Flora stood at the edge of her cramped apartment's balcony, staring out at the flickering lights of Dublin. The wind blew her hair back as she fiddled with the strings of the secondhand guitar she had bought. The same guitar that had changed everything. Music was a strange thing—it had a way of filling the empty spaces in her life, of healing wounds she hadn't even realized were there. She had spent so long trying to hold it all together—her relationship with her son, Max, her messy life, her past—and now, things felt… different.
Different, but not in the usual chaotic way. There was something new in the air—something good. But then, as Taylor Swift's "Call It What You Want" ran through her head, she felt that familiar sting of doubt: "My castle crumbled overnight, I brought a knife to a gunfight…" Those lyrics echoed what had been going on in her life for too long. She had always been a fighter, but maybe, just maybe, she was finally getting things right.
She strummed a few chords, feeling the comforting vibration of the strings under her fingertips. Her music teacher, Jeff, would probably say she was still playing a bit too fast, too heavy. But she couldn't help it—that's how she felt things. Fast. Intense. Everything hitting her at once. It was how she had lived her whole life.
From behind her, she heard a familiar voice.
"Ma, what are you doing out there?" Max stood in the doorway of their tiny flat, arms crossed in that teenage way that somehow managed to convey both indifference and deep annoyance. He was still wearing his hoodie, headphones draped around his neck.
Flora turned, offering him a smile. "Just playing a bit. Need to unwind, you know?"
Max gave her a skeptical look, as if he could sense that she wasn't telling the whole story. "You've been playing all day. Since when are you obsessed with that thing?"
Flora shrugged, plucking a chord and smirking. "Since it stopped making my fingers bleed, maybe?"
Max rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Whatever."
But Flora could see the small hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. In the past few weeks, things had shifted between them. Max had always been a tough nut to crack, and their relationship had been strained at best. But something about the guitar—about making music, about letting go of everything that had held them both down—had brought them closer. They still fought, sure, but now they also had moments like this. Little glimmers of something that felt almost like… peace.
"Are you hungry?" Flora asked, setting the guitar aside. "I can throw together something from the scraps we've got in the kitchen."
Max shook his head. "I'm good. Already ate some cereal."
Flora sighed, leaning back against the railing. "You're gonna turn into a bowl of cereal if that's all you keep eating."
Max shrugged, smirking now. "Better than the stuff you burn."
Flora gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Rude! I'll have you know I'm improving in the kitchen. I even made toast this morning without burning it."
Max laughed, a genuine sound that Flora didn't hear often enough. "Congrats, Ma. That's… impressive."
The two of them stood there in comfortable silence for a few moments, the wind picking up slightly as the night deepened. Flora could feel the change between them—the weight that had hung over their relationship was slowly lifting. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than it had been in years.
"So, what's the plan tonight?" Max asked, breaking the silence. "Another jam session with Jeff?"
Flora grinned. "Maybe. He's teaching me a new song. I've actually been getting better, you know."
Max raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I'll believe it when I hear it."
Flora laughed, picking up the guitar again and strumming a few chords. "Oh, ye of little faith. One day, you'll be asking me for tips."
Max rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the grin that followed. "Sure, Ma. Whatever you say."
Later that night, Flora sat at the small table in the corner of the flat, her laptop open in front of her as she waited for the familiar beep of an incoming video call. Jeff, her music teacher, had become a constant presence in her life—someone who had unexpectedly brought out something in her that she hadn't known was there. Passion. Creativity. A spark she thought had long since burned out.
The screen flickered, and there he was—Jeff, sitting in his cluttered LA apartment, his guitar resting on his lap. He smiled at the sight of her. "Hey, Flora. You look ready to rock."
Flora rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in her tone. "Well, you're the one teaching me, aren't you? If I look ready to rock, it's because I've got a good teacher."
Jeff chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Flattery will get you nowhere. How's the new song coming along?"
Flora glanced down at her guitar, feeling a bit nervous. "I've been working on it. But it's hard. I keep messing up the timing."
Jeff tilted his head, his voice softening. "It's not about getting it perfect, Flora. Music's about feeling it. Letting it take you where it wants to go. Don't worry about the notes—just play."
Flora nodded, taking a deep breath. She strummed the chords he had taught her, her fingers moving across the strings as she let the music flow. It wasn't perfect—there were still a few missed notes, a few awkward pauses—but it was real. It was hers.
When she finished, she looked up at the screen, expecting some critique, but Jeff was just smiling.
"See? That's what I'm talking about. You've got it, Flora. You just have to trust yourself."
Flora's heart swelled a bit at his words, and she couldn't help but smile back. "Thanks. I just… I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm playing catch-up. Like I'm always two steps behind."
Jeff's voice was gentle, understanding. "Everyone feels like that sometimes. But you're doing something amazing. You're finding your voice."
Flora nodded, her eyes softening. "Yeah. I guess I am."
They played a bit more, and the tension in Flora's shoulders eased as the music filled the space between them. She had never expected to connect with Jeff the way she had. He wasn't just some online teacher anymore—he had become a friend, someone who understood her in ways she hadn't expected. And there was something else there, too—something unspoken but undeniable.
"My baby's fit like a daydream…" The lyrics from "Call It What You Want" floated through her mind as she watched Jeff strum his guitar on the other side of the screen, his fingers moving effortlessly over the strings. She didn't know what this was between them, but whatever it was, it felt good. And for once, she wasn't going to overthink it. She was just going to let it be.
The next day, Flora found herself at the community center, waiting for Ian—Max's father, her ex, and the source of a lot of her stress. He had promised to take Max for the weekend, but Flora wasn't holding her breath. Ian had a habit of flaking out at the last minute, leaving her to pick up the pieces.
As she stood there, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently, Max wandered over, his headphones still in place.
"Dad's not coming, is he?" Max asked, his tone flat, resigned.
Flora sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know. He said he would, but…"
Max shrugged, his expression unreadable. "It's fine. I didn't really want to hang out with him anyway."
Flora felt a pang of guilt. She knew how much Max wanted his dad to show up, even if he pretended like he didn't care. But she also knew Ian's track record, and the last thing she wanted was to get Max's hopes up just to see them dashed again.
"I'm sorry, Max," she said softly. "I'll talk to him. Maybe next weekend."
Max just nodded, but Flora could see the disappointment in his eyes. She hated seeing him like this, stuck in the middle of their messy situation. She had tried so hard to keep things civil with Ian, but it never seemed to work. He was always slipping away, always letting them both down.
That night, after Max had gone to bed, Flora sat on the couch, strumming her guitar softly. The melody flowed through her fingers, a mix of the lessons Jeff had taught her and her own emotions spilling out in the music. It was therapeutic, in a way—a way to deal with everything she couldn't say out loud.
Her phone buzzed beside her, and she glanced at the screen. It was a message from Jeff.
Jeff: "You up for a late-night jam session?"
Flora smiled, her heart fluttering a little. She quickly typed back:
Flora: "Always."
Within minutes, they were back on a video call, their guitars in hand, and the night stretched ahead of them like a blank canvas, waiting to be filled with music.
As they played, the lyrics from "Call It What You Want" echoed in Flora's mind again: "My baby's fly like a jet stream, high above the whole scene…" She wasn't sure what this thing with Jeff was, but she knew one thing—it was hers. And whatever it was, she didn't care what anyone else thought.
They played late into the night, the music weaving between them, across the distance, filling the space where words couldn't go. And for the first time in a long time, Flora felt like maybe, just maybe, she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Whatever this was, whatever it became, she was ready for it.
Call it what you want.
