I just wanted to lay in bed with my few hours of free time and replay the highlight reel from the past few days. I’d had a breakthrough, I’d had some sexual experiences that rivaled walking on the moon, and I had found a sense of yearning to play my instrument again that I hadn’t felt in over a decade. Things were coming up Kim.
I had just passed the dining room when my mom called out, “Sweetie, can you come in here?”
Mom and Dad sat on a leather sofa with a small stack of papers, magazines, and books between them. My mother had her legs tucked under her—looking more elegant at close to seventy-five than I had in all my years on this planet. She had an arm around Dad. He took off his “readers” and placed them on the stack.
“Hey,” I said.
My mother wore a large loose-necked cowl sweater dress and black leather leggings. My father was wearing brown loafers with fancy little tassels. I noticed all this because I couldn’t quite bring myself to make eye contact with them. Could parents sense when their child had had mind-blowing orgasms? Lord, I hoped not. Why did it feel like suddenly a sign flashed above my head saying, “Your daughter got freaky this weekend!”
“Sit down, sweetie,” Dad said. “Let’s have a chat. Catch up. What’s going on with you?”
I sat in the armchair across from them, sliding in the leather as I tried to find a position to get comfortable. I ended up tucking my knees under my chin which made me feel even more like a child under interrogation. Nothing good ever followed a forced attempt to have a casual conversation. I was reminded of the ease I witnessed between Devlin and his family, of how they laughed and shared and spoke with the familiarity of long-time friends.
“Sure.” I settled on a vague, less was more response. “I’m good. How are y’all?”
My mother hummed a sigh and shot a look at my father.
“Best to just put it out there, Meredith. You know these things are worse if we build them up.”
An icy dread had me squeezing my legs tighter to my body.
She patted his head before picking up the glasses he had just laid down. They perched on her nose as she picked up one of the papers and began to read. “‘Devil of the Symphony makes more outlandish requests.’ Are chair auditions really that bizarre? It goes on. Yellow journalism, for sure, but here: ‘His muse and prized pupil, Christine Day, has moved quickly up the ranks as the new conductor seems to have taken a liking to her. Rumors of walkouts abound over the perceived favoritism.’” My mother put the paper back down, carefully folded up the glasses, and set them on top.
People were going to walk out over this? Devlin was supposed to be working toward bringing us together as a symphony. I was distracting him. I was causing this. I tried to clamp down on the wayward thoughts, but they ran wild with my heart rate.
“This is rubbish, obviously. You’re extremely talented and that’s why the Maestro chose you.”
“That being said …” my father started.
“That being said, we’ve heard unsettling rumors,” Mom finished.
“What sort of rumors?” I asked, knowing I was not pulling off casually unaffected.
“We’ve heard he’s been following you places?” Dad asked. “Then there are those ridiculous rumors of kidnapping.”
“Of course we know the truth of that first night at his place. He talked to us first.” My mother laid her arm on his shoulder. He squeezed her hand back.
“People are sensationalizing things for the sake of drama.”
“I’m sure those two that run the symphony are feeding off it.”
“They’re probably the ones who started the rumors.”
“No doubt.”
My parents volleyed back and forth, forgetting that I was in the room. As they spoke, my worst fears began to stack in my mind. I had lost control. I had let myself give in to deep desires and take what was not mine. Would all of Devlin’s work be destroyed because of this reputation? Would the SOOK really revolt?
“Honey?” My mom cut through my thoughts. “I’m sure it’s small town minds and all that. Richard has said that Carla is going to quit. Change like this is bound to happen when a new person takes over. We just want to make sure you’re being careful. If you’re feeling any unscrupulous pressure from Devlin …”
“He wouldn’t do that. He’s not like that,” I quickly said.
“We didn’t think so either. But you let us know, ok? If anything starts to feel like too much or …”
“Or any of those old worries and anxieties start to creep up again?” Dad finished.
Of course. They were worried I was backsliding. I’d been going out more, staying away from home. They’d never known the truth about camp. I’d been so scared to tell them, and even now, I was too gripped by growing anxieties to get the words out. In their minds, they probably saw old habits returning.
“Okay, well, we were concerned. Lots of buzz about the moody conductor and his current cellist muse.” Mom said.
