Page 109 of Not Another Love Song

Two days later, on Christmas Eve, she waited backstage at Carnegie Hall, Squeaky in one hand, her bow in the other. As she leaned against the wall, she was glad not to see Nathan and have to pretend she was happy to be there.

He’d asked her again about a solo piece the morning after her red-eye, and she’d nodded numbly. Now here she was, still deciding what would happen when he introduced her to the crowd at the end of act one. It was the Christmas concert, so clearly the piece should feel uplifting and joyful. But Gwen didn’t feel either of those things.

She rolled her neck, trying to get rid of the tension in her shoulders that crept in more and more often these days. Alex was in San Francisco tonight and tomorrow. And then they headed over to Sacramento for the twenty-sixth, and then to Portland and Seattle for the rest of the weekend.

The stage manager gave her the cue, and Gwen pasted on a bright smile as the door was pulled open and the stage lights sliced into her eyes. The crowd cheered. She waved up to the top rows where the students sat and heard her name screamed from the rafters. She could pretend she was at the Chase Center, listening to the audience demand more from her again.

She turned to her chair—her chair—and her eyes swept over her orchestra.

Her orchestra.

She could pretend.

The first song went smoothly. And then Nathan took the mic and introduced the guest violinist who’d be playing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” with the male singer.

Her song. Her solo. Her opportunity.

Gwen smiled and applauded as the guest violinist—a very kind and gracious woman—took the stage. She had to shift her chair to the side so the guest could fit. And Gwen couldn’t help but think of Mabel’s analogy. She’d made a gorgeous meal out of this orchestra. She’d spent all day—all year—making this orchestra delicious. And now it was time for the guest to sit at the table, and for Gwen to step aside. She’d be thanked. She’d get a bow. She’d even get the solo performance at the end of act one that Alex usually got.

But was that enough? Was that what she’d wanted when she picked up the violin?

Carnegie Hall applauded loudly, but not nearly as loudly as the Boston concert venue.

Before she knew it, Nathan was introducing her, using words like protégé and apprentice and other buzzwords that the patrons loved but Gwen knew to be false.

She didn’t learn how to play the violin here at the Pops. Mabel had taught her for free. Mabel gave her the opportunity to express herself through music, and Nathan had simply given her her first paycheck.

The audience clapped for her, and Nathan stepped back. Gwen supposed that meant it was time for her to play. She searched her mind, hoping for something to inspire her. There was the Chaconne, Beethoven’s Concerto…but Nathan was hoping for something original.

She brought her bow to her violin and recalled the love song Alex would play for her in the mornings. She didn’t dare play his cello part, but the violin part she wrote over the top of him sang from her fingertips.

Without Alex, it felt incomplete, hollow. She tried her best to mimic the emotions she’d felt when she’d had the spark of an idea for it, but that opened a well in her chest. She remembered the way he’d watched her play, desperate to hear what was in her heart. The way he’d followed her lead and let her rewrite his song.

She played her arpeggios and danced her melody around Carnegie Hall, closing her eyes and imagining Alex there with her. Imagining the cello part—and relishing that she was the only one who could hear it. A secret that the two of them shared forever.

It was so much easier to play than anything else. She didn’t feel tense or stiff. Who did she have to impress? Even if you work at being perfect, people leave. She thought of her mom screaming off-key lyrics into a wooden spoon, Mabel setting down the intermediate practice books on her music stand, Alex tearing the violin music away from her at the wedding and telling her to just play.

Just play.

Maybe she liked love songs after all. As long as she was playing them with Alex.

Building toward the end, Gwen realized she’d never played an ending. She’d been interrupted. He had played a sour note and made a face, and she had laughed. And he’d told her he loved her.

Her lip trembled. The melody took a turn. Her body quivered with the need to recover, to find a way to end. But the song didn’t have an easy ending. It was still unwritten and unperfected. Her elbow pulled quickly, filling the phrases, and her face pinched closed in concentration, trying to block out the memory of Alex and his smile and his large hands that created such beautiful music—

Her throat tightened. And her eyes filled with tears behind her closed lids. This was a mistake. She shook her head, searching for her footing again. It didn’t feel like a love song anymore. It felt like yearning and hope and decaying dreams all in one piece. She felt as if the tears escaping her eyes were just like the melody pushing past her fingertips, no longer needing her anymore. They told their own story.

She tugged the bow across her violin, and found a tonic. It wasn’t right, but it was an end. She took a gasping breath, and as her eyes opened and her tears fell, Carnegie came to its feet, drowning the sound of her sobs.

She smiled, like the pain was a necessary part of the whole. Like all music was supposed to come at a price.

Bowing for every tier, she looked up to the students waving a sign that said, We Love You, Gwen! She inclined her head at the board members in the first tier, finding Ms. Michaels and Dr. Bergman on their feet, whispering quickly to potential donors. And in all of Carnegie Hall, there was one person seated, staring at Gwen like she knew she wasn’t done yet. Like there was clearly more to the song. Ava Fitzgerald clung to the balcony railing, tears glistening down her face.

Gwen retook her seat and stared down at the next page. The show must go on.

“Isn’t she just fantastic!” Nathan bellowed into the microphone, and the crowd quieted. He looked at her, and there was a sparkle in his eye that Gwen didn’t like. “You know, I think I speak for Gwen when I say…being parted from a loved one at the holidays is very difficult.”

Her breath caught, and it felt like bile was creeping up the back of her throat. He couldn’t possibly be trying to milk this…

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