Look Both Ways(4)
Being asked to perform first is an honor, and if I were the right kind of Shepard, I’d jump at the chance. But instead I say, “Why don’t we let our newest guest start? I’m happy to play for her.” I put my empty plate on the coffee table and slide onto the piano bench, where I always take refuge during Family Nights. Since eighth grade, when I realized I didn’t have my parents’ superstar performance genes, I’ve become a master of dodging the spotlight, and acting as accompanist is a way I can participate without anyone scrutinizing me. Late in the evening, when everyone’s drunker and more forgiving, I always agree to sing an easy duet with someone. It gets me off the hook until the following week, and it hides the fact that my voice doesn’t stand on its own.
Strategizing like this is exhausting, but tonight is the last time I’ll ever have to do it. Things will be totally different once Allerdale has worked its magic on me and shaped me into the performer I’m supposed to be. It’ll be such a relief to finally feel joy when I sing, like the rest of my family does. I can’t wait to slough off this sticky web of anxiety and shame that forces me to hide behind the piano.
I wonder if my mom will insist I get up and sing, but her eyes slide right off me and onto Skye. I almost wish she’d put up a fight. “Would you like to go first?” she asks.
Skye’s eyes go all wide and innocent, like she’s surprised to be singled out, but she’s on her feet almost before my mom finishes asking. “Oh, um, okay.” She turns to me. “Do you know ‘Out Tonight’ from Rent?”
Of course she’d pick that—it’s a big, flashy, cliché number with lots of impressive high notes. I want to glance up and exchange a Look-with-a-capital-L with Uncle Harrison, but I already know he’s on the same page as me. “Sure,” I say. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
She nods, and I launch into the opening bars from memory; I’ve played this song enough times that I don’t need the music. Skye knows everyone’s watching her, sizing her up, but she bites her lower lip, closes her eyes, and moves to the music like she’s alone in her bedroom. It seems impossible that I could ever be that un–self-conscious. Sutton gets up and dances along, and Twyla giggles as Desi bounces her to the beat.
The minute Skye starts to sing, I see why my mom took her on as a student. Her voice is flawless, warm and playful and caramel-rich. She doesn’t even seem like she’s trying, but every note is spot-on, even the really high ones. Like me, she has obviously listened to the original cast recording countless times—she mimics everything Daphne Rubin-Vega did when she played Mimi, including all the ad-libs. It doesn’t seem like there’s much of anything for my mom to teach her, aside from how to make the music her own. She seems like she’s having such a good time, like she never wants the song to end, and I envy that passion so much that it hurts.
When Skye finishes, everyone claps and cheers, and she grins and does a stupid little curtsy. “Girl, you are freaking amazing,” Desi tells her. “Where has that voice been all my life?”
“Thank you,” Skye says. She looks incredibly pleased with herself, and I try not to hate her, but I can’t help it. I take note of exactly how I feel right now so I can pull the memory out this summer whenever my motivation flags. That is what I have to become at Allerdale.
The night progresses like it usually does. Jermaine sings “Being Alive” from Company, Marisol does “I’d Be Surprisingly Good for You” from Evita, and my mom does “Last Midnight” from Into the Woods. It’s obvious how much they all love the music, how happy they are to be sharing it with us—even my staid, quiet father seems delighted as he belts out “Stars” from Les Miz. By the time an hour and a half has passed, everyone’s starting to get tipsy and loud and a little bit silly, and when Uncle Harrison asks me to sing with him, it finally seems safe to agree.
“Should we do the Phantom parody we were working on the other day?” he asks.
I’m about to say yes, relieved that I’m getting off this easily; when you perform something funny that nobody’s ever heard before, everyone concentrates on the lyrics instead of the person who’s singing them. But before I can answer, my mom rolls her eyes. “Harrison, I know you like horrible puns, but that doesn’t mean you have to fill my daughter’s head with trash.”
“There’s nothing trashy about parodies. They’re—” Uncle Harrison begins, but I cut him off.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We’ll sing something else.” Even if the classics are more nerve-racking for me, it’s my last night with my mom, and I don’t want to antagonize her. I can suck it up one more time if it means she’ll be proud of me as she sends me off to Allerdale.
Uncle Harrison and I decide on “Big Spender” from Sweet Charity, and Mom rewards me with a smile as she pours herself more wine. I’ve always liked the song, but the entire time we’re performing, I’m just waiting for it to be over, praying I can get through it without making a fool of myself. I don’t slip up in any obvious ways, but my rendition is mediocre at best, and by the time we’re finished, my heart is beating wildly and my palms are damp. I catch a smug smile on Skye’s face as she applauds for us, and I feel my cheeks going hot. I don’t open my mouth again.