The Gift, page 23
“Can I ask how it’s going for you this week?” Flora makes eyes at me in a sister symbol that I know means, Can we talk openly about Christian and you?
“Yeah, David knows what’s up, so I can tell you both the latest.” Except, he doesn’t know how Christian feels about him, but that’s for another day. The queen of postponement strikes again.
After purging the garbage, I talk myself back into the frenzy I’m desperate to avoid, far from being successful. Even the wine isn’t powerful enough to block it one hundred percent of the time.
Sigh.
“I can’t predict what’ll happen, but you’re strong and will get what you want. That I know.” Flora wraps her arm around me.
I plunge my head on her shoulder then feel David’s arm around the other side of me. Lifting my arms around both of them, I squeeze and say, “I appreciate your support more than you know. When I think of all that I have coming up in the next few weeks, my head spins. And Christian can’t be depended on, emotionally or physically, which pains me to say.”
The more I admit my truth, the more I envision a future without him as my husband.
“We’ll figure it out with you, Toni.” David pulls away and looks toward the water.
I release Flora and catch a glimpse of the Christmas lights on my favorite hotel. They twinkle in soft whiteness against the blue siding and large strands of thick holly garland. Oh, to be those couples eating dinner I see through that window, having true connections to their partners and not feeling judged, shamed, or belittled—that would be a nice change.
Don’t continue into that line of thinking. Don’t do it. Stop it. Relish the uplifting people you’re here with now.
When my attention turns to Flora’s exaggerated face, eyes large and biting her lower lip, I’m stumped on this sister signal, but know I can’t vocalize it in question form. Hmm.
She jerks her head toward David, who has spaced himself away from us.
Oh, she wants to know if I think he’s still acting odd since I told her about Christian’s opinion. I guess I haven’t filled her in on that ridiculous piece in a while. Good thing she was smart enough not to think that’s part of the info David knows. I shake my head to indicate we can’t talk about that topic at this moment.
Flora nods in acknowledgement.
“Surf’s up, Flora.” David interrupts our mime session, hands in his chino pants pockets.
Maybe he wants to change the subject that I can hardly remember from three subjects ago in my head.
“It is, but I think I’ll pass.” She pretends to shiver. “Brr.”
Passing people who are setting up an illegal bonfire, my thoughts turn to needing a hot dinner. “Want to grab something to eat before we all go home?” Anything to keep me away from that tiny apartment with the gruff bear.
“Yeah, what are you in the mood for?” David asks.
“Since we had wine, I say Italian,” I suggest.
Us sisters smile at each other in response to my suggestion.
“Let’s do it,” David agrees.
Chapter
Forty-Three
I wonder if I’m the first or the second candidate to rehearse with the LA Philharmonic for our trial weeks. Who cares? I’m on stage with them and about to play the first piece—a moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life. “The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” takes on new meaning from this point on! Sitting in last position doesn’t even matter.
Looking out into the empty seats, I think how next time I’m up here with my fellow musicians, I’ll be looking at a packed house—holiday shows always bust at the seams. Right now, though, the sound and light technicians buzz around, doing their magic, and the conductor gets ready in front of us for his. My heart leaps, though this is only preparation for the real deal.
As I play alongside musicians I automatically admire for already being a part of LA Phil, I capture a thrill in every note. Each sound coming out of my trusty cello projects from me into the air that lacked the beauty of our composition each second before. The staccato beginning of the short song carries me through as if I’m dancing on the music-veiled air.
Seconds after all sound ceases at the end of the piece, I instantly miss the feeling of everyone in unity. Sure, I played Phantom in a group recently, but this is LA Phil! I’m playing with LA Phil! Screaming internally, though keeping a cool face, my curls pinned back with black barrettes on each side of my head remain motionless. If these people only knew what’s bubbling inside.
But wait. I’m not one of them. I’m a visitor. A fill-in, for all intents and purposes. Just another cellist to those around me…
By the time we work through rehearsing pieces out of order from the setlist, I gain a sense of achievement, having kept up with every pivot. Though I messed up a bit on a run, my playing was on point. Maybe it’s the effect of being on this stage. Nah, all of my auditions in the past never got me this far.
Hey, maybe I am one of them.
Regardless, I hung out with the popular kids today for a few hours. No matter what happens now, I can say I played with LA Phil. The LA Phil! Okay, I won’t go there again.
After turning on my car and coming down from my high, I immediately call David to tell him how it went. “It was amazing!”
“I knew you’d be great,” he mumbles through bites of food.
“I don’t know if I was great, but they were great, and it was great to try to be great with them. It was such an experience. The experience of a lifetime.” My words race out in childlike euphoria as I look at my backup camera and double check if I’m clear to move.
“And that was only practice for the show. Imagine how you’ll feel tomorrow and the next night.” An audible gulp from drinking fills my ears.
“I know, right? Hey, what are you chomping down on over there?” My stomach has a fear of missing out sometimes, making it known by a growl.
“A Philly cheesesteak grinder. Want me to bring you one?”
He would too. He’s that nice of a man to finish eating—or stop in the middle—and bring me food. See, Christian, he’s just a sweet guy. I roll my eyes.
“Oh, no. Thank you, though. I’ll grab something on the way home.” That word, home, has a different meaning when it leaves my mouth, still lacking its comfort from the old days.
I inhale a large breath and release.
“Are you alright?”
Damn, he must’ve heard me. “Yeah,” I say in a high-pitched voice. That’ll cover the truth.
“Toniii.” My name extends with his tone.
“I kinda don’t want to go home, especially after such a momentous time. You know…”
“I do.” He pauses. “Well, you know my house is always open to you. Come over. We can watch a movie,” he offers.
Without needing to think over my answer, I blurt out, “Okay, I’ll be there in thirty minutes, if traffic cooperates.” My being lightens again. “I’ll still get something to eat and have it there.”
“My table is your table,” he says.
“See ya soon.”
“Yes, bye,” he says then ends the call.
I shouldn’t feel guilty for going to spend time with my friend, right? Or dodging home? Any woman in my place would make the same choice for peace over chaos. But why do I already know I won’t tell Christian?
Chapter
Forty-Four
David’s house always feels like another home. The Mexican-tiled hearth of his fireplace brings light to my soul in vivid splendor each time we lounge on his wide-cushioned gray couch. I love to slide to the backrest and let my feet dangle off the edge, infusing the certainty of being carefree more than just physically. There’s no stress in this bungalow, solely laughter, ease, and comfort.
“You were starving, huh?” David comments.
I dab my lips with my fingers. “These street tacos near your place are the best.”
“Yeah, I stop there too much because I can’t resist their original—meat, onions, and cilantro.” He brings his hand to his mouth, pretends to kiss the edges of his fingers, and makes a muah sound, like he’s the famous chef who created them. Or Hudson when wine tasting.
I crumple the paper from my meal and let Sprite’s fizz dance down my throat.
Burp.
“Sorry!” I forget for a second that I’m with David, not Christian.
“What’s this ‘sorry’ business all the time? You never have to apologize. You know that. I don’t care if you burp the alphabet.” He brings over the popcorn he just made and sets it on the small coffee table that used to be a section of a tree trunk, propped up by two metal bars. The large bowl covers the entire space.
“Challenge accepted. Ha, just kidding. But”—I bite the interior of my mouth—“I haven’t been used to being able to be myself for a long time, as you know—especially the improper parts.”
He sits next to me and leans in so our faces are inches apart. “I’m not him.”
Although I just had this thought, the reminder is welcome. Yet, I’m not saying his words didn’t make my heart drop. Why do I kind of wish it were him?
No, no, no. Don’t be confused. What I meant to say was why can’t my husband be like he used to be, which is as nice as David. I take a cleansing breath and want to exclaim, Phew! Instead, I smile and say, “Thanks. I hope things can change once we go to counseling.” If we still go.
David scoots back and looks the opposite way. “Yeah,” he whimpers.
Am I too in my head again and picking up on signs that aren’t signs meaning he may have interest in me? If Christian is ever right about David’s feelings for me being more than a friend, I don’t know what I’d do. It just can’t be.
But the vibe in here feels odd—David’s sudden stillness, my pause in my own response—the same as most times when we talk about Christian nowadays. This space didn’t exist in all the years past. Then again, nothing was this wrong with my marriage in years past. Maybe David doesn’t want to see his friend in pain. That’s all.
“So, what do you want to watch?” He turns on the TV and clicks on his apps page with distance in his voice.
“Something funny.” Please.
I grab the popcorn and set it between us on the couch as we decide on a movie. There’s so much room on this beast of a couch that I lie on my side with plenty of room to spare and snatch a handful of popcorn at a time. “I love when you sprinkle cinnamon on the popcorn. The butter combined with it makes each kernel melt in my mouth.”
“It’s my specialty.”
On my next popcorn grab, our hands accidentally brush each other, tearing apart faster than I could say wine.
“Sorry,” flies out of my mouth once more tonight. But give me a break; that called for an apology.
He remains hushed.
An internal white noise overtakes the movie as I ponder how weird that felt, how it’s unusual that he isn’t acting like himself, and how he’s still quiet.
“Whoops,” he finally speaks, sounding like my old David, but I have a feeling it’s a cover.
No! Christian isn’t right. He isn’t.
Over the next few minutes, David’s crunching increases in frequency, almost like a nervous habit. Each bite shakes my confidence for what I thought I knew was fact. In rests of the noise, the energy gets thicker with discomfort, especially without our usual added dialogue.
When I take my next handful, I make sure to view the bowl to avoid any clashes. From the perspective of an outsider, we’re merely watching a movie and enjoying a snack in silence. For an insider, there may be another story.
“We have a situation.” I have a short ride to our apartment, so I call Flora as soon as my wheels roll on the pavement.
“I’m closing up here at the shop. What’s wrong? Do I need to come to you?”
“No, nothing like that. Sorry to scare you.” Huh, I do apologize a lot.
“Good.” Relief in her voice permeates through the airwaves.
“I’m thinking Christian may be right about David having a thing for me.” Those words sound absurd coming out of my mouth. This is sweet, reliable, closest-friend David, not whatever this version is of him lately.
“Oh God! Why do you say that now? I remember what you told me before, but it still seems far-fetched.”
She must’ve walked outside because I hear the wind blowing against her phone.
“There’s been some oddness again, like a high school boy with a crush. Hesitant when he speaks and such. I can’t explain it. My stomach feels queasy even talking about the topic.”
“I did notice when we were walking on the beach together how he turned away when Christian came up in conversation. He became silent.” The wind noise halts, so she must be in her car now.
“That did happen, now that you say it. I bet he’s done or said more things I haven’t noticed. What’s happening?” I cry.
“You’re irresistible, that’s the problem,” she says, deadpanned.
“Stop! This is a real issue.” I half laugh when I say this, since the thought of little old me being irresistible is humorous.
“Just talk to him. He’s not going to bite. I mean, only if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Flora!” Now I can fully laugh at least. “But I’ll look like an idiot if I’m wrong.”
“Do you think you’re wrong?”
Admitting this means admitting Christian is right, so I hate to say it but… “No, not anymore.”
“You were hoping, I know.”
“Yeah.” My tone scales down.
“You can do it. Win a spot in LA Phil, open a winery, save your marriage… My girl can do anything she wants.”
“Oh, I love ya, but you’re delusional. Always telling me to talk to people to solve problems. What kind of advice is that?” Too bad she can’t see my smile.
“It’s my job.”
“Alright, thanks for listening. I’m pulling into the parking lot at home, so I better go.”
“Later, sis. Love ya.”
“Love you too.” I click the end call button on my steering wheel and crawl into an open space.
My life feels like a whirlwind with short bursts of calm rather than the other way around—not how I want to live. Well, let me gear up with putting on a face once more as I walk into my own home, which should be the one place I don’t have to wear a mask. It’s just easier than any other conversation that could happen.
Chapter
Forty-Five
It’s frickin’ here! I’m performing with the LA PHILHARMONIC tonight in my first trial show. Performing! With LA Phil!
Still not knowing anyone but exchanging subdued—as much as I can do subdued—pleasantries, I bounce with internal anticipation each time someone speaks to me. An X-ray would show a blur of my innards jingling beyond recognition at this point. Thank God I didn’t drink coffee this afternoon, or I’d catapult through the rafters, and the game would be over.
As the curtain opens, the bright, shining faces of the audience come into focus. I’ve never played to a crowd this massive. To think, these endless rows of people came to see us perform their favorite holiday songs and to have a night away from the humdrum of life. Music always lifts people’s spirits, and I intend to do just that—for all of us.
When the first-chair violinist stands to signal the oboist to play their A note so that woodwinds, brass, then strings can all tune our instruments, I have to pretend my feet are glued to the floor, the same as I instruct small children I’ve taught. Don’t fidget, Toni. Be still and play your heart out. This is everything you’ve worked for your entire life.
My heart jumps when I see the violinist stand again to signal all of us to rise for our—their?—conductor to enter the stage. Feeling a sensation of floating off and away as I stand, I catch a mental glimpse of our scene from the audience’s position. Since my stuck-to-the-ground feet remain, I order the rest of my body to gather back together. The clock is ticking, and the show is about to start, for the patrons and for me.
I prepare to enter on my part for “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” by concentrating on the sheet music resting on my stand. It’s just me and the notes, along with my friendly supporters, AKA other musicians. Nobody’s judging me or anything. My mouth curls up in my thought.
Toni, just have fun.
Throughout each piece, my fingers slide on the fingerboard as if I was born to be here. My chest fills with gratitude for this opportunity that I never thought I’d get and will have once more tomorrow. A final bonus for sure.
It’s not hard to have fun playing tonight when all of the practice in my life has led to this point. Though it’s still hard work, my natural movement overcomes all else, even the slight neck pain I have that I’m ignoring. Push through.
Clapping continues at the end of our performance for a solid five minutes, at the peak of my contentment. Well, it felt that long. Congratulatory motions from the conductor and audience members bowing to us reinforce a job I agree was well done. I mean, it’s LA Phil. It’s always well done! And I did my best, so I’ll see if those evaluating me feel the same.
Once the curtain closes, the excitement surrounding me culminates. The typical routine for my fellow musicians kicks in as they clean up their spaces and carry on with their night. I move slowly so I can observe their actions and fit in with their process. Hey, I have to act the part, you know?
Leaving through the back door, I almost fall to the ground from shock. “Dad! Mom! How? What?”
“We thought we’d surprise you.” Dad walks toward me and gives me a hug, including my cello on my back.
“Your dad came up with the idea to see if we could get tickets at the last minute. And he did.” Mom follows in his hug. “Leave it to him not to miss his little girl playing in this venue.”
