Over the next few months, things between me and Caleb only get better. We trade off babysitting with Megan and James for date nights—they take Bug so we can go out, and we take Noah so they can go out. Charlotte and Noah are such great little friends, and they love hanging out together, so the arrangement is great for everyone.

Spring arrives, and with it, Charlotte’s birthday. We celebrate by taking a trip to the zoo with Noah’s family. Not long after, Caleb surprises me with a night at the symphony. We both get dressed up—he looks so sexy in a suit—and sharing that experience with him is wonderful.

With parent night less than a week away, I help Charlotte practice her song after school. I don’t like to push too hard—she’s still little—but I know the more she practices, the more comfortable she’ll be when the time comes. Even if she’s nervous, her fingers will remember what to do.

She plays her song beautifully. I’m so proud of her. Even more than that, I’m excited at how proud she is of herself. That was one of the biggest things music did for me—gave me something that made me feel competent.

“I think we’re finished practicing for today.” I plant a kiss on top of her head. “Daddy should be home any minute.”

“And everyone is coming over later,” she says.

“They sure are.”

Everyone to Charlotte means her grandad and her aunts and uncles. We often get together at Ken’s house, but this time Caleb invited them here. He thought it might be a fun change of pace, and there’s plenty of room for everyone. And I think he’s secretly hoping Charlotte might play a song on the piano for them.

She heads into the living room to finish building a puzzle she started this morning. My phone rings and I glance at the screen. It’s my mother. She pointedly hasn’t asked about Caleb again, and I haven’t brought it up either. But there’s so much weight in her silence on the subject. All she wants to talk about is how much I’m practicing, what songs I’m working on, and go over potential opportunities for auditions.

“Bug, I’ll be upstairs for a few minutes.” I answer the phone as I walk up to my room. “Hi, Mom.”

“Linnea,” she says and her voice is tinged with excitement. “I have the most wonderful news. I pulled some strings, and you have an audition with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.”

My mouth hangs open and I don’t answer right away. An audition? In Pittsburgh? I duck into my room and close the door. “You pulled some strings?”

“Yes,” she says. “As it turns out, one of my colleagues is married to a woman who serves on the board of trustees for the Pittsburgh Symphony. I saw him again a few weeks ago at a conference, and the connection came up. He said he would talk to his wife and see if she might have some pull. I sent them your audition tape, and he called me this morning to give me the good news.”

“Wow,” I say, still trying to process what she’s telling me. “When are they holding auditions?”

“Monday,” she says. “You have a slot at eleven thirty.”

“This Monday?” I ask. “Mom, that’s just a few days from now.”

“Yes, but if you’re being honest with me about how much you’ve been practicing, you should be prepared,” she says.

“Of course I’ve been honest with you,” I say. God, she didn’t hound me about practicing this much when I was a kid. “That’s not what I mean. It’s such short notice. And Charlotte is performing at her school on Tuesday night. I can’t miss that.”

“This is far more important.”

“No, it’s—”

“Linnea,” she snaps. “This is the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. It’s one of the more prestigious and well-respected symphonies in the country. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get an audition?”

“Yes, but—”

“And how many auditions have you gone to since you moved to Seattle?” she asks.

I sigh. “None. But that’s because the only two pianist positions to open up recently were with, what did you call them? Small-time symphonies?”

“Precisely. And if you’d gone after a position with a small symphony, you wouldn’t be free to pursue this,” she says. “I’ll book your flight for you.”

“Mom, I can pay for my own ticket,” I say. Last minute flights will be expensive, but I have money saved. And if I book it myself, I can make sure I get a flight back that will have me home in time for parent night.

“Linnea, this is so important for your career,” she continues. “You’ll very likely look back on this experience as the key turning point in your life.”

“Yeah.”

“See, what have I been telling you? Stay focused. Practice. Put in the hard work, and doors will open. It won’t be long and we’ll be announcing our daughter is a pianist with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.”

“Um, Mom, this is a lot to take in right now,” I say. “It’s very sudden.”

“You have plenty of time to pack,” she says.

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, then,” she says. “There’s no problem. I’ll talk to you soon.”

After I hang up I bite my lip and stare at the wall. I should be excited. My mother is right, the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra is very well-respected. My classmates from college would kill for a shot to audition for them; an opportunity like this is rare. I expected I’d need to play with a much smaller symphony for years before I had a chance at a position like this.

This is everything I’ve been working toward. Why I went to college. Why I spend hours every day practicing while Charlotte is at school. This was always the plan. It’s a much bigger opportunity than I thought I would get, and it’s been dropped in my lap.

Only now, everything is so different.

Facing what this means leaves me frozen. If I get the position, I’ll have to move across the country. Leave Charlotte and Caleb behind. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

As does the thought of such a high-pressure performance. Playing in front of an audience makes me so anxious. I love music, and I love to play, but I’ve never loved this side of it. Not when I was younger, playing in the youth symphony, nor when I performed in college. Teaching is one thing—I love working with kids and sharing my passion for music. But the pressure of a performance is crushing. I often wonder why I do it to myself.

But that’s what pianists are supposed to do, isn’t it? Play?

Through my partially open door, I hear Caleb. I need to go downstairs and tell him. But I can’t seem to move.

A few minutes pass and footsteps come up the stairs. Caleb peeks into my room.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I say. “Sorry, my mom called.”

He comes in and shuts the door behind him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, she was fine.” I take a deep breath. “Actually, she called because she helped me get an audition with a symphony.”

“Wow,” he says. “That’s… that’s great. Which one?”

“The Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.”

He blinks at me, looking stunned. “Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s… well, it’s a prestigious organization. I didn’t think I’d have a shot at a major symphony for years.”

“When is the audition?”

“Monday.”

“That soon?” he asks. “Do they really expect people to be prepared on such short notice?”

“It’s last minute because my mom knows someone and they got me in,” I say. “I didn’t really get it on my own.”

“Have they heard you play?” he asks.

“Yeah, she sent my audition tape,” I say.

He looks at me for a long moment and I wish I knew what he was thinking. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Linnea, you’re incredibly talented. If they heard you play, you did get this audition on your own.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I suppose.”

“So, Monday?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. God, this is happening too fast. “I’ll have to leave Sunday.”

“When will you come back?” he asks.

“Tuesday, and I’ll make sure my flight gets in early enough that I’ll be at parent night,” I say. “I won’t miss it.”

“Okay.” He rubs his chin and takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry this is so sudden.”

“No, don’t be sorry. What are we doing?” He takes my hands and pulls me to standing. “We should be celebrating. Linnea, this is amazing.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?” he asks. “This is what you’ve been working toward, isn’t it?”

I nod.

“And like you said, it’s a big symphony,” he says. “This sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“It is. A lot of musicians never get a chance like this.”

We look at each other again, and I feel the weight of all the things I’m not saying. But he’s not saying anything else either. He smiles and rubs his hand up and down my arm.

“I’m proud of you,” he says. “You’ll have to share the news with everyone tonight.”

“Yeah, I will. Thank you.”

“I’m going to go change,” he says. “They’ll all be here soon.”

“Sure.”

He smiles again and leaves me alone in my room.