by Ruby Lang
“I remember it. The neckline came down in a low vee. I always wanted to rest my face right there.”
“The dress was so stiff it would’ve supported you.”
She moved her hand down his chest. He was breathing lightly and quickly, his eyes bright.
“It was like you built up all of this energy, all this feeling inside, and then after it was done, you felt like you were allowed to let go.”
He swallowed. “I remember that. I remember all of it.”
Without taking her eyes from his, she unbuttoned and then unzipped him, her hand slow and certain. He looked like he wasn’t sure of what to do, which was unusual for him.
She liked that.
“Come on,” she said softly.
He followed.
Chapter Twelve
“I can’t believe you’re with her again,” Simon’s sister said.
“I’m not with her with her. We’re still figuring it out. Trying to take it slow.”
It was well past noon on the Thursday before the performance, but entirely too early for this conversation.
Maxine had called because she was asking him, as she did every year around this time, to come visit for spring break. Usually he managed to avoid her. But this time, he’d been walking to his office, preoccupied, and answered without looking at his phone.
He was still not sure how Maxine had taken his usual “No, I really can’t make it this year,” To indicate he’d gotten back together with Lana, but she’d done it and he hadn’t denied it, and now Maxine had to talk to him about it.
“Take it slow? You were married to her. If your relationship was a car, then when you got divorced you ripped out the brakes. And now you just got in and started driving again. You can drive it fast, you can drive it slow, but you can’t stop unless you crash.”
“Wait, why would anyone rip out the brakes of a car?”
“It’s an analogy. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“Perfect? It doesn’t even make sense. If anything it’s more like we were on a long-distance journey, but Lana got out, and I don’t know, hitchhiked or pedaled a bicycle or rode in an ox cart or something, while I kept going. And now she’s back in, and we’re on a country road driving responsibly and carefully while enjoying the scenery.”
“Sometimes you can take an analogy too far.”
“You started it. Listen, when I say we’re taking it slow, I mean that’s what we’re doing.”
Except he and Lana already lived together, and they were definitely sleeping together. Or not sleeping. Taking each other hungrily the minute one of them arrived home, with hardly enough time to remove all the complicated layers of winter. How many times had he looked up from his frenzy to realize they were having sex with most of their clothing still on: scarves and hats wet with sweat as they moved together. The only slow thing was that they weren’t talking much about where this was going. Partly because so far they spent most of their time together in bed, and partly because he had a concert he was getting ready for, and she was working, and they had very different hours. And partly because maybe he didn’t want to think about where this relationship vehicle would end up.
He tried to switch the subject over to the concert, but Maxine took the opportunity to ask if Lana would be attending, and, without him answering said, “Of course, she is. Of course, she is. Because that’s how you get around performance time.”
Did everyone assume he got horny when he had a show coming up? That was a humiliating thought.
Maybe he should change the subject again.
Maxine was not done. “I’d have thought you’d pick someone younger, at least. She must be more than forty now. What about children?”
“Maxine, you’re out of line. And I don’t have time to discuss this.”
“I mean, I always assumed you’d have at least a couple by now. I kept some better hand-me-downs for you until a few of years ago. Not too many, because we didn’t have that much left that was decent. After they’ve cycled through four kids, you know.”
“I have to go.”
“No you don’t. You don’t want to talk to me.”
He thought for maybe half a second about protesting. But they’d never been polite to each other. Why start now? “You don’t make it easy.”
He added, perhaps rashly, “I don’t really want children.”
He heard a clatter from Maxine’s end, as if she’d dropped something. “What do you mean you don’t want children? You’re a teacher.”
“I work with teens, not little kids. Plus, nowadays I teach adults.”
“But you’re so good with your nieces and nephews.”
Maxine sounded genuinely frustrated with him, as if he’d suddenly changed the terms of a deal they’d had, although what deal and when they’d made it, he couldn’t say. He felt somewhat trapped, and because of that, a little guilty and a lot irritated. “I don’t remember having this discussion with you or even having to clear this with you.”
“I assumed—”
“You assumed wrong. And maybe I’ve changed. Maybe I want the life that wasn’t mapped out for me. I am allowed to want different things from what you want for yourself.”
He was aware he sounded like a child. Which was all the more reason he shouldn’t have one. Not that he was going to use that particular point in the argument.
He’d stopped near the top of Morningside Park. Through the bare branches, he could see down into Central Harlem. He spotted the crossing guards for the local school in their fluorescent vests waving at kids, cars moving carefully down the roads, friendly buildings with their bright bricks and windows. If he squinted, he could almost see his house, the apartment he shared with Lana, the place to which he’d almost refused to move. It wasn’t quite what he’d envisioned for them all those years ago.
“Is Lana the one who made you think you didn’t want kids?”
“This has nothing to do with her. I’ve been considering what I want and what makes me happy. I was stuck because I kept mistaking what people thought I should want for things I actually strove for. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m finally figuring myself out. And if it means my life doesn’t turn out exactly like you planned it, then fine.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you tell me how to live all the time. Move out! But don’t live there! Or there! You need to date more! Why don’t you get married? But don’t get involved with Lana! Less than two months ago you were telling me I was in a rut.”
“You were. But this is not how I saw you breaking out of it.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’ve got this firm, completely full-color vision in your mind of how things ought to be.”
Maxine started to laugh. “You are telling me about full-color visions? Mr. Artistic Director, Mr. What-I-Say-Goes-and-If-It-Doesn’t-I’m-Going-to-be-Very-Disappointed-in-You? That’s rich.”
“Since when am I like that?”
“Since I got married? Since I had kids?”
“I’m not disappointed. It’s just you’re different from how you used to be. Which of course, you should be. But you’re such a wife now.”
“I’m married.”
“You were also my badass older sister. You were in bands. You guys even played at The Knitting Factory. You traveled the world. Then one day you came back with a boyfriend, you got married and you moved away. And it was like you became more about your husband, about him and the kids.”
“You think my life is narrow.”
“No.”
Maybe.
“Well first of all, have you ever considered that I have interests I don’t talk about with you, because I don’t think you’d care to hear about them? You think I don’t notice when you scoff when I talk about learning tae kwon do?”
“Because it
’s always with the children.”
“Just because I’m doing it with them doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do it for myself. Do you think I don’t notice how you sneer when I talk about family activities.”
“It’s just weird for me, okay? To think of you being such a mom.”
He knew he sounded selfish even as the words left his mouth. Of course she was a parent. She had been for more years than not. But she used to be other things, too.
“Well, my life didn’t turn out exactly like yours. I chose not to pursue my music, but I didn’t lose myself simply because my priorities changed. Do you want me to be my own person or do you want me to be a person you thought I was?”
“You were so talented.”
“So what, Simon? So what? I’m happy. I chose this life. I like it. For someone who claims to not want kids, you sure have a lot of opinions about how I’m raising mine.”
“It’s not about my nieces and nephews. I love them.”
“Right, it’s about me, and the potential you think I’ve squandered. I wanted to show you at one point how happy it makes me. But you have this image of me from when I was your so-called cool sister, and you don’t want to let that change—let me change. So now, I don’t tell you things. I don’t try to include you as much in my life because I’m tired of you thinking I’m not enough. I don’t even expect respect at this point, just a little understanding.”
“I respect you.”
“You respect what I was. But that’s how you are. You say you want everyone to do their best, but you only think one way is right, and you steamroller over every opinion to the contrary. You’re the narrow one, Simon.”
How had Maxine done this? They’d started out talking about how she was the one who bossed him around, and somehow he was the one who was judging her choices?
Of course, he did judge them a little.
It was cold out and he couldn’t pace the park forever.
“Maxine, I have to go.”
“Go, then. I’ll be here, because I’m your family, and I’m what you’ve got left. Other people might not stick around.”
With that, she clicked off, and Simon was left listening to nothing but birds and traffic.
* * *
Lana was nervous about the concert, which was ridiculous considering she wasn’t the one performing. But apparently none of those old feelings ever died. When Lana’s dad called as she was getting ready, she didn’t have her usual coping mechanisms in place.
“Lana, your stepmother and I are thinking of coming to New York for a visit in the last week of April. Of course, we don’t want to intrude on you and Simon,” he said in his careful, formal tones.
“It’s not intruding, Dad. We’re not—it’s not intruding.”
“Nonetheless, we will stay at a hotel. If you could recommend something central, we would appreciate it very much. It’s been a long time since I was last there. And of course, we’d like to see you, if Simon’s schedule permits.”
“I may be able to take a couple of days off. Also, I can get you a reservation at a few restaurants, and at mine if you’d like.”
“That would be nice. Your stepmother and I do not eat red meat.”
“I know, Dad. I’m sure we can figure that out.”
“Thank you. I assume you’re well. See what Simon’s schedule is like. I’ll follow up with email.”
And that was it.
That was enough.
She was not going to think about it.
It wasn’t exactly that she was estranged from her father; obviously they were still speaking. But somehow in the years between when her mother died and he remarried, he’d almost started acting as if she wasn’t quite there. Simon existed; she did not.
At least Lana had her extended family, especially Great Aunt Setzu, who’d lived with them on and off during Lana’s teenage years. Her father’s sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles were a much warmer, more gregarious lot.
She took a deep breath and put on an aggressive stripe of red lipstick, stuck her tongue out at her reflection, then went to meet Julia.
The recital hall was warm, and between the crowd and their puffy winter jackets, it wasn’t easy for Lana to find her cousin. But when Julia whispered, “So you’re together together?” she wished they hadn’t taken their seats so quickly.
“Just one together. A little together. Together-ish. We’re still figuring it out.”
While Julia smirked, Lana occupied herself by looking around at the crowd and tried not to think about how her arms tingled. She had been spending so much time with Simon that she often fell asleep without putting her wrist braces on at night. Because she didn’t get as much sleep, she’d also been skipping or half-assing her workouts.
Her body felt fantastic, though, hopped up on sex endorphins and riddled with tender areas and bruises, small physical reminders of how she’d banged her forearm on the frame as he’d taken her over the side of the bed the other night, or the still reddish spot on her chest where his stubble scraped her over and over. Every time she shifted it seemed, she found one of those secret places, and every time she found a place, she crossed and uncrossed her legs. She was nervous about the concert, yes. Tired? Also yes. But the tiredness added something to her excitement.
This wasn’t exactly information she could share with Julia, though, so she watched people struggle into their seats, the proud grandparents and wiggly siblings, people poring over programs, and pointing out names and song titles, singing snippets of melodies they’d probably heard rehearsed often in their homes. It felt like a real community. People knew each other. All these brown, golden, pale, dark, beautiful faces in the audience. She wasn’t naive enough to think this gathering solved the world’s problems, not in this fraught age. But she was optimistic enough to want it to mean something.
Julia was scanning the crowd, too. She said, “All ribbing aside, I am happy you’re happy. Although, I thought a lot about what you said. About how you lost yourself when you were with him. But like you said, you have a completely different career now, right? You’ve changed your life, switched careers. You’re almost a new person. So there’s no danger of that anymore.”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
Julia looked at her narrowly.
“I’m trying to be careful, follow the rules I set out for myself, take it slow.”
It didn’t feel like they were taking things slow, because of the way her heart raced whenever she saw him. Lana was maybe more infatuated with him now than she had been in her twenties, which was why she really had to be careful. She’d found her voice later in life; sometimes she had to remind herself to use it.
The lights dimmed and the chorus members filed onstage. Simon came out last, and a warm rush of applause filled the hall.
Simon nodded easily at the audience and raised his hands.
The kids were so good. Lana sat forward as soon as she heard their first notes. They had a big, open, full sound that grew in enthusiasm as they moved through the song. They weren’t absolutely perfect. Another musician would probably argue that they needed to blend their vowels more, to make their voices more uniform. But Simon had always wanted to include everyone who wanted to join. And these kids so clearly wanted to be there. A few of them began to sway, their heads moving back and forth in rhythm with the music as excitement hummed through the audience. Their smiles grew bigger. By the last note, the crowd, which was admittedly partial to begin with, was cheering wildly.
Lana clapped giddily, almost relieved, definitely moved, even though she’d had nothing to do with it. But Simon was giving a modest bow, gesturing at the choir and the pianist before leaving the stage. Next, a beautiful Black woman strode up and the kids rearranged themselves with some nervous giggles, and a guitar and drums struck up the opening chords.
Lana’s program had fluttered to the floor but she di
dn’t bother to retrieve it. A few of the songs were familiar, gospel tunes, a few classical and haunting modern pieces, a choral merengue arrangement that had the audience clapping along, and a soft almost doo-wop song. For some arrangements, kids came up to the mike and took solos that were by turns awkward and affecting. Despite the teenage gawkiness and drama and flash on display, their voices bloomed out with beauty, and every time they all retreated to sing together once more, Lana found tears aching in her eyes.
She’d been worried she’d be envious. A small corner of her mind had told her that she’d come to this concert and think of all the things she couldn’t do. She worried she would compare her own meagre talents to Simon’s. But the concert hadn’t been about Simon. It hadn’t been about one person’s perfect playing, one perfect note. It was so much an effort of love from everyone involved, and she couldn’t help it, she was proud, happy he’d invited her, that he’d brought this together, happy to be here for something so important. She’d forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by music, to have that sound come at her from all directions, harmonious and beautiful.
At the end of the program, Simon and the other conductors, Abena and Dion, were all out together on the stage, along with a few former chorus members.
“It’s time for the last song. In what has become our tradition, we want you to sing along. This time we’re going to try ‘Shalom Chaverim.’ It’s a canon. The words are easy but we’ve got them up here.”
Abena pointed to a rather small white board. But someone had printed the words out bold and tall, and Lana could make them out easily enough despite her middle-aged eyes.
“Let’s all do this together once, then we’ll divide you up.” And she and Simon and Dion launched into the song with the kids giggling behind them.
“All right, are you ready? This third of the audience will start singing, and this third will follow with the same, and then this third will be last.”
The piano played a vamp, and the audience started, quiet and tentative at first. At least the chorus knew what they were doing. People were looking around, stumbling over melodies, coming in at the wrong spot, but as they carried on, the song seemed to gather momentum. They sang over and over, in a mixture of Hebrew and English, the music chasing itself, the audience growing in confidence, in awe of the harmonies they could make, until they were all standing. Till we meet again. Till we meet again. Shalom. Shalom.
