“It’s no surprise you can’t remember a thing with the amount you drank,” Fiona said, impressed at the memory of Quinn flipping over shot glasses. “Almost like you were–”
“Self-medicating?” Quinn filled in.
“You stole my words. But don’t worry, we took a cab. I can call Kate to pick me up.”
Quinn told her not to bother because Ethan had driven him to the bar so his car was still parked downstairs. A short while later, he was driving Fiona across town to her place and then doubling back to the music academy, on track to arrive early for his lessons.
He checked his phone for what seemed like the millionth time that day while picking up a sandwich for lunch, conflicted about whether he should be contacting Imaani. Perhaps he shouldn’t because he didn’t want to further embarrass both of them, but if he didn’t call would she think he didn’t care about her? Or worse, that he was still with Fiona?
Je m’en fiche, he ruefully told himself, caving to his urge and hitting her number as he got back into his car. As expected, the call went straight to voicemail.
“Imaani,” he started, not knowing what words would come out next, “I love you. Fuck! I mean… I probably should have thought this message through first.” He slapped his hand against his forehead. “Look, I know I don’t have to explain anything to you, but Fiona was just me trying to figure things out. We’re not together and we didn’t even exchange numbers.
“I want you to know I’m here for you, but more than that I need to know you’re safe. Even if you’re disgusted with the thought of seeing me right now, please just let me know you’re okay.”
Quinn exhaled and dropped his phone in the passenger seat, vowing to not contact Imaani again until she replied. He started the engine when he heard the ping beside him.
She’s okay, read the text from Claire. She had her cello with her so we’re jamming for some stress relief.
Thank god, Quinn texted back, relieved Imaani was with a friend.
I’m going to help her pick up some stuff from her house later, Claire replied. She and Nat are going to go to her sister’s for the time being. Hasn’t decided how long.
Okay, Quinn said, unsure of whether he should add anything else.
Relax, I’m putting in a good word for you.
Don’t, Claire, Quinn shook his head to himself. I promised her I’m not going to look at her that way again. Clay cheating on her doesn’t change that.
Clay cheating on her changes fucking everything. Quinn could almost hear Claire’s voice as he read her words. You told her you loved her.
I meant as a friend, Quinn lied.
Bullshit, Claire replied, their texts now popping up out of sequence, mimicking how they talked over each other in person.
Please, just forget that happened, Quinn typed, glancing at the time. Thanks for letting me know she’s staying with you. I won’t try to call her again. Gotta go do a class.
***********
“You didn’t even call her to ask whether she was going to make it?” Ethan asked Quinn four mornings later, gesturing to the cargo van holding his disassembled drum kit. A dense fog blanketed the parking lot and he couldn’t even see 10 meters past their parking spot. “And I hauled all this down here when you didn’t even know whether we’d be doing a concert?”
Quinn looked at the high school stage exit they were standing in front of, then turned back to his friend. He hated that Ethan was caught in the middle of this drama, but he’d promised he wouldn’t contact Imaani again.
“She’ll be here,” Quinn assured him. “Imaani’s not the type to just flake, especially when she’s been early for every other gig we’ve had. She’s probably at her sister’s place by now, which Claire told me isn’t far from here.”
They spotted another set of headlights enter the school parking lot, then another, the annoyance amplifying on Ethan’s face when neither vehicle turned out to have their bandmates in them. Quinn checked his watch for what felt like the millionth time when he spotted Imaani’s compact sedan turning by them.
“Thank the lord,” Ethan breathed, grabbing the snare drum case and the legs to hold it. “Let me get set up.”
This is where it gets awkward, Quinn shook his head to himself and gripped his cello as he watched Imaani and Claire exit the car.
“Hey, loverboy,” Claire murmured with a grin as she sauntered past him, swinging her violin case.
“Crosse-toi,” he smirked back, checking to see they were far enough away that Imaani was out of earshot. Not that she’d understand he’d just told Claire to fuck off, but Claire jovially waved at him with her middle finger without breaking her stride. Then she twirled around, grinned, and winked at him.
What was that about? Quinn asked himself, perplexed. He had mulled over how he was going to break the ice when he and Imaani first saw each other again, and now swallowed hard as he approached her car. She was bent over her backseat, trying to slide her cello out.
“How are you?” he asked softly. He thought he saw her lip twitch but she gave him a small smile and nodded.
“I’ve been better, obviously. Maybe we should talk after the show.”
Quinn was grateful to have that out. They warmed up, played their set, and he found himself thinking again how awesome it was that their music hushed the unruly auditorium within seconds. The comfort of their strings melding together enveloped him like a cloud, and it was his favourite place to be with Imaani.
They communicated only with their eyes and the occasional smirk, completely each other’s musical phrasing. Quinn loved how Imaani’s heels bounced to the beat and her entire body got into working her cello. They took a break for questions and Quinn picked up the mike he’d been handed by one of the school’s music teachers.
“How much money do you guys make?” a student called out.
“That’s not an appropriate question, Connor,” the teacher admonished.
“No, it’s alright, I can take that one,” Imaani said, to Quinn’s astonishment.
“You sure?” he whispered to his partner, but Imaani gestured to be passed the mike.
“I don’t make a nickel playing the cello,” she said bluntly. “In fact, I arrange to work extra hours in my day job when my friends and I play at schools like this.” Quinn was taken aback at the new tone in her voice, which was resoundingly confident.
“I’m going to give you an unpopular opinion here, but you don’t have to love your job,” Imaani stated. The auditorium was abuzz but she kept going.
“I know everyone says ‘do what you love and you won’t work a day in your life’ but the flip side of that is that trying to monetize what you love may transform your passion into drudgery, and perhaps make you resent it if you find it’s not so easy to make money off it.
“There are lots of people who love their work, but there are other people like myself who feel that work is there to make you money. I play the cello for love, not money. And I make a good salary at my boring-ass desk job so that I can keep doing what I love.” Soft laughter erupted through the room and Quinn softly chuckled to himself, enchanted by Imaani’s newfound poise.