Page 39 of If I Were Yours

“I can’t wait to see you,” I say, counting the days in my head. Today is Wednesday; he’s coming Saturday. Only three days.

A long pause makes worry rise in my chest, and disappointment hits when his sigh sounds through the phone. I already know what he’s going to say.

“Clara, I’m so sorry, but I won’t be able to make it this weekend. I’ve had to reschedule a lot more things than I’d thought. I’m swamped for another week.”

It’s my turn to stay silent as the effect of his words tumbles through me. After spending three months together, three weeks without seeing each other—except for that one day in Berlin—feels like forever. The idea of going even longer without him is like a slam to the gut.

“I’m really sorry. I’ll be there next weekend. Only for a night, unfortunately, but I’ll come as early as I can.”

Is he for real?“So, barely a day?” My voice strains as I try to contain the frustration and disappointment. “We were supposed to have four days together.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, it’s the best I can do. I considered flying you out, but we’d only have a little time in the evenings, and I’m so tired when I get back to the hotel that I fall straight asleep.”

Part of me wants to tell him that I’ll take it anyway—do anything to see him. But he’s right. Spending the better part of two days in transit is not worth a few hours. So I remain silent for a while before expelling a loud sigh and rolling down to lie on my side. “I hate this.”

We both knew this autumn would be hard—with or without Grigory in the picture—but knowing beforehand doesn’t make it any easier.

“Me too.” The line is quiet for a minute, and I can almost feel his regret seeping through the phone. “I’ve talked to Grigory. He can come see you on Sunday and stay a couple of nights.”

I badly want to see Grigory, but I also badly want to see Markus, and for a moment, I’m torn between the win and the loss of this situation. It doesn’t seem right that I have to lose one man to gain the other.

“I’d love to see Grigory,” I say honestly. “But he’s not you.”

“I know, but at least you won’t be alone for long. I think having him there will help.”

I close my eyes and consider. Having Grigory close always helps, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to see Markus.

“I’ll be with you next week, sweetie,” Markus says when I don’t respond.

For one day,I want to say but keep the words to myself and settle for, “I really miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Do you?” I say and quickly expand when I realize how it sounds. “I mean, I know you miss me and all, but you get so immersed in your job that it seems you barely have the time to miss me.”

“Of course I do. I miss having your warm little body curled up next to mine at night and waking up to your pretty smile. But you’re right. It’s not as acute as the way you feel it. I’m so focused on my work during the day that I can barely think about anything else, but that doesn’t mean it’s not hard for me to be apart too. I worry a lot about you, sweetie. But I must say having Grigory around, knowing he’ll be with you, takes a huge load off my shoulders.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Again, I feel like I’m a burden—a fragile thing he has to take care of so I won’t break. I’m considering how to phrase the feeling the best way when he changes the subject to something that’s not much better.

“How are your studies coming along?”

“Erm…” I hesitate. With only nine hours of scheduled lessons a week and a few assignments here and there, I’m supposed to spend most of my time reading the texts on my syllabus, and I absolutely hate it. Despite feeling somewhat back to normal, it’s not easier to get into this routine. I practice piano several hours a day, but I can barely concentrate on the academic sentences for half an hour.

“Are you still having a hard time focusing?”

“Yeah.”

“Playing the piano instead?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Markus sighs. “I’d hoped you just needed some time to get back into your studies after all that’s been going on. But it’s been almost three weeks. We need to find a way for you to keep up with, at least, some of the reading.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “I know. I really want to. It’s just…” I stop myself. I barely know what it is. The motivation just isn’t there, and both the lectures and texts are deadly boring. The subject matter is music, yes, but the approach is so theoretical that it sucks the soul straight out of something that’s supposed to be a beautiful, living thing.

“Have you tried reading at the library?”

“No,” I say somewhat skeptically. The libraries on campus have plenty of areas dedicated to reading, but being around a lot of people doesn’t exactly do my focus any good. “I don’t—”

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