She’s already pushed past me, heading toward the living room, which is where we usually end up hanging out when at my dad’s place. And that would be fine if it weren’t for Jamie still sitting at the piano bench, ready and waiting to be an awkward third presence.
I don’t have enough time to think of a good explanation, or a good way to stop her, so I follow on her heels until she stops abruptly, and I know that she’s spotted him.
“Oh,” she says. “Hi there.”
Jamie waves from the piano bench. “Hi again. Been a minute.”
“More than a minute. Goldie told me you were staying here. Making yourself at home, too, apparently.”
I can already see the rest of this conversation unspooling like a ball of yarn and know exactly where it’s headed. But I let it run.
“Yeah, well. Decided hiding in my room all winter break wasn’t really my vibe.”
“So you and Goldie are…practicing together?”
It’s times like these that I really regret not giving Cessy more of a play-by-play of my life. We’re constantly in each other’s phones asit is, but this whole thing with Jamie felt like a non sequitur, almost. Like,oh, how’s your relationship going with Shrishti, how are your auditions, cool cool cool, so remember Jamie, that guy I hate, well I still have a crush on him and now that he’s staying at my place he might be kind of okay? actually?
Now that I’m here, andthey’rehere, together, it occurs to me that I absolutely should have shoehorned that in at some point. Instead, Cessy is clearly operating under the assumption that me and Jamie are still mortal enemies, and she’s being…kind of a dick about it, frankly.
“Yeah,” I say, before Jamie can answer for himself. “He’s been really helpful, actually. He’s given me great advice on the Schumann piece.”
I don’t dare look at Jamie. I can imagine the expression he’s wearing perfectly well.
“Riiiight,” Cessy says. “Nice of you to let him practice here, though. On your only piano. Don’t you have a lot of work to do yourself?”
There’s a world in which explaining this to Cessy is potentially obnoxious as fuck. A world where she goes,Well, can’t you play on a shitty electronic keyboard if you have to,and I explain thatYes, but also no, because we’re preparing for an international competition, and things like key weight and tuning and pedal resistance and so on actually matter.It’s not just about hitting the right notes anymore.
It’s a conversation we’ve had before in other forms. Like why two people can be technically perfect and one can still be better than the other, or the importance of musicality and rubato.
In other words, explaining to Cessy the premise of me and Jamie’s entire rivalry.
“I can’t actually practice for eight hours straight, Cessy.”
She gives me a wry look, because she knows that I can—and have done it before. And now that she’s brought it up, I thinkmaybe it’s a bad idea letting Jamie be here after all, for that precise reason. Not because I don’t want a fair fight in Stockholm, but because I’m missing out on practice hours while he’s using the piano. And that won’t just make me lose to him; it might make me lose toanyonewho was able to practice five hours instead of four. Six hours instead of five.
“Please don’t talk her out of this, Cessy,” Jamie says, saving me from myself. He pats the top of the piano. “I’m counting on this Bösendorfer here.”
He’s smiling, like it’s all some joke.
But I know that it isn’t. Not for him. Not for either of us.
“Well, sounds like you two are enjoying your little pajama party,” she says, and enough is enough—I can’t stand the awkwardness anymore.
“I mean, you’re invited, if you want to stay the night,” I say, arching one brow.
Cessy stares at me for a long moment, almost considering—then softens. “Yeah. All right. I’m assuming you still have the fancy toiletry packs. And that I can borrow your pajamas.”
“Yes to the toiletries, but you’re gonna have to sleep naked, sorry.”
She throws her wallet at me, and just like that, everything’s forgotten.
We order pizza for dinner and set up right there in the living room, the largest box open on the coffee table and paper towels strewn around for use as ad hoc napkins. Cessy mines Jamie for Shrishti tips, basically digging for any tidbit that Cessy might be able to use to charm her.
I find myself listening maybe a little too closely.
“Flowers,” Jamie says. “Or, no. A houseplant, so it doesn’t die as fast.”
He tells us about a website where you can get the cheapest Broadway tickets.
