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“I told you I’m a professional,” Adrian says from behind me, his breath hitting the back of my neck.
Turning to look at him, there’s an understanding in his eyes that I don’t deserve.
“I didn’t know if you were going to come back,” I admit. “The rooms aren’t ready.” I point down the hall to the bedrooms.
Adrian steps forward, closing the distance between us. He’s hesitant to touch me, aware that we are in my home with my daughter in the next room.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says with a deep voice that rattles my bones – whether I like it or not.
When I make my way down the hall, Noelle is furiously trying to pick up all of her things from the floor. My room is mostly clean, but Noelle’s usually looks like a hurricane hit it. She piles all of her clothes into a basket and sets it on her bed.
Stopping to assess the rest of the stuff in her room, she asks, “What should I do with my recording equipment?”
Looking around for a place to put them I’m at a loss, because all of the furniture will be moved to pull up carpeting, and the rest of the tile has to be broken up.
“You can put it in the bathroom. We’re not touching that space right now,” Adrian says from behind me.
She looks between Adrian and I as we both peer into her room. “Cool,” Noelle says, starting to pack everything up.
“Is that a MIDI keyboard?” Adrian asks, but then he looks at me with questioning eyes as if he’s asking for permission to speak with her.
“Noelle composes her own music,” I say, with a prideful smile on my face.
“You’re Laura’s brother,” she says. “I remember you from the wedding. You’re pretty good on the guitar.”
Adrian laughs, shifting his weight. “Yeah, I play alright.”
“I like string instruments because there’s so much range,” she explains, picking up her violin. “You can basically bend them to do whatever you want.” She plucks at the strings. It’s interesting to see Adrian interact with her, being a musician himself. My family has been to many recitals and concerts for school, but they don’t have the same appreciation for it.
Moe cranks up his portable radio, blaringLed Zeppelin, and Adrian shakes his head at the intrusion. At least it’s not ear-splitting level, but Adrian sticks his head down the hallway telling him to shut it down.
The music abruptly cuts off, but Noelle picks up where the song leaves off, demonstrating the range with her bow, the unmistakable chords of the last verse of the song.
“Did you just playKashmirby ear?” Adrian asks, astonished.
“To be fair, I’ve heard it once before,” she says. “My mom likes to subject me toherclassics on occasion in the car,” Noelle laughs.
“Hmm.” Adrian pokes his head around the corner and yells down the hall to Moe. “Turn that back up.” Moe does as he’s told, but now the song has changed toPink Floyd, Wish You Were Here.
Noelle holds the violin under her chin, her ear trained in the direction of Moe’s boom box. Her fingers twitch as if she’s memorizing the placement of her fingers against the strings, and as soon as Adrian tells Moe to cut the volume Noelle slides the bow across the violin, playing the song as if she’s practiced for hours.
Adrian laughs as Noelle confirms the first time wasn’t a fluke.
“Jesus.” He brings his hand to cover his mouth and then rubs at his chin.
Noelle places her violin back in its case, tilting her head at Adrian innocently before starting to move her equipment to the bathroom.
“Do you have any idea how extraordinary that is,” Adrian begins, “to play a song from memory after only hearing it once?”
“I do.”
The minute she picked up a violin for the first time I knew she was special.
“I’ve been playing for a long time, and even I have to practice for hours to learn the songs we cover,” Adrian admits, following me into the living room. “There’re only a handful of musicians who can do that, and Paul McCartney is fucking one of them.” He continues talking, gesturing with his hands excitedly.
Laughing, I place my hand on his arm. “Are you fangirling over my daughter?” I tease him.
“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I fucking am,” he states plainly.
