Page 27 of The Matchmaker's Melody
Now, this could be slightly awkward, because Jean-François was the baritone soloist, and Emma felt most keenly that he and Gordon did not like each other at all.
The rehearsal went well, nonetheless. The two men were not unpleasant to each other, merely cool, and both were more concerned with the music than with any personal grievances. They worked through the necessary passages of music, with an ear for tempo and rhythm. The alternation of choral and solo voices in the Credo were fairly straightforward, despite the staggered entrances, but it was important for the choir members to know what the whole sounded like so there were no surprises at the dress rehearsal.
The Benedictus would present a bit more of a challenge. They would need to put a fair bit of effort into the transitions between the lyrical Allegretto passages for the four soloists, and the strident ‘osanna in excelsis’, the Allegro Assai choral sections that burst through like a fanfare, before the soloists returned with their gentle quartet. The exact details would depend on the conductor who was leading the orchestra, but by hearing the contrast between the sections in rehearsal, the choir would be confident at the performance.
When they finished their short rehearsal, Victor’s kids appeared at the living room door with huge smiles on their faces.
“We made cookies,” they announced.
“Have a cup of tea, won’t you?” their dad invited.
It was hard to say no, and the five musicians soon found themselves sitting around Victor’s dining room table.
As Emma predicted, Gordon and Jean-François smiled politely and then managed to keep as much distance between each other as the compact space would allow. Jean-François had taken the seat next to her, and immediately set about praising her singing, Victor’s kids, and the cookies. Victor himself was more than pleased to join this conversation, leaving Gordon and Ash to their own devices at the other end of the table. From the corner of her eye, Emma noticed the two of them start to chat, both seeming very pleased with their conversation, until it was time to leave.
As they began the ritual of goodnights and sorting whose boots were whose, Ashleigh stood against one wall, tapping at her phone and peering at the screen. Emma was still listening to Jean-François, but she couldn’t miss Gordon walking over to glance at what she was doing.
“Did you come by transit?” he asked.
Ashleigh nodded, peering back at the device in her hand. “Yes. There’s a bus stop not far from here. I’m just looking to see when the next bus is due.”
“Where do you live? Closer to midtown? I’m going that way. I’ll give you a lift.”
Emma stopped buttoning her own coat to listen in.
Ashleigh’s eyes lit up. “It’s not out of your way?” she replied to Gordon. “Well, thank you. It’s snowing again, and I won’t refuse a ride.”
“My pleasure. I’ll be pleased for the company. Whenever you’re ready.”
He held the door for Ash, and the two walked out together, bidding a good evening to everyone else. Emma peered after them, oblivious to whatever it was that Jean-François was talking about.
* * *
It was a funny thing,Emma thought as she got into bed later that night. She had tried to pair Gordon and Ashleigh in her mind, but it had never seemed right. All she could see were the reasons why they would never really work well together.
It wasn’t that Ash wasn’t attractive. She was handsome enough in that quiet way she had, and Gordon wasn’t one to care about looks. Not really. Everyone liked admiring attractive people, and a pretty face might be what caught his eye, but it wouldn’t be enough to keep him interested, Emma was certain.
It was her personality that would make anything between her and Gordon impossible. She was too reserved, too quiet. Gordon was just an engineer—well, maybe not quite as boring as Emma used to think—but he was still friendly, almost outgoing. He must prefer someone more open. He must.
Sure, he and Ash got along well, but a few moments of interesting chit-chat weren’t enough to base a relationship on. It just couldn’t be. No, the two of them would just never do as a couple. It wouldn’t work. It would never work.
Squashing down the sight of them walking off together, Emma repeated her mantra to herself until she had convinced herself she was right. And only then was she able to drift into sleep, with Mozart’s glorious music floating through her dreams.
* * *
Sunday afternoons had becomeMovie-with-Gordon afternoons. Like Emma’s post-rehearsal drinks at the pub with Jean-François, a single event quickly evolved into an unshakable tradition. She’d head over to his house, they’d start dinner or make plans to order something in, and then sit down to watch whatever seemed most interesting at the moment. Afterwards, they’d enjoy a meal together before saying their goodnights.
These were the times she felt the most comfortable, most able just to be herself. Even at home, she was always on display, just a bit, since she used so much of her living space in her videos or social media posts.
This frying pan… well, if she was going to rave about it, she had to use it first, and that meant a photo session in her small kitchen. Everything had to look real, but it also had to be perfect.
That body wash… okay, there were not photos of her in the tub, but hands full of lather, her smiling face as she smelled the aroma on her hands, a photo of the pretty bottle on the side of the bath—these also required her home to be as much showpiece as residence.
The air freshener… the cute little device, plugged into the outlet by her side table, gently releasing the essential oil-scented mist into the air meant her living room had to be just so, with not a thing out of place.
Only her cosy bedroom was entirely her space, never shown online, and that was hardly the same as having Gordon’s entire living room available for her to fling herself onto the couch without having to worry about whether the newspaper went flying onto the floor, or whether the pillows were at some less-than-perfectly attractive angle.
The Sunday following the quartet rehearsal was no exception to this new rule, and Emma arrived as planned, with some freshly-baked molten lava mini cakes in hand, and the expectation of the good and easy company she had come to crave.
