by Calia Read
I snorted.
She stopped packing and looked over me. “I know we’re having a small good-bye dinner next week, but you know what would make me really happy?”
“What?”
“Let’s Facebook Mathias.”
I lifted a brow. “Facebook him?”
She nodded anxiously. “Yeah. Find him on there. See what kind of person he is. Right now, all you have with him is that one night and a super-strict teacher. It’s messing with your head. You just need to see that he’s a normal person and all the … tension and nerves will disappear.”
When she put it like that, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.
“Let’s do it.”
Simone jumped over the stacks of clothes and grabbed her laptop off the table. She handed it over to me and sat back down.
It was stupid, but my heart was pounding as I searched for him. This could easily go down in the stalker category, but I didn’t care. This man was haunting my every waking hour, and all I wanted was to know more about him.
After a few minutes, it was clear that it wouldn’t be that easy.
“I can’t find anything on here.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Who doesn’t have a Facebook?”
“Apparently Mathias.”
“Change up his name.”
“I already have,” I muttered, my face still glued to the screen. “I spelled his name with two T’s. And then I just used Matt.” I glanced at Simone. “He doesn’t exactly look like a nickname sort of person.”
She snorted. “I think you’re right on that. Google him.”
“Google? I already searched for him on Facebook. I’ve met my stalking quota for the year.”
“Googling someone is not stalking. Watching his house for hours and stealing used floss is stalking.”
“Sounds like stalking to me,” I muttered even though I pulled up the Google home page.”
“Wrong, mein Freund. Facebook is amateur. Google is the big leagues. Now stop wasting time and research him!”
I typed in his name and stared at the blinker. It flashed over and over, daring me to press enter.
I finally gave in.
This time, I did come up with something. Mathias may not have a social media presence, but he did have articles about him.
A lot of them.
I clicked on one article that had the headline: Mathias Sloan wins Van Cliburn International Piano Competition. My eyes widened in shock. Winning competitions was great enough, but Van Cliburn? His career as a pianist would be set.
My attention drifted toward the picture on the right hand corner. I squinted and pressed my face close to the screen. He looked young—no more than sixteen or seventeen. His hair was cut short and his face free of any stubble. He looked so young. His head was bent over the keys. Even though I couldn’t see all of his face, I saw the slant of his brows and the line of his tightly clinched jaw.
The same intensity was there.
This process continued for the next few minutes. Each article centered around Mathias as a pianist.
It was proof that he was experienced on the piano and that he knew what he was talking about. I didn’t know how to feel about that. Would knowing this information make me even more nervous to play around him?
I hoped not.
I scrolled down the page and chose a link at random. The headline made my heart stall. My eyes were riveted on the screen. The further I read the deeper dread planted itself in me.
It couldn’t be true. But I knew … I knew it was.
“Did you find something?” Simone said next to me.
Suddenly, I felt guilty. As if I had caught Mathias in a moment of weakness.
Without thinking I exited the screen and quickly closed the screen.
“Nothing.”
I handed Simone her laptop and went to my room. My heart thundered in my ears.
There was no reason for me to lie. It was Simone. She was the one person I confided to. Yet, for some strange reason, I felt oddly protective of Mathias.
As if his secret was my secret.
K A T J A
The heat of summer started to fade away as we drifted into September. The air became crisp. The days were becoming shorter. The leaves were losing their healthy shade of green. Everything was slowly transforming, but I remained the same. Every day I was at my Steinway. In fact, I couldn’t remember a time when I sat behind my piano for so long. It became my home.
I started to channel my emotions into my playing, and I felt a change in the notes and improvement in my playing. Mathias never said so, but he wasn’t making me replay over and over.
“Katinka, how are you?” Oma asked.
I glanced at her as I grabbed three plates from the cabinet. “Tired.”
“You always tired!” she said in English.
Before Mathias, anytime I tried to speak English she would tell me I was born German, and I’d die German, and German should be the only thing that I should speak.
That was that.
I didn’t want to remind her that my dad was American.
Yet, Mathias spoke to her in English and she smiled at him brilliantly. She began to try out her English whenever he was around. Most of the time he had to correct her, but she didn’t seem to mind.
It seemed like Mathias had started a revolution in the Claussmann house, and I wanted to know how the hell he became the golden boy in their eyes. If Simone were here, I would be pouring out all my frustrations on her. She left weeks ago. At the beginning I talked to her every day, but now that she was back in school, the conversations had thinned out to three or four times a week.
“I found the material for your dress!” Oma exclaimed.
“Yeah?”
“It’s red,” she continued. “Dark red. Yard after yard of this beautiful velvet material. I wanted to buy every yard there!”
“I can’t wait,” I said idly as I set the table.
Oma stared at the table with a frown.
“Three plates? No Mathias?” she asked in English.
“No Mathias,” I confirmed.
“Where is he?”
“Oma, I think he’s at his apartment.”
“You didn’t invite him?”
“Didn’t realize I should’ve. It’s not like he’s eaten with us before,” I pointed out.
My focus drifted over to the sauerbraten right in front of me. It was a German pot roast and my absolute favorite. But it was torture because it wasn’t a meal that you could eat within hours. The meat marinated for up to five days. Every time I walked up to my studio I smelled it in the kitchen and my stomach growled. Even Mathias commented on the dish.
Oma looked at me with disapproval.
“What?” I said innocently.
“You should’ve invited him. He’s a single man. Alone. No one to make him food. He needs-”
“Katja gets the point,” Opa interjected as he sat down in the same seat he’d always sat at for the past forty-five years.
“If Katja gets it then Katja should’ve invited him,” Oma replied.
“I’m with him all the time,” I argued weakly.
“No excuses.” Oma placed the rolls on the table. When I reached for one she held the basket out of reach. “I like Mathias. He stern but nice.”
“He’s a pain in my ass,” I muttered.
“Katja,” Opa warned. He buttered his roll and glanced at me. “You’re improving and it’s all thanks to him. By the time you perform in December you’ll blow everyone away.”
“You know … I did play well before Mathias became my instructor, right?”
“No, no,” Opa said adamantly. “You thought you were good and Mathias is going to make you more than good. Remember what he said to you when you met him? Unmatched! That’s what he wants for you!”
That wasn’t what he said the first time. I could still hear his words being whispered into my ear. My heart started to do cartwheels just think
ing about his voice.
“Think about it, Katja!” Opa continued. “No one would be like you.” He patted my hand before he stabbed his fork into his potatoes. “That man … he’s going to change you.”
Already has, I thought to myself. I sat down and was getting ready to fill my plate up with food when Oma spoke.
“Before we eat, I go invite Mathias to dinner tomorrow at the Küblbecks.”
“Antje!” Opa cried, as if she threatened to steal his very life. “It’s dinner time. I’m hungry.”
His words fell on deaf ears. Oma already had her apron off and was taking a generous scoop of all the food and piling it on a plate, and covering it with Saran Wrap.
“Tobias. Geduld.” Oma looked at me. “And you come with me.”
“Wait … what?”
“Come with me to drop off this food and invite Mathias.”
“Why me?”
“Because he’s your teacher … and it’s nice.”
“Let me get this straight. You want us to go over there and invite him over to his own grandparents’ house?”
“Of course not. We are also giving him dinner.”
“So the food’s a bribe.”
Oma simply narrowed her eyes.
“Katja,” Opa sighed. “Just go talk to him or we’ll never get to eat.”
When I hesitated, yet again, Oma spoke up. “What’s the problem?”
Both of them stared at me curiously. Heat crept into my cheeks. There was no way I would tell them the truth behind my reluctance. The only way to wipe the suspicion off their faces was to go.
I sighed and followed Oma out the door.
As we walked down the street, I wasted no time voicing my grievances. “I don’t understand why we need to deliver him food.”
Oma looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “It’s called being kind. I thought I raised you better than this, Katinka.”
“Normally, I’m all for helping people, but not a grown man.”
“He’s lonely.”
I wanted to laugh at that. “No, he’s not.”
“Of course he is. An American man in a foreign land.”
“That’s a little dramatic. He’s half-German,” I pointed out. “And, his grandparents live here!”
“If you had no friends but Opa and I, would you be happy?”
My hesitance was the only answer she needed to hear.
“I see him walk in the house in the morning and out the door late at night. Every night I ask him if he has plans and you know what he says?”
“Busy nights at the bars?” I quipped.
“Katinka! He says no, just the television and his music.” Oma stared straight ahead. “I find that sad.”
If I were being honest I would tell her that I found it sad, too. But I didn’t want to feel anything for Mathias; I already felt too much for him. One more emotion and I think he just might own me.
All too quickly we were walking up the steps toward the front door of his apartment. My heart went into overdrive.
The same old lady that caught me and Simone walking out the door all those weeks ago poked her head out the door.
“Guten tag!” Oma greeted.
She said hi back, the careful look in her eyes never leaving. Then the lady’s eyes met mine. I could tell she recognized me by the way her eyes widened. I looked away quickly and hurried up the stairs.
The last time I was at his apartment, I almost had sex with him. That wasn’t going to happen again, but I was still nervous. I was going back to the scene of the crime.
Our steps were quiet, but in the small, narrow hallway they seemed magnified.
I strained to hear what was on the other side of the door as Oma knocked. What did he do in his free time?
Watch television?
Listen to music?
Maybe he wasn’t alone. Maybe he had friends here. Maybe one of them was a beautiful woman. Sophisticated and his age. Completely perfect for him.
The last thought filled me with jealousy. And I had no reason to feel that way.
Just my teacher. Just my teacher. Just my teacher, I chanted in my head.
Almost immediately, I heard movement. A chair moving. When the doorknob turned, Oma took a small step back, making me feel like there was a spotlight above me.
Mathias frowned when he saw me. He was dressed casually: jeans, and a gray, well-worn T-shirt that had PURDUE written across the front. Even when he didn’t try he looked incredible.
Mathias saw my Oma and gave her a charming smile. “Antje, it’s good to see you.”
Oma beamed at him and handed over the plate of warm food. “For you.”
He took it, that same smile on his face. I swear, this was the longest I’d ever seen the man smile. “This smells so good.”
I snorted.
Mathias looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Oma waved his words away. Like it was no big deal. Then, his gaze drifted over to me, and that charming smile? It disappeared. Wiped clean. Did he hate me that much? Couldn’t he at least pretend to like my presence for a few seconds?
I pressed down all my hurt feelings.
Mathias looked at me expectantly.
“Hi,” I said dumbly.
“Hi … everything okay?”
“Ja, ja…” I looked over at Oma, but she suddenly seemed to have lost her voice, looking at the wood floors as if they were the finest craftsmanship she’d ever seen.
Apparently, it was up to me to talk. “Well … we’re having dinner at your grandparents’ tomorrow night. You should come.”
Mathias leaned against the doorjamb. A sexy half-smirk appeared, making my blood burn. “Are you inviting me?”
“Nein. Me and Oma are inviting you.”
To me, it was extremely important to add in Oma. Almost as a sign of proof that it wasn’t my idea to come here.
“It’s not really an invite if it’s coming from Antje … more like a demand.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
“I was already going, but now I absolutely have to go.”
Oma smiled brilliantly. I braced myself to be blown off, but Mathias surprised me by turning back to me. Smile gone. Eyes intense once again.
“Katja, are you going?”
He said my name so innocently, but I heard the edge. The hidden knives within the way he said the A.
“I’m afraid not. I would like to … but I need to practice.”
Oma was glaring at me, but I looked Mathias stubbornly in the eyes. Technically, I was never invited to tomorrow night’s dinner.
Mathias leaned against the doorframe, as if he had all the time in the world. “You can take a night off.”
“I really can’t. The piano comes first.”
Mischief appeared in his eyes. He was getting a kick out of watching me squirm. “As your teacher, I think you need a break. I insist.”
“But-”
“Katja. Enough,” Oma interjected. “You are coming.”
Mathias lifted a brow. “Looks like I’ll see you then.”
I shrugged. Trying to make myself look as nonchalant as possible. But inside? Oh, inside it was a whole other story. I was already trying to figure out how I could get back at him at the dinner. Was it the most mature thing? Of course not.
But I thought all was fair in love and war.
Love.
How did that word slip in there?
Maybe I confused it with lust. People did that all the time. Yes, that had to be it.
Oma captured his attention. Speaking about what certain English phrases meant and why Americans always called each other by their last names.
The conversation over here flashed through my mind. I found myself peering over his shoulder, into his apartment. The television was on, although the volume was so low it might as well have been off. On the coffee table was a TV dinner.
My gut twisted with guilt. Oma was right. He did have a sad life.
“You want a tour?”
My gaze veered back to him.
“No. I think I’ll pass.” I took a step back. I didn’t care if Oma was leaving or not; I was getting out of there. “I’m going to go. Tschüs.”
I walked away, but before I walked down the stairs, I heard Mathias. Loud and clear. “See you tomorrow.”
K A T J A
We arrived at the Küblbecks’ house five minutes ahead of schedule, which was just the way my Oma liked it. If we were running late, her voice would turn shrill and she would start to check the clock every few minutes. Opa and I tried to avoid that at all cost.
Oma knocked on the door, and while we waited, she briskly smoothed out the collar of my shirt. “Katja, you look so nice tonight.”
I feigned indifference and looked down at my clothes.
“Thank you,” I replied, but paranoia started to creep in.
Was it obvious that I spent extra time getting ready tonight? If this were just a simple meal with Oma and Opa and the Küblbecks, I would grab the first thing in my closest. Tonight, I tried on countless shirts. I picked out just a simple brown shirt, one that Simone had left behind.
“Will you relax?” Opa said as he pulled Oma’s hand away from my shirt. “We’re here on time!”
“That is a rare treat,” Oma huffed. “You and Katja always try to make me late. I swear, you both are going to give me an ulcer.”
Opa and I exchanged a look.
“And I’ll die,” she continued, on a rampage. “Do you know what your Opa would do if I died, Katinka? He’d marry someone else! That’s what he’d do. Go find himself a young one and forget that I ever existed. But I’d like to see her make your precious-”
“All right, all right,” Opa said.
Before Oma could go on another tirade, the door opened. Talk about good timing.
Florian Küblbeck stood on the other side. He was extremely tall, his head almost touching the top of the doorway. His hair was completely gray. His skin was golden but had a leather-like quality from being out in the sun so much.
Oma enthusiastically greeted him. I watched as he smiled, noticing that the smile was contained. Just like Mathias’ smile.
We entered and our voices ricocheted around us in the small entryway. Florian kissed Oma on the cheek, then me, then Opa. Antonia, his wife, was right behind him. She was a short, plump woman with dirty blonde hair that was streaked with gray. Antonia always had a smile on her face. She always saw the best in people and always listened to the people around her. Sometimes I thought Oma was friends with her just so she could tell Antonia all about the woes of her life.