“What do you mean?” I think of her effortlessly playing the piano. How could she be used to failure?
“When I was in ‘isolation,’” she begins, using finger quotes, “I tried a lot of different hobbies. Painting, dancing, making sourdough, all kinds of things. And I wasn’t very good at…most of them.” She laughs. “I’m definitely not a dancer. But it wasn’t about being amazing. It was about the experience.”
“And where does piano factor into all of that?” I ask.
“Oh.” She nods, understanding the comparison. “Piano is different. It’s a piece of my heart.”
Her words ring true. When she plays, it’s like the music flows out of her soul.
“Is that what you’ve always wanted to do? Play piano professionally?”
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t a super ambitious kid. You know when you’re in kindergarten, and they have everyone go around the room and say what they want to be when they grow up?” She gives me a big grin. “I wanted to be a mother. My mom loved to tell the story of how I won student of the month, and at the assembly they called me down and said, ‘And when Lily grows up she wants to be a mother!’” She laughs. “She thought it was the cutest thing. But all I really wanted was to get married and have my own kids.” She looks back at the road now, her eyes on the ground. “I guess that’s pretty dumb.”
“No. Not dumb.” Her experience with her family is the polaropposite of what I experienced growing up. My parents were so disappointed with my existence, it was like I was this annoying tagalong they couldn’t get rid of. I can only imagine what it would have felt like to have parents who truly cared, to the point that I would want to be a father myself.
But in reality? I’ve never even thought about it…not until now.
“What about you?” she asks. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”
I smirk. “A pirate.”
She laughs out loud. “I can totally see that.”
I give her a sheepish shrug. “There’s still time.”
“I’m sure Peter has connections,” she teases.
Ugh. Peter. Why did she have to bring him up? It’s like dumping a bucket of cold water over my head.
I clear my throat, shifting back to the original topic. “So. Piano. When did that become your life goal?”
In the light of the streetlamp, I see her cheeks pink up. “It wasn’t something I really pushed for until…” Her voice drifts off.
“Until?” I prod.
She turns back to me with shining eyes and a sad smile. “Until my mom died.” She lets out a sigh and looks back at the path. “I’ve always been good at the piano. Really good. It came naturally to me. But it was just something I did for fun, something that would entertain my mom. She’d say, ‘Play me something, Lily,’ and I’d skip over to the piano and start playing a piece while she made dinner or tidied up.” She presses her lips together, and I can tell she’s fighting tears. “After she died, it was how I felt close to her again. I could almost hear her asking me to play a piece every time I started. Maybe it turned into a bit of an obsession, but it paid off. There was this music school in London I was dying to attend—The Windsor Conservatory ofMusic. It was perfect, you know? I could get the best musical training and be close to where my mom grew up. That was the plan until…” She clears her throat. “Anyway. I’m just glad to be playing again now.”
My chest physically hurts, and I rub it with the palm of my hand. Her words pierce through me. I now have a deeper understanding of what the piano means to her. It’s not just her means of expression; it’s the way she holds on to her mother’s memory.
“Thank you,” she says, pulling me back into the moment. “For giving that back to me.”
I’m speechless. For all she’s endured—the heartache and pain—she still finds reasons to be thankful and joyful.
I know I’m falling for her, and this is dangerous. I need to reel it in, and fast. “No problem. It was an easy thing, with Gwen and all that.”
We’ve reached the theater now, and I put my hand on the door to open it, but she places her fingertips on the inside of my forearm to stop me. I look down at where she touches me, feeling like my skin is nearly scorched, then up at the open expression on her face.
“But you thought of it,” she says softly. “And I’m so grateful.”
“You’re welcome.” My voice comes out husky, but she pulls her hand away. I open the door for her, breaking the solemn moment. She does a little excited jump and rushes in, and I follow behind the young woman who’s stolen my heart.
CHAPTER 30
Lily
FRÉDÉRIC CHOPIN — NOCTURNE NO. 2 IN G MAJOR, OP. 37
Over the last week, I’ve basically been on a food tour of Brookhaven. First was A Scoop of Sweet, Rosco’s ice cream shop. Then it was Suzette and her husband’s bread shop, The Golden Hearth, followed by tea at Love & Lavender (and I barely slept the rest of the night). Tonight we’re here at Aram’s kabob shop, creatively named The Kabob Shop. If I have to pick a favorite, it’s probably here. It’s not anything exciting to look at, with red plastic seats and framed pictures of the Armenian alphabet around the walls, but the food isincredible.
