“Where are you going?” Christoph called after Reno.
“Walk.” Reno waved over his shoulder and didn’t bother turning around. He went down the outdoor stairs and across the parking lot until he hit the sidewalk and took it aimlessly away from the motel.
Christoph was nice enough, Reno figured. He was a bit overbearing and rubbed Reno the wrong way sometimes, but he seemed to mean well. Sometimes however, Christoph fell into the trap of being so naturally talented at what he did that he forgot to keep working on improving. Reno did the same thing when he was younger, so now when he saw it in someone older than himself, it annoyed him.
He preferred hanging out with Angel; they took the whole tour a little more seriously. And, they didn’t pry into Reno’s personal business.
He let his feet carry him through the night, thankful there was no cold breeze since the rain had all passed by. The sky was clear, a few stars shining brightly and the rest muffled by light pollution. It reminded him of the sky growing up, where only in the coldest winter nights he would see more than a handful of stars.
He put his headphones in and flipped through his phone for something to play.
Settling on Camille Saint-Saens, he let the violin wash over him as he walked, only pausing to crouch down occasionally to admire fresh blooming flowers in the planters lining the sidewalk. He snapped a few photos, enjoying the way the streetlights filtered through the thin tulip petals. He sent the photo to Sage and to his mother, and immediately his phone started ringing.
“Hi, Mom.” He answered in Japanese, finding comfort in how it felt. It was always like breathing fully again to talk to his family.
“How are you, healthy?”
“Yes, Mom. And you?” Reno spotted a bench and made his way to it, crossing the empty street.
“Oh, my wrists hurt, my eyes are going bad.”
“So nothing new then,” Reno laughed lightly. “I hope I don’t have your wrists.”
“You don’t,” she said, easily. “Your eyes might be mine though. Get checked often. Those silly contacts you wear can’t be helping.”
“They are medical grade." Reno dropped down onto the bench. “From an eye doctor, I promise. I wouldn’t hurt myself like that.”
His mom made a disapproving noise into the phone. “Like that tattoo.”
“Oh, come on.” Reno secretly loved how much grief his mother gave him; it meant she cared about him. “It healed fine and causes no problems. It’s so little, too. You know my classmates back home have more than I do.”
“That is their problem, not mine. You are my problem.”
“Aw, thanks.”
She laughed, the sound of it soft over the line. “What if you work for the symphony?”
“Many people in the London Symphony have tattoos, too.”
“That doesn’t mean you should!” she said, something she’d said regularly since Reno had gotten the tattoo five years ago. He’d never gotten another, mostly to make her happy. “Have you been holding up your end of the bargain?”
“You know I haven’t, I’ve been on tour.” Reno took a drink and leaned back against the bench.
“You could practice violin on tour.”
“I don’t think the residents of Ohio would like me playing at one a.m. in the motel.” He clicked the can against the bench arm, the ping of metal making a pleasant tone. “Or everyone on the bus. The bus is small. The violin is loud.”
His mother hummed and then said, “Okay, double when you’re home.”
“Alright, fine.” Reno tapped the beer can against the bench again, forming a slow, steady rhythm. “How’s Hana and Himari?”
“Brats. Hana has started turning her hair blonde. This is your fault.”
Reno laughed, “She’s in university, leave her alone.”
“At least one of my children is in school. Himari insists on something you Europeans do. A gap year? Can you believe that? What nonsense.”
“I am not European, Mom. It is not my fault she is lazy.”
