Page 222 of Perfect Pitch

My voice starts harmonizing on top of his. First on the lyrics “... mine to make.” And then on top of “... heaven’s gate arrives.”

The first time I heard him sing “Mine to Make,” the title song of Golden Lady, I sobbed. Very gently, my father said, “One day, you’ll be reunited with Columbia just like I was reunited with you, Austyn.”

Later that night, snuggled next to Mitch, I told him what my father said. Hoarsely, he agreed. “We’ll find our baby girl one day, Beats. In the meanwhile, I can survive without her because I have you.”

“You’ll always have me,” I vowed.

Friedrich Nietzsche said that without music, life would be a mistake. As I sing and give my all to the song my father wrote, I meet Mitch’s eyes. In them I find torment and peace, storms, and tranquility. Balance.

In other words, my perfect pitch.

Having a life without love would be infinitely worse to a lack of music, I decide as we wrap up the song to a humbling amount of applause. As Evangeline steps into the spotlight, belting out her opening number, “Secret Garden”—which I wrote remembering two couples who fell in love at an old piano buried in a field amid sunflowers—the spotlight also shines on Simon as he joins her.

My father winks at me over our dueling pianos and just like that, we make music history.

* * *

My father’s talking to Simon when I spot them backstage amid glamorous celebrities, high energy, and waterfalls of champagne. I glance around to see if I can spot my mother or grandfather, but I don’t. I know just where Mitch is and I smile a private little smile when I think of how he greeted me when I sauntered through the door just a few seconds ago.

Chin’s laughing, “Get a room!” didn’t faze either of us.

Mitch’s kiss sent notes dancing behind my eyes. I could almost see where they’ll land on the five lines and four spaces when I next sit down at a piano. But that’s for another night. When I pulled back in his arms, I found something more precious than music.

I found love.

His nose brushed against mine before he spoke. “I don’t have the words, Beats.”

I pressed my lips against his. “Sometimes, music doesn’t need them.”

His smile was so tender, it mended parts of my heart I didn’t realize were still bleeding from the loss of our child.

Now, as I accept accolades as I weave toward my dad, I know the tragedies we’ve endured aren’t going to be miraculously waived away by a magic wand. Nor should they be, I think suddenly. Would I appreciate the love I have for Mitch as much if I hadn’t been to hell and back? Would I recognize every smile for the gift it truly is?

I’d like to think so, but I honestly don’t know.

I finally approach the small group my father’s chatting with. People intuitively know I’m about to get his attention in a way they’ll never forget. Like the Red Sea, they part magically. Not willing to let this moment pass, I run a few steps and leap.

I snicker in his ear, muttering, “I used to do that to Uncle Jesse when I was three. Think of all the fun you missed.”

My father catches me beneath the knees to steady me before he reaches backward and yanks my head forward. After laying a smacking kiss on my cheek, he asks Simon bizarrely, “Do you really think this would happen at one of my shows?” Then he grins at me. “Well, hey there.”

“We killed it!” And before he can say anything, I reach around his shoulders for a glass of champagne from a passing server and drain it.

He quirks a brow before lowering his voice so only I can hear his question, “Meds?”

“Don’t worry. It’s all good.” I’ve been working with Sonia to wean off my anxiety medication for weeks now. “I’m fine.”

His head swivels around like a groundhog who is looking for its shadow. “Please tell me your mother is around here somewhere.”

“She got waylaid.” I try to reach for a second glass of champagne and almost topple us both over.

I’m not drunk on anything but being happy for the first time since June, I actually feel like I might deserve to be.

Simon snatches two fresh glasses while my father boosts me higher against his back. Then he hands each of us one. I keep on the lookout while my father and Simon are chatting. An argument is about to break out about Simon’s obsession with cilantro, of all things, but I forestall it by shouting, “Here they all come!”

Kane and Mitch separate away from the entrance to the VIP area to allow my mother, grandfather, Evangeline, and her husband to enter. I slide off my father’s back to run directly to my mother. Her arms wrap me up as tightly as they did the day I fell off a horse the first time when learning to ride.

When I won the language competition at school.

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