The next morning, Emily headed to the East River path for a run and thought about Ezra. The two of them often ran down the side of Manhattan together, his feet pounding the pavement with slightly longer strides, so she had to turn her legs over faster to keep up. Once they’d gone about four and a half miles down to Battery Park, they’d usually slow down and stop for a smoothie before taking the subway home, dripping sweat but relaxed and happy.
Instead of getting a smoothie after her run, Emily sent Ezra a text: Hope it’s not too rough at the hospital. He didn’t respond. But, she reasoned, maybe that text didn’t invite a response. Or maybe it was rough at the hospital and he couldn’t text with her just then. That had happened before. But she was feeling so insecure right then that she couldn’t stop turning his nonresponse over and over in her mind.
She wished she knew what to do. She wished she knew the right words to say, the right move to make. But the one thing she did know was that if she pushed too hard, he’d just pull away even more, roll himself into a ball like a pangolin and stay that way until he was ready to move forward again, on his own terms and his own time frame, nobody else’s. Was he not thinking about how his actions affected Emily? Was she asking for too much right now? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she wished she understood what was going through her husband’s mind but truly had no idea.
To distract herself, Emily called Ari, but her sister didn’t pick up. A minute later, her phone lit up with a text: Hi Auntie Em, it’s Tyler. Mom wants to know if you’re okay, but she’s driving so she gave me her phone.
Hey hun, Emily wrote back. I was just calling to see what was going on with you guys today. She’d been hoping maybe she could hang out with them for a while. There were friends she could try, too, but when she was sad or confused or feeling out of sorts, it was still only Ari she wanted to spend time with.
I’m playing travel soccer, came back over the phone, which is why Mom is driving. Then tonight we’re going to Sophia’s bat mitzvah. From next door. Mom said I can drink as many Roy Rogers as I want.
Sounds fun, Emily wrote back. Good luck at the game. And enjoy the Roy Rogers!
She’d talk to Ari tomorrow. No need to interrupt her crazy day of plans with the story of her meeting last night with Rob. It would keep.
Emily showered and got dressed and then walked into the living room, where the keyboard was still sitting on the dining table. She wasn’t planning to go to the open mic in New Jersey, but she liked the idea of playing at one someday. She turned on the keyboard. What would she play for an audience, if she had the chance?
She fingered a few melodies with her right hand. There were some people, like Ezra, who strongly preferred one kind of music over another—he loved jazz and the Beatles; that was pretty much it. Rob had a slight penchant for 1970s British artists, but he was more like she was, appreciating all kinds of music, depending on the mood she was in. But she’d never really had a chance to choose what she’d play herself, she realized. Her piano teacher chose, her mom chose, Rob chose. What would she play, if she could play anything, any genre, any song?
It wasn’t just the melody, she realized, or the musicality of the song that pulled her toward one or another, it was the words, too, and how the lyrics and the music played with each other. She fingered some Peter, Paul and Mary—“If I Had a Hammer.” There was something about the way those words danced with the song’s rhythm that worked so well. The hammering of the guitar.
There were other songs like that. One that she’d loved when she first heard it in high school, even though it was more than ten years old by that point: Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car.” The insistent pulsing of it felt like riding in a car, and when Tracy started in with the repetition of the phrase “be someone,” it felt like the car was revving its motor, picking up steam. Emily fingered the melody on her keyboard and then started adding in chords with her left hand. Once she had that down, she sang along with the chorus, tentatively at first, and then full out, as if she were on stage. Her voice wasn’t as strong as it used to be; there were all those muscles involved in singing that she hadn’t been exercising for years. But she wasn’t as bad as she thought she’d be, either.
Emily pulled up the lyrics on her phone and rested it on the music stand at the back of the keyboard. They didn’t have smartphones like this when she used to play, and it felt funny to see her phone there. It used to be charts that Rob hand-wrote for all of them, his music notes perfect little ovals, something James used to tease him about.
She started singing again, from the top, and lost the next hour to music, the way she used to. She only stopped when her phone rang, and she realized then that she felt a twinge of pain in her hand but not nearly as bad as it used to be—not as bad as she’d assumed it still would be. She saw that Priya was calling and picked up the phone.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Just wanted to see how you were doing,” Priya said. Emily could hear cars and wind behind Priya’s voice. She was probably headed somewhere, walking near the river in Brooklyn Heights, where she lived.
“I’m doing okay,” Emily said. “I rediscovered my old keyboard and have been playing all morning.” Somehow the music really did feel healing.
“Sounds like a nice morning,” Priya said. “I didn’t know you played.”
“Yeah,” Emily said. “I used to perform, but I haven’t in a really long time. I’ve been thinking that maybe I should again. The music feels really good.”
“You should!” Priya said. “That would be so much fun. And I’d love to come hear you perform.”
“Yeah?” Emily asked. “You’d want to listen?”
Priya laughed. “Of course,” she said. “Why not? Were you thinking about playing somewhere special?”
Emily hadn’t really been thinking that far ahead, but the answer was easy.
“There are some open mics around the city. Whenever I’m ready, I’ll probably find one of those. An old boyfriend actually invited me to one tonight, but Ezra’s out of town and I didn’t want to go alone.” That wasn’t completely the reason she was staying away, she realized, as the words tumbled from her mouth. Even if Ezra were in town, she probably wouldn’t go. Actually, if Ezra were in town she a hundred percent wouldn’t go. Maybe she would’ve played her music for him. And they would’ve sung together. And talked everything through. And she wouldn’t feel quite so unbalanced. But knowing that didn’t change the fact that the more she thought about the open mic night, the more she wanted to go.
“I’ll go with you,” Priya said, automatically. “Neel can spend the night with Anika. Do some father-daughter bonding.”
Emily thought how nice it was that Priya offered. The two of them had met only a few years ago, when Priya came to work at NYU, and they didn’t really socialize outside of the office, but maybe because they were in that consultation group with Reuben, their relationship felt deeper than it would appear from the outside.
“I don’t know,” Emily said. “It’s more complicated than I’m making it sound.”
“I’m intrigued,” Priya said. “And would love to hear more about what that means. But if you want to do it, I can handle complicated. Up to you, of course.”
Emily thought about it. If Priya were there with her, it wouldn’t be quite as complicated. She could sing “Fast Car,” say hi to Rob and Tony, take a step back into music before she convinced herself not to. It would distract her from obsessing over Ezra and his text messages. And she’d get to spend time with Priya, which she always wanted to do more of outside the office anyway.
“Oh hell,” Emily said. “Let’s do it. It’s in Hoboken at eight.”
“Let’s meet at seven, then,” Priya said. “We can take the PATH train together and have time for a drink before things get started. You can fill me in on why you think this is more complicated than you’re making it sound.”
Part of Emily couldn’t believe she was doing this, but another part felt like it was inevitable. Like it was meant to happen.
“That works for me,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” Priya said. “See you later.”
Emily clicked to the text messages on her phone. What’s the address for tonight? she texted Rob. My friend Priya and I are coming.
That was it. There was no backing down.