
“Oh, no. We’re just getting going again, it’s not ready–”
“You gotta start putting stuff out there.”
“Ha, yeah, no. I’m not even sure I’m good enough to make this kind of music yet. But if something does come of it, I’ll definitely pass it along.”
“What do you mean, not good enough?” Stu went back to his plate.
“Just . . . it’s new for us. For me. It’s a sound that demands much more of myself than I’m used to and it’s, uh . . . got a high level of risk, you know?”
“So?” Stu asked, focused entirely on getting the right combination of flavors on his fork.
“So . . . I don’t really do risk.”
Sewanee could feel Nick choosing not to look at her.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not too keen on losing everything again.”
“How are you gonna manage that, chief?”
Nick chuckled. He took a self-deprecating breath. “Can’t fail if I don’t try.”
Now Stu was looking back up, smiling. “That’s a neat trick.”
“Ta, I think so.” He picked up his wine, grinning. “You’re dying to sort me out, aren’t you?”
“Who, me? No way. I got enough to deal with right here.” Stu brought a knuckle to his head, tapped it. “But you did say something that struck a chord with me–musician to musician!” He burst out laughing. “I didn’t even see that one coming!”
Nick joined in. “I think you see everything, Stu. What’s the chord?”
This had taken on the air of a friendly ping-pong match, as if each man had picked up a paddle after a few drinks and said, let’s see what you got. Sewanee and Marilyn watched avidly, spectators in the stands, enjoying every volley.
“You’re ass backwards.”
Nick threw his head back on a laugh. “Am I now?”
Stu chuckled. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, buddy boy.”
Nick stuck out his hand, welcoming Stu’s response. “Hit me.”
Stu sucked a tooth, took a moment. “You’re absolutely right. You’d regret trying and failing. But I’ll do you one better. If you don’t try, give it all you’ve got, you’ll regret the hell out of never knowing if you would have succeeded.”
Nick smiled. “Helluva chord, mate. Look, you’re right, I give you that. But it’s still scary.”
“So what? So it’s scary, why’s that such a big deal?” Nick was silent. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot, Nickster, I–”
“No, man, I know. I just can’t think of a good–”
“Because regret haunts you for the rest of your life,” Sewanee chimed in from the cheap seats. She hadn’t intended to say anything, but as soon as she felt the answer it was out of her mouth. She caught Marilyn’s eye. Her mother smiled sadly at her. “It’s like a ghost that refuses to leave your house.”
Stu bugged his eyes. “Why’s it gotta leave? What, you think you can get through life avoiding regret? Avoiding failure?” He laughed. “Spoiler alert: life is regret, life is failure. But like that ghost, you learn to live with it. Because failure makes success matter.”
Stu threw his hands up, out, encompassing the whole restaurant. “This kid, this twenty-eight-year-old chef with a Michelin star. You think someone just stuck it on him, like they used to do in grade school?” He gestured at his now-empty plate. “You think he made this, whatever-it-is, foam-cloud-thing, perfectly the first time? The tenth time? This is a plate of failure. Now, I’m not saying we’ll all get a Michelin star if we just persevere, rah-rah-rah. More often than not, things don’t work out. Speaking for myself, I flat-out failed way more than I succeeded.”
“But you were successful.”
“At times.”
“Overall,” Nick argued.
Stu shook his head. “But life’s not a straight line, senator. You go up, you get smacked down, you get up, you get knocked down. I put in forty-seven years with Nike, went from shoemaker to senior VP of yaddayaddayadda. And truthfully I was almost fired as many times as I was promoted.” Stu took a moment to think and drink before leaning into Nick. “I’m gonna be the old guy here and give you some blunt advice you didn’t ask for: Take the risk. Fail.” Stu turned to Sewanee. “And let regret come along for the ride.” He held up a finger. “A passenger, not the driver.” He sat back. “I’ve seen too many people get into midlife crisis territory wondering where the time went and why they didn’t do anything with it. You two are still young enough to avoid all this crap. The world is your oyster!”