The Gift, page 4
“You know it isn’t about that. I just…I don’t know. I thought my dad may’ve been onto something, that it’d be nice to see it again as an adult, with my husband. I am a musician, you know.” The alcohol may be sparking building tears. Stop. Not now.
“Don’t you want to go inside and get our seats already?” He doesn’t speak in my direction.
That’s just like him, to gloss over any responsibility in an argument. Even Italy can’t fix this fatal flaw. I know I could’ve held back and chose not to, but I also want—no need—him to understand me. Where has that understanding gone? Come out, come out, wherever you are…
But also, why ruin our last night in Milan? I’ll bite my tongue now since this is already argument two and a half today. I can’t admit that it’s actually number three. “You’re right. Let’s go. I’m excited to see the inside of the famous theater.”
We walk toward the entrance without a glance at each other’s faces, and I dab one rogue tear in the corner of my eye.
Finally, I take refuge in my seat. My body molds to its soft, velvety texture, but my clammy hands grip the edge. Drawing attention ahead, I see how we have a perfect view of the stage from here. Christian has a knack for choosing the best seats in the house.
After skimming the program notes, and of course flipping directly to the cello section, I sit back and focus on calming my racing heart. Come on, Toni. Enjoy tonight. The six stories of red-curtained, gold-adorned balconies surrounding us encapsulate all that’s beautiful about my culture, like they’re giving me a hug. The desperate embrace helps my ticker.
Here I was looking forward to tonight’s performance, hoping my love of playing would be fully revived. Instead, the breath has been kicked out of me, and I’m gasping for air once again. We can’t even have one drama-free day, even in beloved Italy.
Chapter Six
After my first day back at work in Los Angeles, I realize the spirit of slowness, the ease of savoring moments, and being surrounded by beauty faded away as soon as the plane’s wheels parted from Milan’s runway. Why can’t I hold on to the moments of peace that Italy exudes and carry them home with me? Well, you know, not the parts I’m purposely ignoring from this trip but everything else.
Nope, today was the same old Groundhog Day at the school where I teach cello a few times a week, as if I never had a break. Sitting in rush-hour traffic—which is all day, every day in this city—just to get to the school on time to teach teens, who are only taking orchestra to boost their college applications, is not what I envisioned as a musician. If I have to write one more recommendation letter, I’m going to lose it. And dealing with the parents—oh, the parents. I also never feel like a true employee with the other teachers, except with David, since I’m here part-time. Aah, is that enough of a list for ya? Well, I’m thankful for David’s listening ear, today and always. You can see I need it.
“It’s great you were free to grab a smoothie,” David says as we sit at a table in the juice bar after work.
“Yeah, I’m glad. It’s good to see you.” I sip on my favorite green smoothie that can only be mastered in Southern California, the land of smoothies. Banana, pineapple, mango, and kale never tasted as soothing as right now. Maybe it’s the relief of being done with another day where I’m not performing.
“So, tell me everything. Your quick texts weren’t doing the trick. How was the homeland? I love the feeling I get when I return to Japan to visit my extended family. Makes me feel whole in some way I never knew I needed.”
“Family is always the best part of the trip.” I hold down a burp that ends up sounding louder than if I’d let it fly. “So sorry!”
David laughs.
Christian would only roll his eyes or say something condescending.
I continue, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than staring at the vineyards in Stradella and chatting with my family.” For a split second, my heart rate decreases to a pace I only felt when tasting the Oltrepò Pavese wine in Italy. Yes, carry me to Pietro once again, mind. All the information spills from my mouth between sips of smoothie until David cuts in.
“There was a winery in LA?” He furrows his brow, leaving one black eyebrow lingering above the other.
“Many wineries! I couldn’t believe it either. I’m going to look into LA’s past online and probably go and check out the area where they used to exist.”
“You should.” He sips his pomegranate smoothie and stares off into the distance. “As a history teacher, you know I love this so I may have to take a trip down there too. Maybe I’ll bring Isla.”
“Oooh, there’ve been more dates while I was away?” I rest my head on my palm, elbow propped on the table.
His cheeks gain a bit of pink. “Yes, we had a few more last week. I think you’d like her.”
“You’re both welcome to come with me when I go. I may ask Flora if she wants to come too,” I say.
“Not Christian?” David asks.
My mouth shifts to one side, a little too transparent to my current state of affairs.
“What?” He squints as he grips his cup with both hands.
“Eh, he’s been slightly difficult. But it’s no big deal. We’ll get through it.” It’s time to let a little of my secret escape. Just a little, though. Christian never wants our business outside of us, so I try to honor that, but I need to release sometimes. The act of hiding my truth is at an unbearable peak since my disappointment in us on vacation.
“Difficult? That’s how you describe your kids in class, not your husband.”
“I know,” I say, sighing from guilt for talking about Christian in this way yet relieved for freeing a bit of what I’ve been carrying inside for too long. “Something’s up with him more than ever. I can’t put my finger on it.” That’s all. I shouldn’t say more.
David remains silent, yet his eyes inform me of empathy.
I continue, “But man, it isn’t helping to get up and do the same uncreative routine every day. Being in Italy reinforced what I already felt has been missing in my life. For years.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to feel the craving I experienced there in my life here. The emotion in my culture explodes in every artistic way possible when I’m on that soil, and it’s ingrained in me to try to achieve it. I was reminded that’s why my dad and I are musicians, after all. But how can I express passion, let alone even feel it, when I’m running from gig to gig, house to house, or am stuck in that classroom?”
“I don’t know what being an artist is like, but I do know I get a rush from telling the kids about history and seeing them learn from it.” He sucks in his lips.
“That’s what I mean. You were meant to be a teacher. I can teach, sure, but I don’t love it. That’s the big difference between my dad and me. He enjoys teaching.”
“It’s like you’re burnt out on the cello.”
“Not really.” I’m quick to defend my longest romantic relationship. “I just…I should be in an orchestra. The LA Philharmonic to be exact. As you know, that was always my dream. And here I am, more than a decade into my career and nowhere closer to it.”
“Sounds like you’re in a midlife crisis.” David giggles, but the harmony of my insides halts like a rest is appearing in the sheet music of our conversation.
“That’s it.”
“What’s it?” he asks.
“I think I’m in a midlife crisis. Is that possible?”
“I was kidding, but now that you say it, I don’t know. Is there an age that people need to be to have one?”
“I don’t know.” My words increase in speed. “Bored to death with my career fits the bill.” Also, unhappiness in my marriage that I won’t admit to out loud.
Before I can add anything, David is Googling for answers.
“Well, what’s it say?!”
He stops reading and looks me dead in the eyes. “There’s no hope. You definitely have it, and it will kill you.” He holds back a grin.
I reach over the table to slap his forearm. “Stop. Now what’s it really say?”
He returns to his phone and reads. “Hmm.”
“Whatttt? You’re the one killing me.”
“It says boredom is one of the signs.”
I hold up my hand, fingers ready to rise for every point listed on whatever website he’s reading. “Okay, next.”
“Having a milestone, like a birthday or anniversary of significance.”
Acid spurts in my throat, and I jerk forward and swallow. “My ten-year anniversary with Christian is coming up, and you know my age.”
David raises his eyebrows, both this time, and continues reading the points aloud. “Making impulsive actions.”
“Alright!” I blurt out. “I haven’t done that at all.” A deep breath relieves my previously restricted lungs.
“Yeah, that isn’t you, besides spewing a random thought. The next one is feeling unfulfilled.”
And we’re back to a stop. “Um, maybe a little,” I whisper. My newly three risen fingers drop, along with my hand.
David’s pure, brown-colored eyes widen, and he puts his phone face down on the table. “We don’t need to continue. You’re not old enough anyway. It says you need to be at least forty.”
“I was always advanced in school subjects, so maybe I’m advanced in midlife crises also.”
“Now you’re being truly silly.”
“It could be.” My face remains flat. I clutch my cold, wet cup and have an urge to press it against my hot forehead. “Midlife crisis. Midlife crisis.”
“Come on, it isn’t even a real thing. It’s parapsychology stuff, not a disease to treat.”
“I don’t care if it’s not a disease. I may have it, and I need to find a cure.”
Chapter Seven
Pulling into my apartment’s parking lot in sunny, palm-tree-lined Glendale, I feel like my spacious SUV’s interior is closing in on me like the gates of hell. I know I’m lucky to have an overall good life, but I’d love to have a sense of calm when coming home. The words midlife crisis play on repeat in my head.
Nala greets me at the door as I walk in, cello strapped to my back and rolling crate lagging behind. I station both in their spots in the tiny foyer and pick up her lightweight body. “Hello, my principessa.”
She rubs her ravishing princess-worthy head under my chin, back and forth, and purrs up a storm.
The former walls of my car feel a million miles away as I close my eyes and appreciate her expanding love. “Amore mia. I missed you so much when we were away last week, my green-eyed lioness.” She has many names, I know, but royalty like her deserves them.
Nala’s unique look would conquer in any cat contest, if her owner was so inclined to enter her in one. That was her destiny, after all. Well, the person we adopted her from told us that she wanted to enter her and her siblings in a Canadian contest because the Foldex breed was popular there. But when her former owner had to move and only keep one cat, we were the fortunate ones to give Nala a home. Now, I get to stare at her tiny, round face with the handlebar mustache above her downturned whisker pad and smile that she’s all ours. She’s Grumpy Cat with an air of elegance, my Nala.
I give her another hug and place her on the floor, petting her sandy-brown, long-haired coat and ending my stroke on the gray tip of her poofy tail. “Mangia, Nala. Go eat your dinner. Momma has to talk to Daddy.”
It’s time to get it out there. Driving home, I knew what I had to do. Toni Agosti will not be having a midlife crisis. Nope.
“Christian,” I call.
He comes out from the bedroom, tying his drawstring exercise shorts without looking up at me. “Yeah, hey.”
Could he be any less enthusiastic to see me? I remember all those years we locked lips and hugged as soon as one of us walked in the door, thrilled to see each other every single day.
“Can we chat?” Somehow, ‘chat’ sounds better than ‘talk.’ That’s the kiss of death in coupledom.
“I’m going to the gym. Can this wait?”
“Um, nah. I don’t think so, if you don’t mind.”
“Alright. Shoot.” He opens a kitchen cabinet to retrieve a water bottle then proceeds to fill it from the dispenser on the fridge.
I grab a seat on a barstool at the counter and rest on the cushioned back. “Things seem off lately.” My stomach gurgles, churning in his unknown reaction.
The sound of water stops, but he doesn’t turn around to look at me.
“Babe?” I urge a response.
“What are you talking about? You mean at the school? I told you all your job stuff will work out.” He still doesn’t face me.
“Ha, yeah, my lovely job.” I chuckle, half hoping the ice breaks, and the other half…I have no idea. What am I doing? No, continue, Toni. This conversation is long overdue. “I mean with us.”
Christian finally turns around, drops his eyeline, and sets his water bottle between us, not releasing his grip. “What do you mean off?”
A lump in my throat forms, just like when I auditioned for The Cromwell Conservatory in twelfth grade. I look down and continue, “I can’t be the only one in this room who feels a shift.”
“I…I know. I’ve taken on too many mentees this semester. Maybe I’ve been moody.”
Well, there’s my old Christian emerging. I can’t be sure enough to take a breath of relief yet, though. My eyes meet his across the thick granite, and I continue. “It hasn’t been just in the last month, though. I can’t even be myself anymore without a passive-aggressive look or comment from you.”
“No, I don’t do that.” He pauses. “Do I?”
I lower my voice to soften the blow. “You do. Sorry. Or at least I feel like you do.” I glance at the specks in the counter. “I used to be able to joke around with you if I had a drop from a drink on my lips—you know how I drink too fast. Or when I yawn too loud in public. It never used to matter to you that I don’t hold back, especially since I need to be fully aware of myself at work.” I laugh. “A classically trained cello player can’t exactly win over a director by being loud and clumsy, but I should be able to relax around my husband.”
“Yeah...” Christian releases his water bottle and places both hands palms down on the counter, shoulders raised like when Nala’s ready to pounce on a bug.
My lips want to curl up completely, but they only quiver in a forced grin. “I can’t have David and my family being the only ones who are in my corner when I’m me.”
The tempo change is palpable.
Christian’s cheeks convert to a deep shade of red as he blurts out, “Of course he’s in your corner. He likes you!”
I nearly fall off the barstool, feeling the front legs rise off the floor. “Come again.”
“It’s so obvious, Toni.”
“What is? Nothing’s obvious. He’s my close friend. That’s all.”
The redness in his cheeks spreads to his entire face, growing more vivid by the second. “I know that on your end, but I’m telling you a fact. David has feelings for you, and I’ve kept my mouth shut, but I can’t anymore. You need to stop hanging out with him.”
The breath is kicked out of my chest. “We’re veering off topic here.” I scramble to get out my words, to somehow ease this blindside. “I’m sorry I brought David up at all. There’s nothing to worry about, babe. He’s dating Isla now!” The thought of David having romantic interest in me never once crossed my mind. Pu-lease. That’s wacky. Even wackier is the thought of never hanging out with him again. There are better odds of LA Phil calling me right now and hiring me on the spot, when there’s not even a position available.
“Toni, you’ll see I’m right. I’m a guy. We know when other guys want to jump someone’s bones. If you love me, you won’t spend time with him, even at work. End of story.”
Oh my God. What story? Not my story. He’s living in another galaxy if he thinks I’ll cut off my bestie. But does David have a thing for me? That can’t be. I can’t even entertain that thought right now, so instead, I say, “Of course I love you,” in a low tone once again. “So, trust me with my friends.”
“It’s not you I don’t trust.”
“Well, back to us.” I have to get him off his ludicrous request. Nobody is forbidding my relationships.
“Back to us, yes, but I’m serious about David. Don’t see him anymore.” His jaw clenches.
I linger in thought. Confused thought. How can he ask me such a thing?
As his complexion returns to a normal shade in our silence of what feels like a whole minute, he adds, “Maybe I have been more irritated with some stuff you do.”
“But why? I’m the same old me. Nothing has changed.”
“You are, but things have changed with you.”
“Huh?” I bite the inside of my mouth.
“The complaining about your job is draining on me. Some days, I can’t take having the same conversation over and over. The parents, the kids, the commuting, the scheduling of all of the lessons, the—”
“I got it,” my voice raises, but realizing it makes me pause before continuing. “Sorry I affect you like that. I don’t mean to. You just have no idea how much time it takes to do that scheduling, though!”
“I do know because I see you working on it. Seems like a lot, I’ll give you that.” He walks around the counter and stands beside me, so I slide toward him, one butt cheek half off the seat.
“Thanks. At least you still know I’m alive,” I murmur, my face inches away from his.
He grips my cheeks with both of his hands. “Excuse me, Tone Tone. I more than know you’re alive. I love you, and nothing will change that.”
