Nocturne(11)

He stared at my hand for a second before shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. You ready to go out?” He stood and held out his hand for me. I took it.

“Absolutely. Just don’t drink as much as you did last time. You got all weird.”

Nathan stopped at the door, dropping his hand from mine. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “You just drank a ton and then got all … I don’t know … sad.” I shrugged again, indicating I had no idea what he was going to say that night.

“Sorry…” he trailed off, running both hands through his hair.

“Don’t be. Just don’t drink all the liquor at the bar tonight.” I giggled and took his hand again. An easy smile spread across his face as he followed me down the hall.

“So,” he seemed eager to change the subject, “that piece you were playing when I walked in requires a cellist.”

“Uh-huh, I’m going to ask Marcia to do it, I think.”

“What?” Nathan asked as he held the main door open for me. “You don’t want the dashing professor to do it?”

I let out a full-throated laugh. “Yeah, can you imagine? I’m going to have a hard enough time passing the newest assignment.”

“I don't understand why you keep poking the lion. You deserved a way better grade on your canon, it was brilliant.”



“I know," I said. “But I’m excited about it, because I think I can turn the piece into something really exciting—”

“He’ll fail it,” Nathan cut in.

I nodded. “I’m sure of it,” I said with a smile.

I knew what Fitzgerald was looking for when he gave us those assignments. He wanted us to play by all the rules that held his brain in his head. Rules that would make our compositions indistinguishable from the composer at hand. As much fun as that sounded, I was determined to breathe new life into old music. To keep it alive and fluid and moving. Snobby professor-be-damned.

Nathan chuckled. “I wish I could play along in your effort to make his head explode, Savannah, I really do. But, I put off this class for the last minute so I could take it with you, and if I fail it, I’m screwed.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Idly, I found myself wanting to see what my latest composition looked like through those gorgeous blue eyes that belonged to Gregory Fitzgerald.

“Whatchya thinking about?” Nathan asked as he wrapped his long arm around my shoulders.

“Oh,” I sighed, “just what a f*cking long semester this would be if I didn’t have you to sit next to in that theory class.”

He smiled and kissed the top of my head. “Anything for you, doll.”

I tilted my chin to meet his eyes. “I might hold you to that if I end up in jail for strangling him. He’s so boxed in it drives me crazy.”

Nathan just laughed and kissed my head again. “Please do your best not to end up in jail, Savannah.”

“I’ll try,” I smiled, “promise.”





Savannah


A couple of weeks later, I stared at my perfectly glossed lips in the mirror one last time before meeting Nathan in the entrance of the dorm.

It’s going to be fine, Savannah. Just ... it’s going to be fine.

“Happy birthday, Savannah.” Nathan linked arms with me and we headed down the stairs to go meet my dad.

“Thank you, gorgeous.” I smiled, playfully messing up his short, dark curls. I was definitely excited to enjoy my night with the people I loved.

Twenty-one.

I guess that would mean something to someone who did things in an ordinary fashion. While I’d moved back to the States with my dad when I was eight, spending summers in Europe led to me having my first drink out in a tiny restaurant in Italy when I was sixteen. It was a vintage Pinot Noir my mother had ordered for the table. I was worried that I’d disappoint her, somehow, if I hated it. I didn’t. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted. Smooth and smoky, it sucked me in, and now I’ll rarely order anything else if an Italian Pinot Noir is on the menu.

“Hey Dad!”

My dad, Stephen, leaned against the entrance to the opera house. He wore a black tux underneath a grey cashmere and wool overcoat. The plaid scarf I’d purchased for him on holiday in Scotland when I was twelve made me smile almost as much as his warm brown eyes.

My mother was prima donna at Teatro Alla Scala for the last fifteen years, and my parents and I lived together in Italy, traveling Europe as her schedule permitted. My dad moved me back to Philadelphia with him right before eighth grade, and we lived with my grandparents so I could go to school like a “normal kid.” As normal as could be expected when your mother is a world-renowned opera singer.

Of course, middle school isn’t the ideal time to relocate countries and be normal. One of the reasons I think Nathan and I became so close was because he was one of the few people I met then who really understood me.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” My dad gave me a tight squeeze and then reached out to shake Nathan’s hand. “Good to see you again, son.”

“Great to see you, Mr. Marshall.” Nathan quickly brushed his hand off on his pants, even though both of them were wearing gloves, and he shook my dad’s hand.

My dad grinned and ran his hand over his increasingly thinning hair. “Oh for God’s sake, Nathan, for more than ten years I’ve been insisting that you call me Steve.” He chuckled.