Page 34 of On My Side
“You look great,” I say earnestly, and she glances up again. “Do you feel great?”
Her blush deepens as she bites her lower lip. “I do. I feel… pretty.” She whispers this like she’s confessing a sin.
“Good.” I motion to the car with my head. “Shall we?”
She nods and maybe, just maybe, she can’t take her eyes off me, either. “We shall.”
Audrey is silent the entire drive to New Haven.
Contrastingly, her child says more in the thirty minutes it takes for us to get to the theater than she has over the entire summer. How excited she is to get back to her daily routine, what classes she’s looking forward to, her favorite people in school, her least favorite people in school—Annika Gardner can kick rocks—and which lunches are the most edible.
“We’re going to continue our piano lessons, right, Mr. Q?” she asks after catching her breath.
“Uh,” I say, honestly not sure what the answer is.
Usually private lessons end when the kids and I go back to school, but I love working with Piper. She’s hardworking, and watching her progress has been amazing. She reminds me of myself when I was a kid.
“I don’t think Mr. Q does summer lessons in the fall, birdie,” Audrey says, breaking her apparent vow of silence.
“Oh.” I hear the disappointment in Piper’s voice. I see her reflection slump against the seatback. She crosses her arms over her chest.
I make a mental note to talk to Audrey about it at some point, because I would genuinely like to find a way to continue teaching Piper. I wouldn’t be able to continue two times a week the way we are now, but I could make at least a weekly class work.
We all climb out of the car and start our short trek to the theater. It isn’t until our tickets have been scanned and we’ve taken our seats that anyone speaks again.
“Kind of chilly in here,” Audrey says, wrapping her arms around herself.
I immediately jump from my seat. “I have a sweater in the car.”
Audrey stares at me. Piper, I notice out of the corner of my eye, is smirking at her mother.
Am I… beingParent-Trappedright now? Am I childless Dennis Quaid? I’ll never measure up to Nick Parker!
No. Piper’s probably a normal teenager who enjoys seeing her mother in minor discomfort. My sisters were always like that at her age.
“You don’t have to…” Audrey starts to say.
I turn around and squeeze by the neighboring patrons before she can continue her refusal.
By the time I get back, gray and navy striped sweater draped over my arm, the lights have dimmed and the symphony is taking their places. I make it back to my seat just as the opening note to “Theme fromJurassic Park” plays.
“Here.” Audrey sits between Piper and I, which seemed fine when we took our seats. But as her fingers graze mine when she takes my sweater from me, it’s decidedly not fine.
“Thank you,” she whispers, pulling the sweater over her head. I’m of course devastated to see that beautiful dress and the way her body looks in it covered by a sweater I’ve had since college, but she already seems more comfortable. Somehow, Audrey when she’s comfortable is even more beautiful than Audrey when she’s dressed fancy.
“Mom?” Piper says, barely loud enough for me to hear. “I forgot my earplugs.”
My stomach sinks. Piper wore earplugs for some of our lessons, and I know how helpful they are for her. I lean forward to peer around Audrey just as she reaches to grab her bag from the floor, and our knees press together.
Fuck. Me.
“Sorry,” Audrey murmurs, rummaging through her bag. I grip the edge of my seat, holding myself together after such a simple touch. She pulls out a small round case and hands it to Piper, who immediately takes the earplugs out and hands the empty case back to her mom.
“Thank you,” Piper whispers as the song reaches its crescendo.
As Audrey goes to put the earplug case back in her bag, her hand brushes against mine. Her breath catches and she yanks her hand away like I’ve burnt her. My heart is in my throat, and I can’t help but think, for just a moment, that the simple touches are affecting her as much as they’re affecting me. Her eyes meet mine, and god, it’s dim in the theatre, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
