“That was a bloodbath,” Lydia noted, and I laughed.
I’m sure she’ll curve it, I replied, and Lydia raised a brow. She wouldn’t let the whole class fail.
I wouldn’t put it past her, Lydia signed to me, seeming skeptical of my assumption. Sometimes I wished others could see her the way that I did. She’d changed for me over the past few months, even with her stern outward demeanor. Juliet was gentler now. Kinder.
We walked quietly for a while until we’d made it out of the building. I had another final that afternoon before I’d be free. Lydia, however, was going home to pack, I was sure. There was a lump in my throat as we stood out by the parking lot.
“I’ll see you tonight?” I asked, and she nodded. “We’ll grab something to eat before I take you over to the airport.”
Lydia looked just as pained as I had. We smiled at one another briefly before I gave her a wave and headed inside.
A few hours later, after another set of grueling final exams, I picked up Lydia from the parking lot and we made our way south towards the city. She looked as if she’d already been crying, even before we’d met. While we drove, we distracted one another, chatting about the upcoming season at the Oslo Opera House, and what shows they were planning for the year. I could see it in my friend’s eyes how excited she was. It gave me comfort knowing that even though we’d be apart, she was happy. That this was what she’d wanted.
We grabbed a bite to eat at Lydia’s favorite sushi place on the northern outskirts of New York. At least once a week when we were at NYU, we’d find ourselves there.
After we’d cleaned our plates, finished people watching and laughing about memories of the past semester, Lydia’s face suddenly grew serious. I could tell by the way she was looking at me that whatever was going to follow, it wasn’t something I was going to like. I had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with Juliet. We’d done a good job of keeping ourselves under wraps, so I highly doubted she had any idea.
Unfortunately, I was surprised. “Please be careful,” Lydia said to me, quietly, reaching out to take my hand across the table. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I feel like you’re making a mistake.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, curiously, though I had a perfectly good idea. Lydia seemed to be annoyed with the fact that I was skirting around the obvious.
“You and Juliet,” she replied, releasing my hand to take a sip of water. Once she had, she returned her gaze back on me. “You’ve got a brilliant career in front of you.”
“That won’t be impacted, even if I was involved with her,” I replied, my eyes narrowing. “Not that I’m saying that I am.”
Lydia’s lip curled downward, looking somewhat frustrated. “Emma, you couldn’t hide it even if you tried. It’s clear to anyone who’s paying attention. Something happened between you two. Something big. You’ve been gone every weekend for a month. You two can’t be in the same room with one another at school. Every time I look at you, you’re stealing glances at each other...” Her voice trailed off. I couldn’t tell if she was genuinely concerned or jealous or both.
“We’ve got it under control,” I whispered quietly, finally deciding to admit it aloud. Lydia looked relieved that at least I’d done that much.
“All I’m saying is you need to be careful,” Lydia said in the same quiet way. “Think about your future.”
“She’s a part of that future, Lydia,” I replied, realizing I wanted that more than I’d wanted just about anything in my entire life.
Lydia leaned back in her chair, seeming as if she was pondering over how to reply. Finally, she gave a small shrug. “You know, you could always just come to Norway.” She hadn’t mentioned it in a while, and the words spewing from her mouth roused a smile from me. “There’s always a seat for you in the orchestra. My dad will make it happen.”
“Norway is an awfully long way from New York City,” I reminded her, in my careful way of saying that I wouldn’t give up on my dream, the ones that were here, in this state, in this country, waiting for me to take them. It was only a matter of time.
“I’m just saying,” Lydia smiled at me, as she waved down the waiter for the check. “Dreams can change.”
By the time I’d made it to the parking garage of the Lincoln Center, I was a slobbery, crying mess. The car ride from the airport had been horrendously long, stuck in Manhattan traffic. Lydia and I had said our goodbyes on the sidewalk of the terminal drop-off. It was brief. There wasn’t enough time to tell her everything I wanted to say. I hadn’t stopped crying after she’d finally left me to head inside.
Once I’d parked, I finally breathed normally, trying my best to maintain my composure. By now, the show would be mostly over. I’d initially planned to go back to Juliet’s for the evening to wait for her, but I didn’t want to be alone in her apartment.
The closing number for the Philharmonic show was Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries. It looked as if was just beginning as I’d entered David Geffen Hall. I could tell by the way the horns played. They’d stand together in a row, almost at attention, bellowing out into the theater. One of the ushers I’d made friends with helped me sneak into a box seat on the second floor. Never in my life did I ever think I’d sit in such a place, which was usually reserved for special guests or for those with deep pockets. It was empty, which was surprising.
Below, the orchestra continued through the song. In the strings, I could make out Juliet sitting at first chair. While the winds had the more prominent and recognizable portion of the song, the strings part was complicated and interwoven beneath. I couldn’t see Juliet’s face, but it was easy to make out her bowing from my seat.
I lost myself in the sea of musicians, trying to follow along with the song. As it reached its bellowing and triumphant conclusion, the audience rose to their feet in standing ovation. The orchestra took their bows and then filed off the stage neatly. As soon as they had, I reached into my coat for my phone, texting Juliet that I’d been at the show and where I was. While I waited for her to come, I people-watched from the box seat, enjoying the view. The entire theater had nearly emptied out before I caught a wave of black in my peripheral.
Juliet was smiling for a second at me when I turned to look at her, before her face transformed into a look of concern. She sat beside me, her hand wrapping under my chin. My eyes fell to her lips as she spoke. “Ms. Beckham got to the airport safely?” I was surprised, in all of Juliet’s disdain for my friend, that she’d asked such a question. I nodded. “Good,” she replied, releasing from me.
We sat back in our seats, sitting together without conversing. Juliet took my hand, holding it in her own. I found myself crying for a minute, and she let me without questioning. When I finally recovered, we turned our attention back towards one another.
“Are you ready to go?” I asked her, noticing her violin case at her feet.
“Almost,” Juliet replied, getting up from her seat. I followed her out of the box and down the set of stairs. There was still a collection of people in the main hall of the Lincoln Center, but we didn’t stay there long. Instead, I followed Juliet down a long hallway, towards the back of the building. I didn’t ask questions. Not until we’d made our way to the backstage of David Geffen Hall.
“What are we doing here?” I asked to Juliet’s backside. She didn’t turn back to me, weaving her way through electrical equipment, spare stands and chairs, and a few straggling musicians still standing in the wings. We walked through one of the tall wooden panels that marked the side entrance to the main stage. As soon as Juliet started to make her way out onto the stage, I froze at the start of the polished wood flooring that marked its beginning. She made it a few paces out before she realized I wasn’t behind her. When she turned, she was smiling.
“I can’t,” I said, feeling my heart quickening in my chest. I’d never stood in the wings, nevertheless imagined myself walking onto it. Not yet, anyway. Juliet turned away from me again, continuing to walk further out on the stag
e. Finally, my anxiety settled somewhat, and I managed to weave my way out through the sea of chairs and stands to get to her. In the center of the stage were the two L-model Steinways that had stolen my heart since I was a young girl.
We’d approached the older model. A piano that musicians like Miranda and Emerson had both sat at on many occasions throughout their career. A slew of the world’s premiere pianists. I made out the nick in the wood on its right leg and the long set of scratches on its raised top. It had been damaged while being moved from its previous location, but the thing had such a unique sound to it, they hadn’t had the heart to get a new piano.
Miranda had always requested this piano. The “Ugly Duckling”, she’d called it. She said its imperfect state always drew her in. It told a story that its sister piano couldn’t. It had been the piano that I’d hoped to be able to play one day. The piano that my dreams had been filled with for years. Before I knew it, I was standing right over top of it, next to Juliet.
I watched as she pulled the shiny cushioned bench out from underneath it. My breath caught in my throat, in disbelief of what was happening.
“Sit,” Juliet said, then she’d turned back to look at me. My mouth hung open, my body frozen in place. I couldn’t quite comprehend what she had said.
“What?” It was all I could manage to reply. Juliet nodded her head towards the bench, and I stared at it for a moment and then returned my attention back to her. “I couldn’t possibly—“ Juliet’s lips stretched into a small smile and she nodded again at the seat. In careful, trembling steps, I moved around the seat and sat down slowly. It was all I could do to remain upright when I did. The world disappeared around me. Suddenly there was just a piano and me. My eyes scanned the entire length of it, taking in every detail, while my right hand trailed over one of the scratches on the front of the piano, feeling it beneath my fingertips.
I must have lost myself in the piano for a long length of time. Juliet had moved from her position behind me to pull up a chair next to the piano and sat. When I’d turned my attention back to her, she was still smiling softly. “Well?”
“Well, what?” I managed to reply.
“What are you going to play?” Juliet asked me, and I felt my heart fall from my chest the moment I’d realized what she’d asked. My attention turned back to the piano. To the well-loved ivory and black keys. The mahogany wood. The engraved Steinway name across the front. I felt the soft plush seat beneath me. Then I made my way back to Juliet.
I attempted to voice my disbelief, but no words came. Instead, I let my hands raise above the keys. They were shaking slightly. My mind raced through the repertoire of songs I knew by heart. What possible piece was deserving enough of playing on this magnificent instrument? I didn’t give myself long to think, deciding that my fingers would make the decision for me. They fell softly onto the keys, feeling their smooth texture beneath them. The moment overwhelmed me to the point I lost my breath again.
Two breaths. Begin.
The slow rolling melody on the lower register began. It was a simple song, at least the first movement anyway. A piece I wasn’t sure if Juliet would question my reasoning for playing. As soon as it started, I realized why I’d picked it without even having to think about it. My mind completely honed in on the song, each note as it sang from the keys. The careful roll of chords that signaled the very recognizable introduction.
My eyes closed, and I took a long deep breath in. Each low note rippled through me and onto the wood floor. I could hear the melody in my head, like it was bellowing into my ears. Felt it through my entire length. When I played, the higher register of the piano was usually easier for me to feel the notes. The vibrations were easier to discern, and more prominent. It made me enjoy playing the lower notes even more. It required focus. Concentration. Engaging entirely with the music so I didn’t lose it.
Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata was filled with a beautiful arrangement of notes. It was a perfect piece to get lost in. Familiar enough that I didn’t have to worry much about missing something, while still engaging me. Even with my inability to hear the notes aloud, even the feeling of them rising and falling through my fingers and on the flats of my feet was so distinct. I’d never experienced anything like it.
The sonata was a fifteen-minute-long piece, and I played the entire length of it, but it felt like mere moments had passed. I could feel the last few notes ringing through me long after I’d finished. My eyes had remained closed the entire time, finally opening once I could no longer feel the piano vibrating beneath me.
A fiery blaze of emotion was rippling through Juliet’s emerald-green eyes when they met my own. I watched her move in a fluid motion to meet me at the piano. Her hands wrapped along the sides of my face, and our mouths came together in almost the same instant. I breathed in her distinct woody scent and fell captive to the soft roll of her lips as they fell into mine.
When she pulled away, I was in disbelief, hardly able to breathe. I wasn’t quite sure if I was more surprised she’d kissed me in such a way in public, or if I was still in shock over the events that had just transpired.
“You’re meant for this stage,” Juliet said, locked on me. Her hands were still wrapped firmly along the sides of my face. A long sigh escaped me, and I breathed a small thank you. A curl formed on Juliet’s lips. She kissed me again in a chaste sort of way before she released from me completely. I could still feel the tingle of her touch as she slid her way off the seat and went to retrieve her violin. Juliet turned back to face me once its strap lay against her shoulder. Her hands fell in front of her as she signed beautiful words. Come home with me. It was something she didn’t need to say. Something I would have done instinctively without question.
My heart belonged to her, completely. I’d follow her anywhere.
23
Juliet
Bach, Christmas Oratorio
Liszt, Weihnachtsbaum (Christmas Tree)
Barber, Adagio
A WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS, I found myself at Timothy and Miranda’s for their annual holiday get-together. Miranda was finally home from her tour, and now that the school year was over, we’d all found ourselves less distracted with classes and engagements with the Bard. This time, Emma had not been invited. She’d gone to spend the evening with her father. We’d agreed to meet back at my condo in a few hours.
Scotch in hand, I sat with Andrew and Emerson at the Kepner’s dining room table, while Timothy, Miranda, and Charlotte busied themselves with preparing food. I’d offered to help, but my friends knew me better than to let me around food. I’d never been good in the kitchen. Frankly, like many things, I’d never had the interest or desire.
As it often did, our conversation consisted mostly of discussions about music-related things. Emerson had gone on a tangent about the grades for his classes and the performance of some of his students. Andrew was already focused on next year’s auditions, hoping for a particular undergraduate student he knew from Juilliard.
Once the food had been sat on the table, and we’d started our meal, I felt all eyes on me. I turned my attention towards Timothy and Miranda, whispering amongst themselves. My throat cleared, and I met eyes with Miranda. The expression on her face concerned me. In an instant, I had a very strong feeling about what was going on, but I was unable to believe it until they’d spoken.
“We need to have a discussion about Emma Harvey,” Timothy said, after he’d taken a sip of his drink. Another beer, an import from somewhere. At least it wasn’t his disgusting piss-water he tended to drink on our outings. I wasn’t focused on his drink very long.
“What about Ms. Harvey?” I replied, maintaining a passive look on my face. For all I knew, they could be referring to a variety of things.
“Lindsay Tucker saw you both together at David Geffen Hall a few weeks ago,” Miranda said calmly. I hated the way they all were looking at me. It felt as if I was at an intervention of some sort. I wondered what day she was referring to. Lindsay Tucker was one of
the flutists in the orchestra. She’d learned under Timothy many years ago.
“She came to my performance,” I admitted, finding my scotch glass attached to my hand. My mouth disappeared around the rim, in an attempt to hide my fluctuating expression.
“Jules,” Timothy said, and my body stiffened at the name. “She saw you both on the stage...”
A lump fell in my throat. I fought desperately to swallow. I knew what it meant when he’d said it. He hadn’t needed to elaborate. It was crystal clear that the extent of our relationship was out in the open now. I hadn’t meant to be so careless. It had been a moment of reckless abandon. A moment I was desperately wishing I’d had more self-control. I pondered for a moment for words to defend myself. To try and find some sort of explanation for the things that Lindsay had seen. There was nothing that could be explained. Part of me didn’t want to explain. Especially not to my friends, who should have understood in the first place.
“She’s a student, Juliet,” Emerson said. “Your student.”
“I’m well aware,” I managed to reply. There was not enough liquor in the world to drown myself in at that point.
“It’s not like you to be so reckless,” Miranda said when I’d turned my attention to her. “Your entire career is in jeopardy. Who knows who Lindsay took that information to?”
“You can’t do this over some fling,” Emerson said.
Before I had a chance to correct him, Miranda was on top of it. “This isn’t a fling,” Miranda’s voice was calm and firm. “But it still shouldn’t be happening.”
“It isn’t a fling,” I repeated, finishing off the last bit of scotch in my glass. I got to my feet. “And I certainly don’t appreciate this terrible excuse of an intervention. I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions.”
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