The Gift, page 25
After the busy week I had, I need to force myself to relax. Yet, how can I do that when I have a sulking husband in the other room? I stare at my bedazzled box with the encouraging papers inside, resting on my dresser, as fire builds in my aching chest.
Christian never tried to see me perform with LA Phil last week, even though it was the pinnacle of my musical career.
He never even asked how any of the shows went.
He barely grunted in response at necessary questions to keep our life functioning, going out of his way to avoid brushing up against me in our tight quarters.
Gently expressing myself to Christian hasn’t worked. And when I’ve lost my temper, he punishes me with the victim act for days. Of course, little is his fault for our relationship status. It’s always my fault, so I can’t win no matter how I approach matters.
Why am I responsible for setting us on a good path again? He gets away with horrible behavior like silent treatment for a week, yet I’m the one about to break it with a real conversation? How is this Sunday relaxation?!
I puff up my chest, huff out hot air, and open the bedroom door.
“Christian,” I spit.
His body rises then lowers like a finished Pop-Tart on the couch. He doesn’t turn his head, and I’m sure won’t admit he was jolted by my entrance.
“Christian,” I repeat. My hands attach to my hips as I stand in the door frame.
“What?” comes out in a whine. He sounds like I woke him up from the best sleep of his life.
“We need to talk.” None of this can we talk business anymore. The chest flames keep burning to propel me toward him, face to face, as he keeps his head bowed in front of me. “Hello? Earth to my husband.”
“Toni, I’m not in the mood right now.” He continues to avoid eye contact.
“The mood? The mood for what? Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” I sit on the carpet on the opposite side of the coffee table, resting my head on my cocked arm. When I worked with elementary-aged kids, I learned being on their height level helps de-escalate a poor attitude. Christian sits above me now, so he may feel powerful. He makes me feel like he thinks he’s above me anyway.
He moves his phone down from a typing position and looks at me. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”
“I don’t know what to say to you either.”
He falls back on the cushion and crosses his arms.
Nala wakes from her peaceful slumber next to him and eases open her eyes.
“Christian, I just had one of the biggest weeks of my life, and you completely ignored me. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“How do you think I feel when you seem like you’re planning a new life without me?”
I see hurt instead of anger—eyes drooping and his typically smooth lips tightening.
“I don’t want that! I never want to hurt you.” Oh, my heart. The heaviness causes me to slump. “I want to live my life with you,” I mumble. Even as the words come out of my mouth, I’m not so sure anymore. “But you don’t make it easy all the time.” My anger also slips away as another layer of the onion prevails.
“Don’t blame your confusion about your career on me.”
“I don’t. But how about some support? You just shut down ideas without even hearing them out or thinking through workarounds.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. I went to visit vineyards with you,” his voice amps up again.
“Yeah, but as soon as things seemed too hard, you shut it down without trying to compromise at all. It’s your way or the highway, Christian.”
“I once heard everything that’s said after the word but is irrelevant.”
My face crinkles. “What?” That’s what he’s focused on?
“Toni, like I said, I did entertain the idea of a winery, but it just isn’t feasible for our future. That’s it. Move on.”
Hearing the phrase our future drains blood from my body. More and more, there isn’t an our I view in my future.
“See,” I squeak, “that’s what I mean.” My head dips. “I’m trying to tell you that you really hurt my feelings because you haven’t been there for me this week, and you keep bringing it back to how you think you tried otherwise. Like your job is done and what you did was enough.”
“Again, I don’t know what to say.” Disengagement returns as he holds up his phone again.
How can we be talking in circles?
Nala is done with our conversation and leaves the couch.
I am too. “Let me help. Repeat after me. How…”
“How,” he parrots while his knuckles turn white from the grip on his phone.
“Was,” I continue.
“Was.”
“Last week at LA Phil?” I raise my eyebrows, mustering hope.
“Last week at LA Phil. God, are you happy now?” He slams his phone on the couch.
“No, not when you aren’t genuine. You truly don’t care. Forget it.” I get up and start walking toward our bedroom.
“I do care, but you’re going to do what you want anyway. I’m trying to make you better, and you never see it, like the idiot that you are.”
“Oh, like I have my own mind or something and can make decisions in my life? Imagine that.” His name-calling barely fazes me anymore. It’s like he’s using my name at this point.
“You can’t do anything without me,” he calls out. “Idiot!” he repeats, this time screaming.
Before closing the door to our room, and this conversation, I drop one more bomb. “I applied for a loan too, by the way.”
“What?! This is what I mean. Last weekend, you tell me about plans I didn’t know about with your boyfriend, and this week, it’s even bigger plans. How the hell did you even attempt to apply for a loan on your own? I’m surprised you could figure that out.” He snorts.
I slam the door and lock it. Curling up in the corner on the floor, I pull my legs in and clutch them as the tears rush down my face. Ten years ago, when I said, “I do,” I never would’ve guessed I’d be in this position, literally and figuratively.
The worst part is that his words do scare me. Can I financially start a business alone if I have to? Can I be on my own if I have to? Could I figure it all out without his help?
Chills race through my spine as I rock back and forth.
Maybe I should spend the rest of the day looking at apartments for rent in Temecula Valley. I’ve lived on my own before and can handle that part. Lesley may get more business than she thought.
Chapter
Forty-Eight
Trying to retain some sense of normalcy, David and I hit up our smoothie place after work on the last day of school this year. We need some sugar after the kids’ antsy pants for winter break. “It’s been so long since we came here. Seems like years ago.”
“Yet it was only a few months ago.” He sips on his blueberry smoothie.
I let a moan escape as my eyes widen. “Oh, these few months.” I swallow a mouthful of my green smoothie and bite the end of the straw. Mariah Carey belts out her peppy tune, “Oh, Santa,” through the speakers of the festive red-and-green-decorated store, both opposite of my mood. “Nothing has changed with Christian and me all week. We’re still barely speaking, and when we do, it’s snapping at each other.” My plan with David is to continue to think of him as a friend, no matter what I may be falsely interpreting.
He looks off to the side. “That makes me sad for you. And this weekend is Christmas. What are you going to do?”
“Flora knows the situation, but I haven’t told my parents what’s been going on. They aren’t oblivious, though. They’re just nice and haven’t asked why he’s been absent from certain get-togethers.”
“He’s going to their house for Christmas, right?”
“Let’s hope. Who knows how he’ll act.” I sink down in my chair and sigh. “But I have to tell you…”
He leans in closer over the small wooden table.
“All I can think about is standing on the land where my ancestor had his winery and having one to call my own.” I shake my head and suck in my lips, staring into the distance. Attuning to the background song once again, I hear words about a wish being fulfilled.
Pietro, is that you orchestrating a sign again?
A smile spreads on my face as my heart hops to a faster pace. Trouble in my marriage can’t even shake the high from gushing images of that property Lesley showed me.
I’m pouring glasses of cabernet for customers on the patio as the mild breeze strums colorful flowers embracing the brick pavers. The sun shines bright above, allowing the grapes ready to be harvested to glow in its shine. My feet dance into the tasting room to talk to more customers at the counter as the aromatic creation from my vineyard whiffs up from the bottle I’m still holding, into my nostrils, and filling me with overflowing joy.
My daydream is interrupted by a noise from reality. “Oh my God.”
“What?” David asks.
“LA Phil is calling.” My heart races even more than seconds ago.
“Answer!” He rolls his open hand in a circle to hurry me.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes before saying, “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Ms. Agosti?” The deep voice on the other end is familiar.
I inch open my eyelids and hold onto my cup to absorb its coolness. Something has to stay cool at this table. “This is she.”
“This is blah blah, the music director of the Los Angeles Phil...”
Crap. I missed his name, but I know it already…it’s just slipping my mind at this second. My ears are failing me when I need them most. Good going, Toni.
“I’m calling to offer you the cellist position.”
If there ever was a mic-drop moment, it’s now. Instead, my mouth drops open.
David tilts his head and mouths, “What?”
I clear my throat to prepare for words to leave my frozen frame. “Oh, wow.” Yeah, that’s all I can manage, but it’s something.
“Congratulations. Your playing is astounding, and we’d love to have you as part of the orchestra.”
“Th-thank you! I’m sorry. I’m a little speechless.”
David jerks back in his seat and wipes his forehead as if relieved.
I nod in confirmation because I know he knows what’s happening.
“It’s alright, Ms. Agosti. That happens often. Listen, we’ll be emailing you a formal offer letter with more information, including pay and benefits. We’d like for you to give your answer to us after the holidays, to allow you a few weeks for consideration. Is that acceptable to you?”
“Yes!” Now I’m fully alive and maybe a little too alive. Even though my hearing cut out, it doesn’t mean I have to break the director’s eardrum. “Thank you. I’ll do that,” I speak at a socially appropriate level again.
“You have a wonderful day, and happy holidays.”
“Thank you again, and you as well.” How many times can I thank him?
I end the call, and my arm falls to the table, still gripping my phone. “Uh, what just happened?”
“You tell me, although I have a good idea.”
“I got into LA Phil. The position… I got it. I got it?” This doesn’t make sense. After all these years, this is when I get in? Right now? What the actual hell?
“Congrats, Toni!” David gets up and hugs me while I remain stuck to my seat like a statue. “I knew you could do it. That’s amazing.”
“Thanks. I-I really am…”
“I can tell you’re shocked. Who wouldn’t be? This is what you always wanted. And you got it.” He sits down again, still beaming from his eyes and with a majority of pearly whites in view.
I don’t know if it’s the shock or something else, but I thought I’d also be beaming in this moment…if it ever happened. How am I not jumping up and down, squealing, running outside and alerting the world that I did it? Why can’t I speak?
All I feel is more confusion added to my mix. Shouldn’t this real-life offer feel a million times more fulfilling than a daydream from moments ago that continues to bring hurdles and drama? You’d think it would be an easy answer, but being faced with this decision is anything but easy.
That’s the most shocking part of all.
Chapter
Forty-Nine
Still in a daze and miraculously driving home safely, I walk into my apartment and find Christian home early from work. Needing to share the news with my husband—or who I always knew to be my husband—trumps all bitterness of our silence. “You won’t believe what happened.”
He takes his crossed legs off the coffee table and rotates on the couch to look back at me without a verbal response.
Nala’s paws patter on the hardwood in the foyer as she lifts her butt, her way of asking for me to pet her.
I place my cello case on the floor, push my crate to the wall, and run my hand along Nala’s soft fur before going to sit on the couch next to Christian.
Plopping down, I blurt out, “LA Phil offered me the chair.” Omitting that I was with David when I received the news and that he was first to know is a must.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I got it.” The flatness in my voice sounds like when I listened to a recording of me being hypnotized.
“Toni, that’s wonderful news!” He leans over to hug me.
My arms remain at my sides.
Just like that, my husband is back. The smile on his face, showing his perfectly straight teeth and a gleam in his once-again warm eyes brings a sense of comfort that he backs me in this moment. All it took was something happening according to his plan. Get an LA Phil chair, lose the winery dream, and live as scheduled.
He continues, “Why don’t you look happy?! This is everything!”
“I know.” I muster up enthusiasm and exaggerate a grin. “I’m just surprised. It finally happened. To me. All of my friends from college achieved their musical goals, and I never could. But now I have.” Acknowledging the original dream being realized doesn’t make me feel any merrier, even in the merriment of the Christmas season.
You know the phrase being so close yet so far away? That’s how I always felt with getting into LA Phil, but now it applies to my winery. Maybe I’m meant to chase my tail, like Nala, never reaching satisfaction.
So, when did earning a chair in the orchestra of my dreams become second-best? I guess I need counseling more than I think because something must be seriously wrong with me. I’ve finally made it, yet…
“You did it, Tone Tone.”
His words and another bombarding hug pause my thoughts. The intense kiss that follows brings me even more into the confusion zone. I wiggle my toes to gain a sense of being in my body and to be able to reciprocate, but I still feel like a zombie.
“I’m really proud of you.”
Those words bring a genuine smile to my face. “Thanks.”
He grabs my hand and squeezes it as Nala jumps on the cushion next to me. We’re one big happy family.
But…
I have to say more. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t keep holding everything inside. “Christian?”
“Yeah.” His gaze remains focused.
“I don’t know if I’ll accept the offer.” I look down and shut my eyes, as if the scary part of a movie is about to happen.
“What do you mean?” His voice stays calm.
Is my old Christian back?
Eyes still shut, I continue, “What about the winery?”
He laughs. “Come on. You can’t be serious.”
I open my eyes and face the expected budding monster when this topic is brought up. “I am,” I whisper. “I started to get my hopes up that it can happen.” Truth be told, things are way past contemplation. I’m in action.
He squeezes my hand again. “I know you did. But as we said, that’s a big financial risk to take. We can’t do that with what we’ve saved. It isn’t responsible to leave a well-paying, stable job to be an entrepreneur in a field you aren’t familiar with, Toni.”
I know. I know.
“A one-job-career in the music field, yeah. How long have I wanted that?”
“Since I met you. And you deserve that peace. Plus, we aren’t moving to Temecula Valley.” He barely releases the last words over a stifled snicker. “You know I’m right.”
If he only could’ve stopped with the niceties.
His typical thinking-he’s-God comment has a different effect on me this time, though. Maybe this was the scary-movie moment I was bracing for seconds ago, with added deflation of my will to fight a losing battle. He remains strong on refusing to move, and he is right that we’ve saved for a long time, money which he’s made clear he won’t use for this purpose. “But what about the loan I applied for?”
“If you get approved, you can decline. Or you can retract it, I bet. I hope you planned to do that anyway.” He waits, as if desiring a response, then continues, “This job will make us how we used to be—on the same page and with the same plan.”
“Mm-hmm.”
You’d think all of his excitement would trigger it in me, but all I’m filled with is a hint of nausea and a wave of disappointment in realizing I should surrender my future grapes—envisioning a handful of them falling to the rich soil from my spreading fingers. I probably do need Christian to make the winery happen. There’s no way I could do it on my own.
And I need my marriage to work. At least, I have to keep trying.
The solace of having a conversation with my husband again and him being in a pleasant mood is what really matters in life. I could have a safe home environment again and can be happy doing what I always thought I would, while staying in LA in a profession I know. The longing for cheerful marriage is too enticing to risk, above all other risks.
