Page 2 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

“No, ma’am.”

Again, she nods thoughtfully. Then, after a torturously long pause, she says, “You know, Ms. Sokolov, very early in my professional career, I injured a muscle in my left forearm from overuse. I did not even know such a thing was possible. I tried to deny the pain for many weeks, until it got to the point where I was risking the loss of my future as a harpist by continuing to ignore the pain.”

“That must have been very frustrating,” I offer.

“It was. I had to take three months off, then retrain for another two months before I was back to my optimal ability. Despite that, taking that rest saved my career.”

I don’t know what to say, so I simply nod. Hot, sickening dread is starting to boil in the pit of my stomach.

“I think you have a very promising career ahead of you, Ms. Sokolov,” Diana says. “I remember your audition. It was lovely.”

“Thank you.”

Diana Crane has sat through so many CSO auditions over the years that it’s hard for me to believe she truly remembers mine, which took place over eight years ago and lasted a grand total of ten minutes. I have a feeling that this flattery is about to come with a horrible punchline.

“Because of the faith that both Gerald and I have in your future at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, I’m afraid that I have been tasked with delivering a formal request that we suggest you take very seriously.”

Once more, all I can do is nod. My hands are shaking, and I grasp them more tightly even as my wrists begin to ache deep in my bones.

“Ms. Sokolov, we would like you to take the summer off.”

A weird rushing sound echoes in my head. I’m already sitting down, but my knees suddenly feel weak.

“What?” I breathe.

“For the sake of your health, and for the sake of the CSO’s full potential, we are requesting that rather than participating in our summer performance season, you take a medical leave and attend to whatever treatment is required for the pain you’re experiencing.”

For a few moments, all I can do is stare at the neatly arranged surface of her desk.

The orchestra will have a veritable legion of reserve violinists on call, meaning that it will be easy enough to temporarily replace me. Never mind that I’ve been preparing for the upcoming summer season, which starts in just three weeks, for the past two months.

Logically, I know that this isn’t the end of the world. One of our cellists took a medical leave last winter when he broke his collarbone while skiing. And the year before that, a flutist had to take an entire six months off due to ongoing headaches caused by intracranial pressure—a surprisingly common ailment for those who play wind instruments.

Injuries happen. Playing in an orchestra isn’t a sport, but we still use our bodies in ways that they weren’t quite designed for. Humans are fragile, after all.

But you’re supposed to be better than that, declares the little voice in the back of my mind that sounds an awful lot like my parents.You should be superhuman, Alina, especially after everything we’ve done to ensure your success.

I take a deep breath. There is no point in arguing. If one of the orchestra managersandmy conductor have been discussing this, then it’s not really my choice to make.

“I understand, ma’am. Thank you for your kind words and advice.”

Diana sighs in relief. “You will take the rest?”

No. I can’t. Please don’t make me. I’m invincible, I swear. Just give me another chance to prove it.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take the summer off.”

***

“Can they even do that?” asks Karina on the other end of the line. “Like, you’re in a union. They can’t just kick you out like that!”

I flinch. “They didn’t kick me out, Karina. It’s a medical leave, and thanks to that union, I still get paid for the duration of it.”

There’s a brief pause, during which something loud clatters in the background. I imagine my cousin is probably puttering around the kitchen, dabbling in one of her many hobbies. Last week, it was candle-making. This week, I think she mentioned something about learning how to dry her own tea leaves.

“Have you seen a doctor yet?” she asks.

“No,” I grumble. “I don’tneedto see a doctor. It’s no big deal.”

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