Still, thoughts of his eyes scanning over my body a few days ago in Murphy’s had me silently wishing he was sitting next to me, watching me more. My stomach flipped the way it did when he grinned at me, and I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore my thoughts.
Sitting between my dad and Nathan, I pulled out the program. As always, I was filled with pride to see her name. I saved every program of hers I could get my hands on. She’d send me some, and her agent would send me the rest when she was on a whirlwind tour.
“Dad,” I whispered, “Mom says she gets a break for a while after this?” I spoke to my mother earlier in the week, and she said she would have a few months off before deciding if she wanted to continue. That’s the longest break I can remember her having, and the first time she alluded to possible retirement.
He nodded, with a strange, tight look passing over his face. “That’s the word.”
Before I could respond, the lights dimmed, the orchestra tuned, the show was on, and I was lost in it. My mom’s stage presence really was something to covet. She was gorgeous. Tall, my height, but deep, rich black hair that accented her Italian olive skin. Her face was made even more impossibly beautiful by enticing blue eyes—eyes that were in such stark contrast to the rest of her dark features that they almost looked fake. She wasn’t born in Italy, but her parents were, and Italian was always spoken in her house growing up—it was the natural place for her to want to carry out her career.
By the time the second act was underway, I pried my eyes away from the stage and looked at my dad. As my mother’s voice reached nearly every octave possible, his eyes widened and glistened. The reverence beaming from his face highlighted the deep love and admiration he’s always had for her. And she was in love with the opera. It wasn’t that she didn’t love my dad. It’s just that opera was her first love, and you can’t come between first loves—people or not. She was singing long before she met him, and he took on the role of supporting that, no matter what it meant for him. They met when he played in the pit for one of her shows. He’s a French horn player. Or was.
I gave his hand a slight squeeze, which seemed to startle him, and he took an exaggerated breath before looking at me. Something on his face had changed. I’d never seen that lonely look in his eyes before. I cautiously glanced back to my mom on stage before returning to his face. He nodded, as if to tell me everything was fine, but I started to wonder if twenty years of success in a certain kind of marriage would translate into the same success when the structure changed.
By the end of the show, I was emotionally exhausted. In order to be a great opera singer, you have to also be a great actress. That’s how it works. My mother took both to heights that made people’s jaws drop. That was her job. Her facial expressions, the movement of her body, and the pairing of that with her voice was something to behold. Nathan was still and silent through the entire show, and was buzzing with excitement by the end. On the rare occasions I saw her perform, I was fascinated by all the emotion my mother projected.
“That was amazing!” Nathan yelled as we stepped outside onto the cold March air. Puffs of frozen breath swirled around us as we laughed.
“It was certainly one of the best I’ve seen from her in a long time.” My dad nodded and shoved his hands in his coat pockets as we hurried to the Hyatt Regency, where my parents were staying.
We were going to meet my mom there for dinner and drinks. I hated the backstage scene after a show and always felt kind of crowded out anyway, so I always waited until an hour, or so, after a show to meet up with her. That way she was focused, and I could have her to myself for a little while. In the meantime, my two favorite men and I would sip drinks at the bar. A half hour later, my dad got a text from my mom that she was on her way over, when Nathan elbowed me and nodded to the far end of the bar.
“Look who it is.”
Leaning forward so I could see what he was looking at, I instinctively rolled my eyes. Gregory … Mr. Fitzgerald … whatever, was sitting at the bar having drinks with a woman I think I’d seen once or twice at the financial aid office on campus. She was turned toward him, resting her chin on her hand, staring at him like he was a prize. He, however, seemed to be having trouble figuring out where to look. His eyes darted between the bottom of his glass and the woman’s more-than-approving gaze.
“How about that, he has a social life.” Shrugging, I turned back to my conversation with my dad, but found myself watching the gruff recluse from the corner of my eye. Annoyed at the twinge of jealousy I felt toward the pleasant looking woman with hair and eyes almost the same color as mine, I hastily finished my drink and ordered another.
Gregory
“Another drink, Sir?” The bartender at the Hyatt Regency placed his hand on the bar in front of my drink.
“Please.” I nodded. “Another gin and tonic.” As he walked away to mix my drink, I turned to Karin. “That show was excellent, wasn’t it?” I asked. I knew it was.
Thankfully, Karin smiled. “It was spectacular. I haven’t been to the opera in ages, thank you for inviting me.” She gently placed her hand on my forearm.