Chapter Ten
Gabby
The look on Jonathan’s face when he sees me in my red bikini is worth the fight I had with my mom about it. In the end, I bought it with my own money. I also packed the simple one-piece that she bought for me, but I don’t plan on wearing it.
Is it enough to make him try for round two? But he shakes his head with a crooked smile and digs a pair of boardshorts out of his dresser.
It’s the perfect day. Between the late lunch, sexy times in his apartment, then spending the evening on the beach, soaking in the sun and splashing in the waves, I couldn’t ask for anything better. Especially since I won’t see him as much tomorrow. He’ll be in the studio most of the day.
It’s almost midnight by the time he brings me back to his apartment. Marissa texted me hours ago that she was back with takeout for dinner and planning on binge-watching Supernatural for the hundredth time.
Instead of parking in the garage, like I expect, he pulls up in front of the building, putting the car in park, but not turning it off.
“You’re not coming up?”
He gives me a sad smile. “Not tonight. I’d be too tempted to stay, and I need to get back since tomorrow’s a big day.”
“Alright.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean across the console for my goodnight kiss. His hand wraps around my neck, holding me close when I start to pull away, tilting my head and deepening the kiss.
When we finally break apart, my hands have made their way around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair. He presses one last soft kiss to my lips before letting me go.
I slide my hands down his arms then gather my things. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’ll let you know when we’re done recording, and I’ll come get you after. You and Marissa planning on doing anything?”
With a shrug, I open my door. “We don’t have any plans right now. I’m going to practice, since I haven’t in a few days now with traveling and everything. Otherwise, we’ll just have to see.”
He pulls me close for one more kiss. “Have fun. See you tomorrow.”
I wave to him from the door and watch as he pulls away before heading to the elevator. Marissa’s already in bed, or at least in her room, by the time I get in, so I take a shower to rinse off the sand and salt before climbing into bed.
The next morning, Marissa greets me in the kitchen again. “Fun day yesterday?”
“The best. You?”
She returns my grin. “Probably not as fun as yours, but I had a nice time. What are you up to today?”
“Not much. I need to practice for a while this morning. Jonathan’s supposed to pick me up after he’s done at the studio for the day. Otherwise, no plans. You doing anything? Can I tag along? Or would you rather spend the day by yourself again?”
Peeling the top off a yogurt, she takes a bite. “No offense, but I think I’ll head out if you’re going to practice. It’s not that fun to listen to.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m better than I used to be, you know.” But I really don’t mind. I know what practicing sounds like, and ten minutes of scales followed by another ten minutes of exercises where I do the same thing over and over before I even get to the forty minutes of repetitive work on the actual music I’m mastering is torture.
She smiles. “I know you are. Still don’t wanna listen to it, though.”
We chat over breakfast—yogurt and toast for her, cereal again for me—and then she heads out to wander around the area. There’s a cool area with boutiques and little restaurants a block or two away. “Text me when you’re done,” she says on her way out the door.
The relative silence is almost oppressive when she leaves. I haven’t had any time alone like this, without anyone else around, in a long time. When I was at my parents’ house, usually one of them was around. During school I was either with Jonathan or in the dorms, so there was always someone.
Rather than dwelling on it, I head into Jonathan’s bedroom where my violin still sits on the floor next to the music stand where I left it that first night. Setting it on the bed, I open the case and pull out my instrument. The bow is next. I tighten it and swipe some rosin on the hair before retrieving the music from its storage pocket and setting it on the stand.
Placing the violin on my shoulder, I start my warm up exercises. Scales first with long, slow strokes, gradually increasing the pace of my fingers with each repetition, but keeping the bow stroke the same. It’s a challenge of control, both over the stroke, the pressure, and the notes, each time striving for perfect intonation. Always striving for perfect intonation.
The scales are my transition. Taking the violin as a separate entity and fusing it to my flesh as the wood and strings warm to my skin, the movements loosening and limbering the joints of my fingers, my limbs falling into their usual patterns without thought.
I progress through the arpeggios, then the double stops out of the Flesch scale book, using the challenge of playing two strings at once to prepare for the chords and double stops in the unaccompanied Bach sonata I’m learning this summer.
But somewhere between the arpeggios, the double stops, and the Ševčik exercises, a little melody starts niggling at the corner of my mind. It came to me yesterday in the recording session, but I forgot about it until just now. Since I have the time and space—no lesson hanging over my head to prepare for, no juries, no performance, just me and the violin—I explore it. Bach will be there when I’m ready for it. This little melody? It could vanish if I don’t take the time to draw it out.
I play through the snippet a few times, testing it out. Then a few more notes come, and I add them in. It’s pretty. Sweet and lyrical. Happy. Capturing the effervescent quality, the bubbling joy I feel now that Jonathan and I are together again. I play through it until it sounds like a complete phrase. Humming it to myself, I put my violin down, dig my pencil out of my case, and start searching for Jonathan’s stash of staff paper. He always keeps some in a three ring binder, but he might have that with him.
Or not.
I spot the binder on the floor under the electric piano and scoop it up, flipping through it to a blank piece of staff paper. Quickly scribbling in a treble clef, I fill in the notes—thick, short, angled lines for the note heads and thin slashes for the stems, sketching out the shape of the melody. Tapping my pencil on the paper to keep the beat, I hum through it again, adjusting the rhythms and filling in the time signature and measure lines, thrilling in the act of writing down my melody. Something I came up with in my brain.
Setting the paper on my stand on top of my other music, I play it again. As I play, more starts to come, and the page starts filling up with notes. Scribbling, erasing, playing, filling in some more.
It’s magic and alchemy, the way the notes sort of float into my consciousness. I’m not trying, not really. Not the way I try when I’m taking melodic dictation or chord dictation. I play, and more notes come, as though some unseen force is feeding them to me. And I lose myself in the process.
A weird buzzing sound comes from my case, and I realize my phone is inside it on vibrate. Someone must be calling me. I don’t get to it in time, but when I pick up my phone I see a missed call from Marissa and notice that an hour and a half has passed since I started writing down that melody.
Really?
Wow. I didn’t get much practicing done, but now that I’ve stopped, I’m suddenly worn out. Drained in a way that’s similar, but different from a hard practicing session. Or a long time spent helping Jonathan with his songs.
I call Marissa back as I pack up my violin. My sheet music, including what I’ve just written, stays on the stand, and I enjoy the luxury of not having to put that away like I normally do.
“Hey!” Marissa answers. “I’ve spent as long as I can manage wandering around. I’m ready for lunch. You done yet?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I lost track of time. Come on back, and I’ll get ready to go.”