Page 4 of Sunkissed Memories
“You didn’t want anything to do with me,” Peter said now.
Ada turned her head to look at him, her handsome husband, and tried to remember what he’d seemed like to her back then. She’d been a celebrity of sorts and sought after, with many men wanting to take her out. Peter had brought flowers to her backstage, eager for a chance to talk to her. She’d thanked him, taken the flowers, and sped off into the night with her girlfriends in the opera scene. They’d laughed about Peter, who’d seemed so “normal” compared to their wonderful performance artist friends. They’d joked that he was a business student or a lawyer.
But Peter hadn’t quit coming to shows.
“I must have spent all of my money on opera tickets that year,” Peter said, laughing at himself now. “And flowers. Bouquet after bouquet.”
Ada stopped walking at the corner, weak at the knees with the memory. Before them was Peter’s old apartment, where he’d taken her after he’d finally convinced her to go out with him. She’d been twenty by then, still the brightest light the opera world had for its future. The fact that she’d gone out with a dental student had thrilled her opera girlfriends, including Quinn. “You’re playing a game!” Quinn had said to Ada. “You’re going to break his heart!”
But there had been something about Peter. Something confident but kind, funny but sure. It hadn’t taken long for Ada to stop dating the other men in the opera world and focus on Peter. It was a good thing she did. The timing was perfect.Everything crumbled, and Peter was there to hold on to. Peter was there to love her when nobody else would.
“You remember the first meal you cooked for me there?” Ada gestured toward the apartment window.
Peter chuckled. “Must have been that weird veggie lasagna?”
Ada furrowed her brow. “What? No. It was the roast chicken, wasn’t it?” She could still feel how stiff the chicken had been, how many times she’d had to chew before she could swallow. They’d laughed about it for over an hour and eventually gone out for pizza. Peter had hardly cooked since.
“No,” Peter said, so sure of himself that it almost frightened her. “It was the veggie lasagna. I remember because you insisted we put goat cheese in it, and it was bizarre.”
Ada blinked at him, listening to the hum of the cars as they passed and the rush of the April wind through the trees above them. They’d been married long enough for her to recognize when to dismiss an argument, especially when it didn’t matter.
But she knew for a fact that she’d never eaten veggie lasagna in Peter’s old apartment.
They walked to her old apartment, their hands still entwined. Peter talked about his old days at dental school, how the other students had found his “relationship with the opera star” incredibly exciting. “But you know how boring dental students can be,” Peter said.
Ada remembered Peter’s old classmates. She’d gone to their dental school parties, drinking water and barely talking to avoid hurting her voice for performances. Everything in her life back then had revolved around opera, save for Peter.
Before the opera that night, Ada and Peter returned to the hotel to rest and get ready. Ada had brought a sleek black dress with a high neckline, and she’d packed Peter’s suit. Dressed up, they took a selfie in the hotel bathroom mirror, then kissed lightly to avoid messing up Ada’s lipstick.
“Are you nervous?” Peter asked when they left.
“No,” Ada lied. But Peter could probably sense how jittery she was.
They reached the opera hall and were shown to their seats, which Quinn had secured for them in the third row. As Peter typed something on his phone, Ada checked in with the kids, and each of them wrote back updates: Olivia was at a friend’s place, watching a movie; Kade was playing soccer with the neighbor kid; and Hannah was at home with her friend Melody, making homemade pizza and preparing to watch a movie. Ada breathed easier, then opened the opera booklet to read about the singers for the night.
Quinn had top billing, of course.
Ada read about Quinn’s incredible career: the stints in Rome and London, the multiple honors, and the roles she’d performed that had garnered a new wave of opera fans. As Ada read, she had the strangest feeling that she was reading about her own life, or the life that she was meant to have. Her eyes stung with tears.
Back when Ada was still an opera singer, she and Quinn had been both best friends and rivals. Ada had known that Quinn was jealous of her career and accolades. But Ada hadn’t been worried because she’d always known she was better than Quinn.
Yet here Quinn was, performing, while Ada was a therapist.
Had Quinn invited Ada to the performance tonight to rub it in her face?
Ada’s pulse quickened.
But all at once, the curtain came up, and she allowed herself to fall into the magic of the performance. Quinn was stupendous and every bit the star people said she was, with a voice she’d grown into now that she was forty-four years old. It had been many years since Ada had seen an opera, and she was emotionally overwhelmed, so much so that tears fell down her cheeks and her stomach thrashed. When it was over, she jumpedto her feet to applaud, demanding more and more bows from the performers, including Quinn. Up on stage, Quinn made eye contact with Ada and smiled. Ada couldn’t wait to talk to her.
When Peter and Ada went into the lobby, Ada struggled to speak.
“What did you think?” Peter asked, spreading his hands out.
Ada took a breath and looked around the lobby at the opera fans, dressed immaculately, gushing about Quinn and the rest of the singers. For a moment, she thought she might have a panic attack.
“Listen,” Peter said, “I have to make a call. One of my patients is struggling with pain, and I have to, you know. Advise them.”
Ada respected that Peter was often available to his ailing patients. She usually did the same for hers, taking calls at odd times and interrupting dinners. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to go backstage and say hi.”
