The Collected Regrets of Clover

“Hello, Grandma!” He kissed her twice, then turned to me.

Mortified that he would try to kiss me in front of Claudia, I abruptly stuck out my hand for him to shake it.

“Hi, Sebastian,” I said.

It took a beat for him to process, but he recovered quickly, switching the phone he was holding to his other hand so he could shake mine.

“I’m so glad you’re both here,” he said, though his eyes stayed mostly trained on me. “I saved you some seats in the front row.”

He moved to the opposite side of Claudia, supporting her other elbow, and together we walked her slowly to her seat. Once we’d made sure she was comfortable, Sebastian hovered awkwardly, hands behind his back as if wanting to say something. I busied myself with the photocopied program that had been placed on our seats.

“‘Bach’s Cello Suites,’” I read aloud.

Sebastian smiled bashfully. “Yeah, I know, it’s kind of the most clichéd cello composition ever—I wanted to do Fauré’s ‘Pavane.’” He gestured to the other attendees taking their seats around us. “But you’ve got to give the people what they want—especially when you’re trying to get them to donate to charity.”

I hadn’t realized this was a fundraiser—that was nice of him to be part of it. His awkwardness now felt more endearing.

“Bach was my grandpa’s favorite,” I said, trying to put him at ease since I was probably one of the reasons he seemed so nervous. “He used to take me to concerts at the New York Philharmonic when I was a kid.”

Grandpa and I would sit in the balcony whispering as he taught me the name of all the orchestra sections and their different instruments. My favorite conductor was the one who used to get so caught up in the music that it looked like he was dancing. And every so often, he’d pause to hitch up his pants.

Sebastian’s face lit up. “Grandma used to take me there too! I wonder if we were ever at the same concert?”

I imagined us as two lanky kids, passing each other in the lobby of Lincoln Center.

Claudia gazed up at her grandson. “I always tried to get him to appreciate jazz, but he was insistent that classical music was his thing—just like his grandfather.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian grinned. “Grandad really hated jazz—refused to listen to it.” Another fascinating insight into the relationship between Claudia and her husband.

A stocky man tapped Sebastian on the shoulder and gestured to the makeshift stage, where four cellos perched in front of chairs.

“Oh, right,” Sebastian said. “We’d better start getting ready.” He turned back to Claudia and me. “Enjoy the show!”

We watched him disappear into a side room.

As the lights dimmed and the audience hushed, I closed my eyes and tuned into the ripples of anticipation that always came at the beginning of a live performance. That shared intimacy among strangers where, for just a moment, everyone laid aside the baggage of life to be completely present as one—a communal hopefulness. I breathed in the soothing woody scent of the instruments and the pique of a freshly rosined bow.

The side door opened and Sebastian and his fellow musicians—each dressed in black, all similarly bookish—filed out and took their seats, hanging their heads shyly at the warm applause. The woman seated on Sebastian’s left counted herself in and commenced the prelude from Bach’s “Cello Suite No. 1,” her fingers moving gracefully across the neck of the majestic instrument as if caressing the sound out of it. When the familiar refrain reverberated throughout the gallery space, I felt the audience breathe a collective sigh as they settled into the music’s embrace.

The remaining trio of musicians joined in and I took the opportunity to study Sebastian in motion. The way he bent his neck slightly around the cello like he was telling it a secret. How his face crumpled with concentration. The way his foot kept time, alternating between a toe tap and a heel tap as the rest of his body swayed. It was clear that I was watching someone doing something they truly loved.

To observe someone swept away by the thing they’re most passionate about, most skilled at—what some call “flow”—is one of life’s great privileges. There’s an energy that emanates, a magic. As if they’re opening their hearts up completely and letting themselves communicate with the world in their purest form—unencumbered by insecurities, stresses, and bitterness. Like time is suspended and they’re simply allowing themselves to be.

Watching Sebastian with his cello made me see him differently than before. And for a few moments, instead of constantly debating what I might feel for him, I let myself follow his cue. To let the music sweep me away and simply be.



* * *



Once the performance had ended, Claudia and I sat on a bench outside the gallery, waiting for Sebastian.

“What a lovely concert—thank you, sweet Clover, for being my date,” Claudia said, linking her arm through mine. “I do hope my grandson is paying you for this, spending time with us after hours.”

My shoulders tensed with guilt as I thought about my other evening with Sebastian for which I definitely did not charge overtime.

“Oh, no,” I said, scrambling for what to say next. “We’re here for a good cause, after all. I couldn’t take any payment for that.”

“You’re very kindhearted, my darling,” she said, and I squirmed at the undeserved compliment. “But don’t let us keep you—I’m sure you’re ready to be done with your workday. I can wait here for Sebastian.”

I was tempted to take the opportunity to leave, but I was curious about seeing Sebastian again.

“I’ll at least wait until Sebastian comes out here,” I said. “I wouldn’t leave you all alone.”

Claudia looked skeptically around at the polished gallery district streetscape. “I’ve been in much more precarious situations, believe me.”

The gallery door opened and a cello case poked out, followed by Sebastian.

“Ah, there you both are!” He leaned his instrument against the gallery’s glass front. “I was looking for you inside.”

“I was just telling Clover she could take her leave from us,” Claudia said. “We don’t want to monopolize her time any longer since she’s already working late. And it’s cold out here.”

I couldn’t work out what his expression was trying to communicate to me as he looked between me and Claudia.

“Oh, right, of course.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call us a car.”

“I’m just going to take the subway from here,” I said quickly, to avoid being sandwiched in the back of a car with Sebastian and Claudia trying to pretend everything was normal. “It’s only a couple of stops.”

Sebastian held up his phone. “But the car’s only a minute away—we could drop you on our way.”

“No, no,” I insisted. “It’s in the opposite direction. The subway is definitely no problem.”

Claudia put her hand on Sebastian’s arm. “Allow the woman her independence, muffin.” She winked at me. “Clover’s probably had enough of us.”

I watched Sebastian’s cheeks flash red. “Right, sorry.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I said. “Thank you both for inviting me—it really was a beautiful performance.” I looked shyly at Sebastian. “You’re a very talented musician.”

For the first time ever, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

Conscious of Claudia watching our exchange, I panicked. “Anyway, I’d better get home to my dog,” I said, buttoning up my coat. “Have a good night, both of you!”

Then, in what now seemed like a habit, I found myself fleeing down the street from Sebastian. Only this time, I wasn’t sure what it was I was running away from.





31


When I arrived at Claudia’s house the following Wednesday, Selma met me at the door.

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