Page 14 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

It’s unheard of for me to go that long without playing. For most of my life, I’ve been playing the violin almost every single day. My hands feel more natural when they’re holding the instrument than when they’re empty.

Everything feels wrong and horrible and endlessly frustrating.

Karina and Andy, however, are determined to cheer me up. We’re at a local restaurant called the Siren & Sword. It’s cozy and crowded in here, and the atmosphere is pleasant enough to make me feel at least a little bit less cranky than I have been since running into Gabe Sterling. Even so, I think I’m just determined to feel miserable right now. It’s easier.

“There’s not much to tell,” I say to Andy. “Gabe and I went to Juilliard together. It’s a competitive school, and we played the same instrument. There’s only one spot at the top, and we spent most of those years flipping back and forth as numbers one and two.”

“But you won in the end, though,” Karina prompts me.

Andy cocks his head to the side. “Won what? Like, a prize?”

I shake my head. “No, I won the audition to join the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. It was both of our first choices. There was only one spot available that year, which was a miracle on its own. It’s not a common opportunity. It’s just that they happened to be replacing a recent retiree that year.”

“So, he hates you because you were objectively better than him?”

Karina snorts.

“He hates me because he thinks I only got the spot because of who my dad is.”

Andy, who is a lacrosse coach at a private school called Groton, is what musicians like me might refer to as a civilian. As in, even if he can appreciate the beauty of classical music, he’s never going to really understand it. He’s never going to understand the world of classical musicians. The nuances, the structure, the hierarchy. It’s not something that I could ever fully explain to him because it would take me weeks.

Still, Andy understands nepotism.

I amnota nepo baby, though.

Karina jumps in to explain it to her husband. “Remember how I said my uncle is a retired cellist? He’s, like, a really big deal.”

I roll my eyes. It’s true that Vladimir Sokolov has had a very long and successful career. But he’s never even been vaguely involved with the CSO. Before he and my mom immigrated to the United States, he performed with the national symphony orchestra of Poland. Having fled Russia as a teen, he had zero advantages in his favor, and yet still managed to rise to immense fame.

He played with the New York Philharmonic for a few years. Then, when my mom got pregnant with me—much later in life than what’s typical—he decided to take a position teaching at the University of Oregon, which has one of the best orchestra programs on the West Coast.

As soon as they could, they shipped me up to Seattle to a prep school that specialized in the arts. Most people there knew who my dad was, but in the real world, nobody cared. He was just another skilled, talented cellist just like every other skilled, talented cellist in the world.

To suggest that the Chicago Symphony Orchestra wanted me solely because I’m his daughter is ridiculous. It’s childish, actually. Childish and petulant and shameful.

As soon as I heard that Gabe was throwing a temper tantrum about it, I knew that there was no version of reality where our rivalry would fizzle out. We would never stand on common ground. Even our common instruments couldn’t work as olive branches.

“That’s not fair,” Andy remarks. “He was so insecure about losing the audition that he went immediately for the nepotism excuse? Sounds like he couldn’t accept his own failure.”

“Yeah, well…” I trial off as the pretty, red-haired waitress arrives with our food. The woman is glowing as she places our meals in front of us, a sparkling diamond gleaming on her lefthand. It’s even bigger than the diamond on Karina’s finger, which is really saying something.

Is everyone happy and in love except for me?

Not that romance is much of a priority for me. It never really has been.

“What happened to him after, though?” Andy asks, clearly still invested in the story even as he digs into his burger. “Aren’t there, like, at least a thousand other symphonies he could join?”

I shrug. “Yeah, he ended up at the Boston Symphony Orchestra.”

“And… what? It’s not as good as the one in Chicago?”

“No, it’s a great orchestra. Some might argue it’s just slightly lower in the nationwide rankings, but it’s just as difficult to get a position with them.” I ignore the weird twinge in my index finger as I stab a roasted potato with my fork, wondering how the painkillers are already wearing off. “I assumed he was with the BSO this entire time, but…”

“He wasn’t,” Karina finishes for me. “He got all angry at Alina for ‘taking’ his spot in Chicago, and then he didn’t even end up staying with an orchestra for that long in the first place. I mean, how lame is that?”

Andy frowns. “Let me google this guy.”

Honestly, I’m not really in the mood to continue discussing Gabe. I’ve already resigned myself to a summer crammed into the same house as him.

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