by Sarah Beard
“So, what are you girls up to tonight?” he asked.
I turned away to get a glass of water from the kitchen.
“I’m going out with Justin,” Nakira replied, plucking her purse from the counter. “I’ll see you kids later. Have fun,” she sang, smirking at me before disappearing out the door.
I felt Devin’s eyes on me as I put my glass in the sink. Maybe he was wondering how long it had been since I washed my hair. I pondered that question myself for a moment, inconspicuously turning my head into the hair on my shoulder to take a whiff. Two days? That wasn’t so bad.
“I think I’m going to catch a show tonight,” he said. “You want to come with me?”
I walked over to the couch and stood in front of him. “I’m not exactly dressed to go out.” I had on a faded black T-shirt and holey jeans, and it had been days since I’d made an honest effort at makeup. The only time I dressed up anymore was for performances and competitions.
“I’ll wait for you to get ready. It’s still early. You should wear that little red number you wore at the performance a couple weeks ago. You looked amazing in it.”
I hated to admit it, but Devin was cute. His shaggy-cut hair fell in wisps around his copper eyes and defined jaw. His lips were full and perfectly shaped, and his infectious smile was famous.
“I don’t know.” I hesitated, though I knew full well I wouldn’t be going anywhere with him. “I have a lot of studying to do.”
“Come on. It’s Saturday night. It wouldn’t hurt to take a break.”
“I’m sure you can find someone else to go with. Just pick someone off your Date with Devin waiting list.” I’d watched him flirt with countless girls, only to leave each one heartbroken and bitter, and I was determined to be the only girl to resist his charms.
“Didn’t I tell you? You’re next on the list.” He smiled, a glint of playfulness in his eyes.
“Brinna would never forgive me. She’s still pining over you.”
“Brinna?” He dropped his legs to the floor and leaned forward. “We weren’t even that serious. She’s nice, but too quiet.”
“I’m quiet too.”
“Yeah, but you’re not afraid to speak your mind. I ask Brinna a simple question and her cheeks turn red.”
“I heard you went out with Jen Sommers last weekend. Are you already tired of her?”
“Of course not. She’s my friend.”
“Is that what she thinks? Because she seemed overjoyed when you stopped seeing Brinna.”
“You mean Amber? I stopped seeing Brinna two months ago.” His mouth tipped in a lazy, flirtatious smile, and his eyes sparkled with razzing delight. He had a way of making the most chauvinistic things sound charming, and it infuriated me.
“Whatever. The point is, Jen sees you as more than a friend. I heard her say she’d been waiting for a shot with you since August.”
He held open his hands and shrugged innocently. “Is it my fault she’s misinterpreting my signals? I haven’t done anything to encourage her.”
“You don’t think taking someone on a date is encouragement?”
“It wasn’t a date. I was on my way to a movie and I saw her in the hall, so I asked if she wanted to come with.”
The front door opened and Brinna walked in, juggling a violin case and a stack of sheet music. Brinna was my age, but with her petite frame, innocent face, and unruly curls, she didn’t look older than thirteen. She pushed the door shut with her shoulder, then turned to see Devin and me.
“Hey, Brinna,” I said, conscious of how she must feel seeing Devin in our living room.
“Hi.” She gave a fleeting smile, then dropped her head and went straight to our bedroom, closing the door behind her.
I turned back to Devin. “See? She’s still upset about you,” I whispered.
“There’s nothing to be upset about,” he whispered back. “We never even kissed. She’s just quiet. That doesn’t mean she’s pining over me.”
Just then, a melancholy strain of violin music played from the bedroom, like the theme of a tragic love story. I arched an eyebrow at Devin. “Either way, she’s my roommate, and I don’t want to risk hurting her feelings.”
“Next week then, maybe?” He shrugged and stood to leave.
I huffed out an irritated breath and took a step closer to him. “I know this may surprise you, but you’re not as irresistible as you think. Just because you’ve won a million competitions and have played concertos with major orchestras since you were fourteen doesn’t mean you’re God’s gift to women. I’ve never wanted a shot with you, and I don’t want one now.”
“Come on, Aria.” His hands fell open. “You know I’m just razzing you. I only do it because it gets such a rise out of you.”
“What? You enjoy getting a rise out of me?”
“It’s the only way you’ll talk to me,” he said, smoothing out his suit jacket over his muscular chest.
“Why do you wear that thing all the time, anyway?” I asked, annoyed.
“What, this?” He looked down and pinched the notched lapel of his jacket. “Because I’m a performer. And when I’m on stage performing, it doesn’t feel restrictive or awkward because I’m already used to wearing it all the time.” A wicked grin lit up his face. “See, you are interested in me. Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me about my jacket.”
“Good night, Devin,” I said, rolling my eyes as I opened the door.
“Until we meet again,” he said melodramatically with his hand over his heart. He swaggered to the door and turned at the threshold, giving me one last, longing glance with his puppy-dog eyes.
I shoved him into the hall, which only made him laugh, and I shut the door firmly.
I turned and leaned against the door, listening to Brinna’s mournful playing. The sound of it tugged at my heart, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay here and listen to it if I wanted to keep my thoughts in check. Maybe I would go try to find an open practice room.
I gathered up some sheet music and took the elevator to the fourth floor. After a long search, I found an empty practice room. Velvet curtains dressed the walls of the small room, and the violet sky sulked through a sealed window. I set my music on the Steinway grand that filled most of the room and adjusted the bench before sitting down. With a pencil, I made some fingering notations, then sunk into the piece and began unraveling the complex passages. Measure by measure, phrase by phrase. Left hand alone, then right, then together. Slower, then faster, then up to tempo.
Work was the only thing I had control over. It kept me from thinking about the past, and kept me safe in my own little world. I had kept my distance from other people since I came to school, and soon everyone around me had become nothing more than background noise. Irritating at times, but easy to ignore. And harmless. Perfectly harmless.
~
Nathaniel came to town a couple weeks later to see one of his old friends conduct a symphony at Carnegie Hall, and he invited me to the symphony and took me out to dinner beforehand. I took the opportunity to dress up and make use of my neglected makeup. I wore a dress I’d found on a discount rack, comfortable yet elegant, burgundy velvet with a knee-length skirt and capped sleeves. I curled my hair and left it down, then added a pearl necklace.
Nathaniel met me at my apartment, and we walked down Columbus Avenue to a cozy Italian restaurant with high-backed fabric chairs, linen tablecloths, and walls lined with wine bottles. Nathaniel pulled out my chair, then sat across from me after taking off his suit jacket and draping it over the chair back.
We exchanged pleasantries while perusing the menu, discussing everything from the pieces I was working on to my nonexistent social life. After we’d ordered and the menus were out of the way, Nathaniel leaned toward me, resting his elbows on the table.
“I met with Margo this morning,” he said, a touch of concern in his voice. “She says you’re struggling a little.”
“No.” I shook my head, confused by his statement. “I’m not. I
’ve aced ear training, theory, chamber. Professor Nguyen told me that I’m the only one who’s done every ear training exercise perfectly. And Margo is always complimenting me on my style and accuracy and fluency.”
“No need to get defensive.” He held up his hands. “I think she was talking about the love of the art. Your passion for the music itself. She says you’re struggling a little with taking a piece to heart and making it your own.”
I fidgeted with my flatware. “I just find myself focusing a little too much on the technicalities sometimes instead of the emotion.”
“Why do you think that is? I mean, you didn’t used to be that way. Your emotional interpretations are what got you into Juilliard.”
“I don’t know. I guess sometimes it’s just too emotionally taxing to throw my heart into a piece.”
He gave me a long, searching look. “What’s going on, Aria?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just burned out.”
“No, I don’t think that’s it. If you were burned out, you wouldn’t be so strong with your accuracy and fluency. Margo said that you tackle technical demons like nothing. But that any time a piece requires more than a little emotion, you become distant and mechanical. It just surprises me.”
I didn’t respond, because he was right. And I didn’t know what to do about it. He fixed an assessing gaze on me, and I averted my eyes to the group of customers entering the restaurant. Not that they were interesting, I just didn’t want to meet Nathaniel’s stare. A long silence passed between us, the clattering of utensils and glasses seeming to grow louder with each ticking second. He was waiting for me to explain, and I didn’t want to explain. Instead, I stuffed corners of my napkin between the gaps in my fork.
“You know,” he finally said, his voice gentle, “sometimes when we’re trying to forget, or block something we don’t want to feel, it can affect our playing.” He paused. “I know what you’re trying to forget. What you’re trying not to feel. Aria, you need to allow yourself to grieve. It’s the only way you’ll be able to move ahead.”
His acute perception and acknowledgment of my struggles brought an unwanted wave of emotion. I swallowed back the rising tears and spread my napkin over my lap, trying to get control of myself before I ruined my mascara. I took a few deep breaths, and when I felt in control, I looked up at Nathaniel. “I try not to think about him, about Thomas,” I admitted, “but he always seems to creep in, especially when I’m playing. I have to shut him out. And I can’t do that without shutting everything out. My playing suffers. Sometimes it sounds as flat and dead as I feel.”
“So stop shutting him out.”
I shook my head slowly. “Shutting him out is the only thing that keeps me sane. If you can consider me sane.”
He reached forward and squeezed my hand with paternal affection. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You can do this, Aria. You can take all that grief and sorrow inside you and do something useful with it. It won’t kill you. It’ll be hard at first, but it’ll make you stronger.” He let go of my hand and leaned back in his chair. “And it definitely wouldn’t hurt to take a break from studying and make some friends. It’s impossible to get through the pressures of Juilliard without a friend to talk to now and then.”
We sat there quietly, him leaning back in his chair staring at me with concern, me watching customers come and go, until our food came. I prodded my lasagna with my fork, trying to think of a way to change the subject to more pleasant things.
Nathaniel leaned forward again after taking a few bites of his pasta. “Listen. There’s nothing wrong with working hard. In fact, it’s one of your greatest virtues. But don’t let it become everything in your life. Ultimately, the only thing that brings true happiness is your relationships with other people. Yes, sometimes relationships fail. When they do, you shouldn’t give up. Just try another.”
He was talking like I could just put up a For Sale sign over my heart and find myself a new owner. “Have you ever been in love?” I asked a little too harshly, thinking he couldn’t possibly know how I felt.
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “But it didn’t work out. And guess what? I became a better musician because of it. It was hard—sort of like having my heart scraped out bit by bit with a dull spoon. But I gathered up the pieces and moved on, and chose not to pathetically wallow in misery for the rest of my life.”
His words sounded more severe than he probably intended, and his expression softened, as did his voice. “I just want you to be happy. This—Juilliard—it’s what you wanted. It’s what Karina always wanted for you. I’m sure she is happy for you, wherever she is. And so you should be happy too.”
“I want to be happy, and I’m trying to be. I just don’t know how to deal with all the grief I still feel.”
“You can’t deal with it unless you first acknowledge it. And once you acknowledge it, force yourself to move forward. Your grief will walk beside you for a while, but you will get stronger, and the grief will start to lag. But you have to keep moving, living, feeling. Take in what’s around you, and you will find new things to love, to enjoy. The pain may not ever entirely go away”—he grimaced slightly as he said this—“but it will be far enough away that it won’t hurt so much.”
“Nathaniel, who was the girl? I mean, the one who got away?”
He waved his hand as if to brush off the subject. “It was a long time ago.”
I gazed at him curiously, hoping if I was quiet long enough, he would open up.
He finished chewing a bite of pasta, then set down his fork and sighed. “She was my wife.”
My mouth dropped open. “Your wife? I didn’t know—”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“What happened to her?”
He smiled humorlessly. “I said I don’t like to talk about it.”
I took a bite of lasagna and stared at him again, perfectly content to wait all night if needed.
Absentmindedly, he began running the prongs of his fork over the red sauce on his plate, making little parallel lines, then crossing them out with new ones. “We got married young, and we thought that love would somehow heal our differences.” His fork switched directions, and now he made a row of loops. “She was a musician. But she wanted a life I couldn’t give her.”
“What kind of life?”
He set down his fork. “A small, quiet life where we didn’t have to drag kids all over the world for our performances. She wanted to settle down somewhere and teach, and she wanted me to do the same. But I wanted to be on the stage, to see the world and meet new people. I wanted each day to be different than the last, to bathe in the sound of thunderous applause every night. In the end, we just couldn’t reconcile our differences. So she moved on.”
“Do you regret not giving her the life she wanted?”
He took a sip of water and paused, gazing past me into some long-forgotten place and time. “After spending years traveling and performing, I grew tired of the brutality of a concert career. I came to the sad realization that even though I woke up in a different place every morning, each day was the same as the last. Wake up in an empty hotel room, go to the airport to fly to a new city, practice all day by myself, perform for a thousand strangers, go back to an empty hotel room.” He pushed a piece of bow tie pasta around on his almost-empty plate. “Yes—I regret not giving her the life she wanted. Every day of my life. I would give up every performance I ever gave to be able to go back and spend a lifetime with her.”
“I’m so sorry, Nathaniel.”
“It’s okay,” he said with a little smile, though the pain in his eyes suggested otherwise. “I made my choice, and now I have to live with the consequence.”
The waiter showed up and asked if we wanted dessert.
“Which dessert has the highest calorie content?” Nathaniel asked the waiter.
“I’m not sure . . . probably the chocolate cheesecake.”
“Great. She’ll have a
slice,” he ordered, gesturing to me.
I arched an eyebrow.
“You’ve gotten too thin.”
The waiter turned, but Nathaniel called him back. “Oh, and could you put a candle in it?”
“Why the candle?” I asked after the waiter nodded and walked away.
“For your birthday. It’s this month, right?”
“Um, actually, my birthday is in August.”
He was about to take a sip of his water, but he froze and looked at me over his glass. “Your birthday is in August?” It was a question, but it sounded more like a statement. He stared at me with wide eyes, seeming stunned by this news. Then slowly, a strange, almost imperceptible pain eased into his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me last summer?”
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t feel like celebrating. But why did you think my birthday was in February?”
“I could have sworn . . . ,” he mumbled mostly to himself. “Huh. Never mind. Lousy memory.” He pointed to his head. He suddenly seemed distracted, drumming his fingers on the table, his eyes darting about like he was solving some complex mathematical equation. His face went pale, and little beads of sweat formed on his brow.
“Nathaniel, are you all right?”
He stood abruptly. “Excuse me. I’m just going to run to the men’s room.”
I watched him dash off to the men’s room, and soon I was surrounded by a handful of Italian waiters. One of them slid a slice of cheesecake with a burning candle in front of me and they all started singing, “Tanti auguri a te.” I smiled and blew out the candle, all the while wondering what was wrong with Nathaniel.
When he came back ten minutes later, he looked worse than when he left. The rims of his eyes were red, his face still pale and clammy. He didn’t bother sitting down. “I’m sorry, Aria. I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll go back to my hotel room.” He pulled the tickets for the symphony out of his suit jacket and handed them to me. “You’re welcome to go still. Maybe you can ask a roommate to go with you.”
I nodded and took the tickets, though I couldn’t think of anyone I wanted to go with.