Still in a daze and miraculously driving home safely, I walk into my apartment and find Christian home early from work. Needing to share the news with my husband—or who I always knew to be my husband—trumps all bitterness of our silence. “You won’t believe what happened.”
He takes his crossed legs off the coffee table and rotates on the couch to look back at me without a verbal response.
Nala’s paws patter on the hardwood in the foyer as she lifts her butt, her way of asking for me to pet her.
I place my cello case on the floor, push my crate to the wall, and run my hand along Nala’s soft fur before going to sit on the couch next to Christian.
Plopping down, I blurt out, “LA Phil offered me the chair.” Omitting that I was with David when I received the news and that he was first to know is a must.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I got it.” The flatness in my voice sounds like when I listened to a recording of me being hypnotized.
“Toni, that’s wonderful news!” He leans over to hug me.
My arms remain at my sides.
Just like that, my husband is back. The smile on his face, showing his perfectly straight teeth and a gleam in his once-again warm eyes brings a sense of comfort that he backs me in this moment. All it took was something happening according to his plan. Get an LA Phil chair, lose the winery dream, and live as scheduled.
He continues, “Why don’t you look happy?! This is everything!”
“I know.” I muster up enthusiasm and exaggerate a grin. “I’m just surprised. It finally happened. To me. All of my friends from college achieved their musical goals, and I never could. But now I have.” Acknowledging the original dream being realized doesn’t make me feel any merrier, even in the merriment of the Christmas season.
You know the phrase being so close yet so far away? That’s how I always felt with getting into LA Phil, but now it applies to my winery. Maybe I’m meant to chase my tail, like Nala, never reaching satisfaction.
So, when did earning a chair in the orchestra of my dreams become second-best? I guess I need counseling more than I think because something must be seriously wrong with me. I’ve finally made it, yet…
“You did it, Tone Tone.”
His words and another bombarding hug pause my thoughts. The intense kiss that follows brings me even more into the confusion zone. I wiggle my toes to gain a sense of being in my body and to be able to reciprocate, but I still feel like a zombie.
“I’m really proud of you.”
Those words bring a genuine smile to my face. “Thanks.”
He grabs my hand and squeezes it as Nala jumps on the cushion next to me. We’re one big happy family.
But…
I have to say more. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t keep holding everything inside. “Christian?”
“Yeah.” His gaze remains focused.
“I don’t know if I’ll accept the offer.” I look down and shut my eyes, as if the scary part of a movie is about to happen.
“What do you mean?” His voice stays calm.
Is my old Christian back?
Eyes still shut, I continue, “What about the winery?”
He laughs. “Come on. You can’t be serious.”
I open my eyes and face the expected budding monster when this topic is brought up. “I am,” I whisper. “I started to get my hopes up that it can happen.” Truth be told, things are way past contemplation. I’m in action.
He squeezes my hand again. “I know you did. But as we said, that’s a big financial risk to take. We can’t do that with what we’ve saved. It isn’t responsible to leave a well-paying, stable job to be an entrepreneur in a field you aren’t familiar with, Toni.”
I know. I know.
“A one-job-career in the music field, yeah. How long have I wanted that?”
“Since I met you. And you deserve that peace. Plus, we aren’t moving to Temecula Valley.” He barely releases the last words over a stifled snicker. “You know I’m right.”
If he only could’ve stopped with the niceties.
His typical thinking-he’s-God comment has a different effect on me this time, though. Maybe this was the scary-movie moment I was bracing for seconds ago, with added deflation of my will to fight a losing battle. He remains strong on refusing to move, and he is right that we’ve saved for a long time, money which he’s made clear he won’t use for this purpose. “But what about the loan I applied for?”
“If you get approved, you can decline. Or you can retract it, I bet. I hope you planned to do that anyway.” He waits, as if desiring a response, then continues, “This job will make us how we used to be—on the same page and with the same plan.”
“Mm-hmm.”
You’d think all of his excitement would trigger it in me, but all I’m filled with is a hint of nausea and a wave of disappointment in realizing I should surrender my future grapes—envisioning a handful of them falling to the rich soil from my spreading fingers. I probably do need Christian to make the winery happen. There’s no way I could do it on my own.
And I need my marriage to work. At least, I have to keep trying.
The solace of having a conversation with my husband again and him being in a pleasant mood is what really matters in life. I could have a safe home environment again and can be happy doing what I always thought I would, while staying in LA in a profession I know. The longing for cheerful marriage is too enticing to risk, above all other risks.
Yes, that seems like the right thing to do. My body loosens, and I pet Nala once again, resting my hand behind her ears.
Okay, let me get back on track. Let’s get us back on track. I’ll obviously have to accept the chair. Teenage Toni would have slapped me silly for giving any other choice another thought. So…I’m really considering deserting my family legacy, huh?
Adulting stinks. So does the remaining feeling of sandpaper rubbing against my soul.