My emotions oscillated between anger at my mother for letting him walk out, and rage that he just left us. But every time I caved in to the need for answers and justice, the fury that demanded I chase after him and get those answers, I melted.
Every argument they had, I had been the one to go to him and ask him if he was okay. Not Mom, not the one who had upset him. Me. I hated that she hurt him and said spiteful words to him when all he had done was love us so well. It was no different this time. I could feel upset by the fact that he was gone, but I refused to blame him. This was all her fault.
“I don’t want a fresh start. I want Victor.” I realized that for 15 years old I probably sounded like a baby throwing a tantrum, but I didn’t care. There wasn’t a single boy my age who could turn my eye the way Victor had. I needed him to be there for me, and she had run him off just like she had the man before that, and my father.
“Well, honey, you’re just going to have to put on your big girl panties and get over it.” Mom slapped the counter, scooped up her jewelry, and strolled with grace toward the swinging door through which I had entered. When she stopped in the doorway, I glared at her. “Men come and go. You know? Here is a great lesson for you. You’re almost a woman now, so you should know this. Keep the gifts. At least you can get some cash out of it.”
The door clicked as it swung back and forth after her exit. Is that really what she thought of all of this? That men were just a means to an end, only a conduit to bring her money.
I screamed out a growl and collapsed onto the island, my folded arms creating a barrier for my face. I should have said something. I should have burst into the room like I wanted and begged Victor not to leave me. I knew he cared about me, maybe not the same way I did about him, but he cared. He would have listened to me, but now he was gone.
I sobbed for so long I forgot what time it was. My back started to hurt from being hunched over, and Mom still hadn’t returned. Victor had been with us for so long, I didn’t even remember what life was like before him, when we were alone. All I knew was that we were struggling, barely making it.
I didn’t want to go back to that struggle. I didn’t want to be poor again, not knowing what we’d even eat for dinner, or when I would get the shoes or school supplies, I needed. The more I thought about it, the more miserable I became, until I realized that line of thought was probably what Mom was thinking too.
And I refused to be like her.
Never in my life would I ever keep a man around just because he had money to pay my bills and feed me. I resolved right then and there, I would take care of myself, be my own woman.
And I would never be a gold digger like my mother.
2
KAT
It didn’t matter how many times I drew my bow across those goddamn strings, I couldn’t focus. The hair on the back of my neck kept prickling at the thought that Javier was seated only two rows behind me, probably staring at the back of my head throwing hate daggers because I’d just dumped him.
Zina smacked her baton on her music stand and eyed me with a look that was lecture enough. Taylor, seated to my right, nudged me as we took a reprieve from action. First violins would rest for 12 bars before coming back in, so I lowered my instrument and stretched my neck. My shoulders were tense, which was nothing new, except this time I knew a faceoff with Javier was coming as soon as Zina dismissed us.
“What the fuck?” Taylor hissed, turning the page as the orchestra continued the tune. “You never mess up. What is going on? You’re literally first chair. This shouldn’t be happening.”
The scent of her garlicky dinner wafted in my direction as she spoke. It was one thing that I’d grown to expect from my second-chair counterpart. Her breath always reeked of garlic because she loved the stuff. I shrugged her question away and raised my violin back to my shoulder, pinching it down with my chin.
In order to avoid further prying, I concentrated on tightening my bow strings and counting the measures as they passed. My solo would come in only two bars after the first violins began again, and the melody sung out in my head. I was ready to demonstrate everything I’d been slaving away practicing for so many weeks. And with our show only a few days out, I needed this rehearsal to go well. Zina and the whole orchestra—not to mention the donors—were counting on me to bring my A game.
Zina directed the section to prepare, and in an eight-count brought everyone in. The sweet soprano tune rang out over the room, joining the cellos in a harmonizing pattern and sounded glorious. We finished the song without another incident, but the damage had clearly been done. As soon as Zina closed the song with the final dip and pinch of her fingers, she looked right at me—nostrils flared, and eyebrows furrowed.
I avoided eye contact, managing to collect my sheet music and tuck my violin under my arm as I stood and hurried away. My violin case sat on the front row of seats in the auditorium, open and ready to receive its charge. Javier’s case sat a row back, like normal. Only, on a normal night we would have sat down and chatted with the group for a while in a post-practice recap and social moment. Tonight, however, I wanted out. I didn’t want to hear his angry murmurs, or worse—listen to him beg me not to break up.
Zina was easy enough to placate. As I passed by, I told her I’d practice harder for tomorrow’s rehearsal. Taylor, however, was not buying it. She stayed glued to my side as I jogged down the steps of the stage toward my belongings. I could tell based on the sounds of her footsteps that she was upset. Her feet slapped against the short Berber angrily.
Quickly removing the shoulder rest from my violin, I set it in the case, loosened my bow string and slid it into the case as well, then shoved the shoulder rest in the outer pocket. Before I even had the thing zipped up, Taylor grabbed my elbow. Her hand felt like the talon of a large preying bird, swooping down to snatch up its next meal. I wanted to yank my arm away violently, but I didn’t want her to drop her violin.
“What is going on?” Her practice violin, a bright red number with stickers plastered all over the body, was tucked under her arm, the bow swinging from her fingertip. Taylor’s short auburn hair stuck out from her head, a remnant of the late 90s fad of bedhead still holding on to its last vestige of hope. She wasn’t the typical symphony sweetheart, at least not the stereotype.
That was me. At least, if my mother had anything to do with it.
I zipped my violin case and slung the shoulder strap over my head, so the case fell diagonally across my back. Javier stood on stage talking to another orchestra member, one of the cellists I didn’t know. He glanced at me with a mixed expression. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or pain. I didn’t want to know.
“Nothing.” I turned, not waiting for Taylor to case her instrument and walked away. I heard the hasty sounds of her rustling her sheet music and instrument into their case, then she raced up behind me.
“Listen, you have to talk to me.” She pulled my elbow, and I was forced to turn and face her.
“Why? Like, it’s personal.” I eyed Javier nervously as he descended the stairs and strolled up to his violin case. There was something about the way he walked that unnerved me, like a large predator stalking its prey. I wondered why I had never realized that before.
“Did something happen with you and Javi?” She tapped her foot, and for the first time I noticed she was not carrying her instrument. The hoodie she wore had a stain that looked like red sauce and her bright red lipstick contrasted with her hair color, making the three shades of red clash.
“Yeah, I broke it off.” I bit my lip to keep from saying anymore. I was not a Nervous Nelly, normally. But tonight, I couldn’t wait to get out of that room.