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She holds my stare, her eyes watery but hopeful.
I stand up and take her hand, leading her around the huge desk to the little swinging door in the wall. When we’re standing on the same side of the circulation desk, I wrap my arms around her.
“Thank you for your apology. For all of them. I appreciate it. And you will definitely never take my keys again because I’m not letting you anywhere near them.”
“Fair,” she says.
“And you’re allowed to have opinions on what I do and who I date, and I care about your opinions because I love you. But I need you to respect that my choices matter more to me than how you feel about my choices. Know what I mean?”
Now her tears start to flow. She nods into my neck and hugs me tighter. “I’m sorry and thank you and I love you,” she says, all in a damp rush.
“We’re okay. We’re good.” I say it to give her some comfort, and I mean it, but mostly I want to finish this conversation. I know Tessie well enough to know that this could come up over and over again for years if she thinks I’m still holding on to any hard feelings.
If I need to talk to her about it again, I can bring it up. But I don’t want her compulsively checking if I’m really not mad, if I really trust her, if I really believe that she’s sorry. Now that I know there’s not going to be lasting damage, I can let this fight go.
Tessie kisses the air beside my face.
“Hayes is sorry, too.”
I’m not touching that one. She deserves my forgiveness because we are family and we have years of history and she showed up and apologized. He doesn’t get a pardon just because Tessie mentioned his supposed remorse. I can hold a grudge against Hayes like a boss, and I plan to.
But, you know, quietly.
I don’t answer Tessie, and she doesn’t dare demand a reply.
“So what about the dress for Thursday?” she asks. “You still want to wear my blue one?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to wear one of mine,” I say. One of the black ones, but I don’t tell her that.
She shrugs. “Okay. Call me if you change your mind and I’ll bring it over.”
“Thanks. You ready for a study room?”
I’m rebuilding bridges and stuff. Very adult of me.
“I think Hayes and I are going to study in the Caf today,” she says, a guilty grin on her face.
Far be it from me to demand the little weasel makes his way back to the scene of his crime. I nod and say, “Eat a coconut caramel brownie for me.”
“Gladly,” she says, and with a wave over her shoulder, she’s gone.
That night, the library is so calm, so quiet, I decide to close it up early. I tell my assistant workers first, and they look thrilled to have a chance to go home early. They help me get things settled at the desk, and then I punch in the intercom code into the land-line phone’s keypad.
“Students, can I have your attention, please?” I say, using my most adult voice. “The library will be closing in ten minutes. Please gather up your study materials and make your way home.”
I make the announcement again five minutes later, and send the student assistants to do a quick flush of the corners. I flick the main light switch off and then on again, just in case anyone’s noise cancelling technology is louder than my intercom announcements. There’s a tiny worry that someone’s hiding out in the stacks, or behind a door, but I can’t spend my life worrying that someone’s breaking the rules.
I lock up and head home. Alone. Where I try on three different black dresses.
I’ve bought a lot of black clothing over the years, and I got rid of so much of it when I quit playing. When I wouldn’t need dress blacks on a regular basis anymore. But these dresses don’t scream “orchestra pit,” so I held on to them. When I put one on, I lift my violin and check where and how the dress moves. The first one feels like it hikes too tightly in the sleeves, so I shuck it off and pull on the next.
This one is kind of like a sweatshirt, but in dress cut. It’s warm and comfortable, and probably all wrong for the stage. I mean, when I wear it, it’s usually with my pink Converse high-tops.
This last one has these beautiful sheer long sleeves, and it moves like a dream. But is the hemline hitting me in a weird place? I hold the violin and the bow and spin around in a circle in front of my mirror, trying to see if the movement of the dress is going to be a distraction.
When I start to get dizzy, I put the violin and bow on the bed and force myself to stop. I’m not going to get worked up about this. I don’t need to make costuming the most critical part of the concert experience. I can’t exactly convince myself nobody will pay attention to my dress, because people will. But this is about the music. And in this dress, I can make the music without constriction.
Besides, most of the audience will definitely have their eyes on Theodore. On Ted. On that mouth that emits sounds that make listeners go weak in the knees. And I get to stand beside him, adding unique and beautiful texture to his best song.
