Page 15 of The Single Dad Grump Next Door

His daughter is cute, though. She said her name was Wren, and that she’s turning eight in November. She’s a chatty little thing—the complete opposite of her father—and has already told me all of her hopes and fears about starting second grade this coming fall.

The kid is also the spitting image of her dad. Whoever her mother is, none of her genetics won the fight. Then again, maybe it’s her mom’s personality that makes Wren so bubbly and cute.Goodness knows that Gabe’s dour and dreary nature is an innate part of him. Sure, he had friends at Juilliard, but he’s always been an unpleasant grump.

And yet, not so grumpy that it prevented him from falling in love and making a child with someone.

I know I shouldn’t care, but it’s driving me crazy that I don’t have the slightest clue where Wren’s mom might be. Maybe she’s one of those workaholic types and will be joining the family on vacation later in the summer. Or maybe, thanks to how intolerable Gabe is, she’s already divorced him. There definitely wasn’t a ring on his finger.

“Whoa, this is crazy,” Andy says, cutting through my thoughts. He’s still scrolling on his phone. “He was nominated for aGrammy?Andhe’sthe one who wrote the score forThe Bone Whisperer? Dude, I loved that movie. Isn’t the sequel coming out next year?”

I stare at him blankly. I think Karina kicks him under the table.

“He probably sucks, though,” Andy quickly amends. “Worst neighbor ever.”

I shake my head. I appreciate that my cousin and her husband are eager to defend my honor by righteously hating a man they don’t even know. At the same time, though, I don’t want my issues with Gabe to be the reason that there’s tension under our shared roof for the entirety of this vacation.

“It’s fine,” I insist. “Let’s just change the subject.”

Karina takes the hint and steers the discussion toward wedding venues. Even though they got married in a small private ceremony a few months ago, they’re planning a large formal wedding for next year. The entire reason they decided to vacation here this summer is because she’s trying to book an extremely popular wedding planner—something Montgomery—and also wants to scope out some of the stately old mansions onthe cliffs for potential venues. I try to listen, knowing that my role as one of her bridesmaids is to contribute to this kind of conversation.

I’m happy for her.Thrilledfor her. And I’ve already agreed to perform a classical rendition of “Endless Love” on the violin for their first dance.

But when I think about that, I start to wonder if I’ll even be able to play at their wedding. What if whatever is causing this pain in my hands is chronic and irreversible? What if I’ll never be able to play the violin again without being in excruciating pain?

And what will Gabe think when he finally realizes what’s going on?

He’ll probably gloat until he’s blue in the face.

After all, he might have left the BSO, and he might also have a failed marriage, but he’s clearly not lacking for success. He’s in the film industry now, composing music for million-dollar blockbusters. And he has a wonderful daughter whom he has clearly raised very well. She’s talkative and nosy like any kid, but she’s also polite and inquisitive and adorably charming. So, as annoying as it is to admit, he’s not failing at fatherhood.

Meanwhile, I’m failing at everything. I was formally asked to leave the CSO for months. I can barely use my hands to eat my dinner, let alone play the violin. I’m not married, and I don’t even have a dramatic ex-boyfriend story to prove that I’ve even been trying to put myself out there. I’m childless,andcat-less, so I’m not even doing the whole perpetually-pathetically-single thing right.

I may have beaten him fair and square at Juilliard, but Gabe has definitely beaten me at life in general.

That’s what they say about gifted kids who peak too young, after all. They burn out fast.

I don’t have much of an appetite, but I force myself to choke down the food as Karina and Andy playfully bicker about things like wedding color schemes and who he should ask to be his best man. Luckily, they seem to be able to tell that I’m not in the mood for chatting, so they let me remain stoic and noncommittal for the entirety of the meal.

But I know that I’m killing the vibe. I’ve not only ruined my life, but I’m also going to ruin their summer.

I’m a ruiner. A failure. A total and complete loser.

And now Gabe Sterling gets to bear witness as I implode.

***

Later that night, I hole myself up in my room on the top floor. I’m painfully aware of the fact that the wall opposite my bed is the one that we share with the Sterlings. He’s too close for comfort.

In fact, he could be a hundred miles away and it would still be too close.

I’m laying on top of the covers, staring up at the ceiling. My wrists are throbbing again, sending shooting pains throughout my palms and fingers. I hold them as still as I can and close my eyes, forcing myself to think about anything other than the pain.

It doesn’t help.

With a resigned sigh, I sit up and reach for my phone. Ignoring the pain, I go to YouTube and search for the CSO. It’s easy enough to find an official recording of their first performance of the summer season on their channel.

There’s Goldberg at the front with his conducting wand and dramatic, swooping motions. And there’s Annalise, the first chair violinist. Two seats in from her, sitting inmychair, is my temporary replacement. I don’t know her name, but I can tellthat she’s probably twice my age, with gray-streaked hair pulled back into a severe bun.

I pout at the screen, watching the woman like a hawk. She plays well. Of course she does. The CSO doesn’t mess around with mediocrity.

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