“You’re sorry? Sorry? I can’t deal with this shit right now, my fucking mother is here.”
I shook free from his grasp and purposefully configured my posture to hide every emotion possible from my mother.
In truth, my pulse never quieted after my song with Gregory. Seeing my mother standing cross-armed next to Malcolm did little to help that. The judgmental look on her face was enough to make me want to slap her, but there had been enough violence in Symphony Hall for one evening.
“That was quite a show, Savannah.” Her expertly manicured eyebrow judged me as it arched its way skyward. Malcolm shifted uncomfortably at her side.
Suddenly I had no interest in giving her any of my time. I was desperate to process what had just happened and to discuss the summer. But I couldn’t. Not with her. I turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” she asked, sounding rather annoyed.
“Cab. Home.” I shoved my flute case into my shoulder bag and made my way down the long hall, knowing full well she was following closely behind. I made it all the way outside before acknowledging her. “Leave me alone.”
“Hardly, darling. Not when you’re in the middle of destroying your career.” Whenever she said darling it took on a haughty British air, which annoyed me even further given Italian was her first language. And she was an American citizen.
Turning around, I sized Malcolm up quickly before speaking loud to be heard over the traffic and honking horns.
“Vai.” I commanded her to go in a language she might understand, since her English seemed to be failing her.
“Calmati.” She tilted her head to the side mockingly, suggesting I actually calm down. “There’s no need to hide this conversation, Savannah.”
“We’re not having a conversation. I’m leaving.” Turning without a second glance at her silent boyfriend, I made it down one stair.
“And where is it that you’re going? Home? You don’t have one here, remember? Or, were you planning to run to the house of your lover … who appears to be married?”
“Wow,” I turned around and took three measured steps toward her, “those are some serious accusations coming from someone like you.”
My mother swallowed once, sneaking a sideways glance at Malcolm, who looked as though he was about to speak. She stopped him by putting her hand up. “You seem to have your facts mixed up, Savannah. I never slept with a married man.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, Vita.” I leaned in so only she could hear me. “Dad. Dad was a married man. To you. Or, is it that your marriage vows meant so little, you conveniently forgot about them while you were in bed with him?” I tilted my chin toward Malcolm who wisely looked away from me.
Without missing a beat or stumbling over her composure, she straightened her shoulders. “It’s funny, hearing you discuss the sanctity of marriage vows as you’ve apparently spent the summer destroying someone else’s. Grow up, Savannah. Let’s go, Malcolm.” My mother held out her arm, linking it with Malcolm’s as they descended the grand stairs of Symphony Hall, leaving a trail of emotional carnage up and down Massachusetts Avenue.
Feeling faint, I sat down on the stairs, leaning my back against one of the gargantuan white pillars that signified the greatness inside the hall. Right now, it shouldered my shame.
It’s different. It was different with us, I thought, cradling my head in my hands as I tried to regulate my breathing. Gregory’s marriage was dead in the water long before I showed back up in his life. At least that’s what he’d told me.
Shit.
A few words from my mother regarding the condition of my morals and I was hyperventilating on the steps of Symphony Hall, looking for an escape. I’d chosen to lead my mother out this way specifically to avoid the exit of the other orchestra members, knowing they’d leave out the back. I was thoroughly regretting that decision as I longed to find someone I knew. Anyone. I thought about wandering back down the maze of halls to the area where I knew some members of the orchestra would be lingering, but I had no excuse. My luggage wouldn’t be back there, it was in a truck being hauled to Marcia’s house in Andover, which was an unfortunate 40-minute drive away. I could call Marcia to come get me, but Nathan and Christine would be with her and I just … couldn't yet.
Damn it, Nathan.
Oddly enough, I wasn’t angry with him. He’d always been undisciplined in the passion of his emotions, which is why we’d hit it off as friends in the first place. He was trying to protect me from the emotional monster he’d long labeled Gregory. He didn’t get it. No one did. We were different. This was different.
Slinging my flute bag over my shoulder, I carefully descended the stairs and made my way to the overpass across from the hall, leaning against the railing for a moment to steady myself. My emotions. I needed to call him. Panic rose as I considered the painful possibility that we were no different at all. No different from my mother and Malcolm. No different from every cliché and Lifetime movie I’d ever seen. I’d call him and it would be okay. I’d hear his voice and it would assure me. He loved me. I never let him say it, but I needed to hear it from him now.
I hailed a cab, pulling out my phone as I slid into the back seat.
“Where to?” the middle-aged man asked, eyeing me through the rearview mirror. “Ma’am?” he requested my attention again as my thumb trembled over Gregory’s name.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. I don’t care.” I waved my hand dismissively, then froze a little, realizing I'd picked up that habit on tour.
“Come on, I don’t have time for this.” I could only see his eyes in the rearview mirror, but that was enough.
Knowing better than to piss off a cabbie on a busy Saturday night, I looked up. “Sorry. Uh … the bar around the corner.”
“Which one?”
“That really doesn’t matter.” I shrugged, pressing call and bringing my phone to my ear as the driver grumbled something unflattering and took off into traffic.