Player(8)

She laughed and cupped my cheek. “Flatterer. Come inside and say hello to your papa.” She took my large hand in her small one and pulled me through the door.

“How was the book tour?”

“Lovely and exhausting. There were days when I’d wake up, not sure what city I was in. But it was brilliant. Just brilliant. I am very glad to be home though. Papa is glad, too. He gets grumpy when I’m away too long.”

“I listened to Oprah’s podcast with you last week. I hope she’s treating you well. I’d hate to have to talk to her again.”

She tsked and swatted at my arm. “She asked after you, sent me back with a gift. It’s a Burberry peacoat.”

I chuckled. “I don’t think you were supposed to tell me what it is.”

“She made me promise I’d send her a picture of you in it. You, my darling, have charmed every woman you’ve ever met, haven’t you?”

“I can’t help it. I take after you.”

She smirked at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s how I caught your father.”

“Clearly you’ve never seen him look at you. He required no subterfuge.”

Her laugh, the sound so familiar and warm, I felt my smile all the way through me. That laugh was home.

She towed me out to the balcony where my father sat at the table with his paper. He lowered it enough to see us over the top, his smiling eyes the same dusty brown as mine.

“Ah, my son returns now that his mother is home.”

He feigned apathy for as long as he could hold out, then stood, abandoning his paper on the table as he strode toward me, extending his hand. We clasped forearms, and he pulled me in for a hug, cupping the back of my neck.

“Hi, Papa.”

He leaned back, smiling. “Samhir, I am happy to see you. Come. Sit.”

I did as I’d been told, and they sat with me.

“How is work?” Mom asked.

“Still going well. No one has stolen my job out from under me, so that’s something.”

“And Ian? How much trouble is he in today?”

I chuckled. “As much as always.”

“He must come see me. I brought him cheese curds from Madison like he asked, and corn from Lincoln. I tried to tell him it tastes the same as anywhere, but…” She shrugged.

“He never does listen, does he?”

A sigh. “Maybe someday. And how is the band? The club?” she added.

“The club is great. My favorite four nights of the week.”

Dad humphed. “A swing band. You were top of your class at Juilliard, and you play at a nightclub. You know, you could have played with the New York Philharmonic.”

“Yes, I remember getting that job. I also remember turning it down.”

“Ahmed, leave him alone,” Mom chided. “You made your choice to be a surgeon, and he made his to play on Broadway.”

“Top of his class, Hadiya! Top of his class!” His tone was teasing and his lips smiled, but his eyes held that familiar hardness. Disappointment.

“I know, Papa. I just have too much fun watching the girls at the club when they spin around and flash their panties.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Really. You don’t see that at the symphony.” I earned a twitch of his lips as he tried not to smile. “Broadway and the club make me happy. My life is good, Papa. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t worry about you, Samhir. I just want you to be the best you can be, that’s all.”

“I am always the best I can be, at everything I do. I get that from Mama.”

“I was also top of my class,” she added helpfully.

“And I get it from you too, Papa.”

“Summa cum laude,” he said.

“Really, everything is good. I have everything I’ve ever wanted and things I didn’t know I did. Like a Burberry coat from Oprah.” I turned to Mama, effectively changing the subject. “Sounds like we need to have a photo shoot. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

She chuckled and stood, shaking her head. “She blushes like a girl when she talks about you, you know.”

And I smirked at my father. “Ah, then she takes after Papa, too.”

He made a face but laughed—they both did.

Happiness. My life was exactly what I wished it to be, free of chains and full of living. I had music and dancing, a career I loved, and a life brimming with experiences.

And I couldn’t think of a single thing more I could ask for. Not one.





4





Super Breezy





Val

There’s no way I can pull this off.

I swear, through our entire rehearsal, I could feel him. The only lights under the stage were islands of music stands, the conductor on her podium, and the video monitors showing us the stage and the actors as the show went on. Several rows of musicians separated me from Sam, including a tuba, two French horns, the drum booth, and the percussion box. But every molecule in my body zinged with anticipation and reached in his direction.

Coffee. Ask him for coffee.

It’s beyond lame. He probably goes to nightclubs with models. Coffee with a dumpy trumpet player isn’t even at the bottom of the list. It’s not on the list at all.