The lobby is humming with people when I finally walk out of the hall. I glance through the crowd, but don’t see Griffon anywhere. Not that I’m looking for him. I don’t want to talk about reincarnation or Akhet. I don’t want to have any more serious conversations. Things have been fine the past few days—no blackouts, no strange feelings—and I’ve almost convinced myself that the whole thing was some weird episode that has now passed. I just want to say thanks for coming all this way on a Saturday night when I’m sure he has better things to do.
“There she is!” Dad calls, waving me over to where he’s standing with Mom and Veronique. He puts his arm around me, pulling me in close to him. “That was wonderful, honey,” he says. “I literally had tears in my eyes at the end. Just beautiful.”
Mom bends down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “It was lovely. Although I did sense a little hesitation during the adagio section at the end. I thought you were going to work on that.”
“I did,” I say quickly, glancing over at Veronique, who looks away uncomfortably. I give Dad’s arm a squeeze. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Your piece was better than I ever imagined,” Veronique says, and I can feel her excitement. “Transcendent. Luminous.” She shrugs her shoulders and grins. “I’m totally running out of descriptive words, but you know what I mean.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And thanks for coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” She glances downstairs. “I’m going for a drink at the café. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks,” I say, too pumped from the performance to even think of food.
“I’ll be back in a second,” Veronique says, walking away.
Before I can say anything else, I hear a yell and feel arms drape around the back of my neck. “Awesome, Cole!” Rayne squeals into my ear, practically pulling me down with her. “Loved it! Much better than the usual boring classical crap they play around here.”
“Glad to see you’re still awake,” I say, giving her a hug.
“It isn’t easy, but your stuff is worth it,” she says, faking a yawn and pulling me away from the group. “Did Griffon come?” she whispers.
“I saw him in the concert hall. But I don’t know where he went.” At that moment I feel someone watching me from behind, and turn to see Griffon standing a few feet away, a huge bunch of red tulips in his hand. I always thought he looked good in a hoodie and jeans, but seeing him in black pants and an indigo blue button-down shirt takes my breath away.
“Man, he cleans up good,” Rayne says, following my gaze. “Go on,” she whispers, giving me a little push. “You can’t let him just stand there by himself.”
“That was amazing,” Griffon says as I walk over to him. His eyes are shining with excitement. “Just beautiful.” He looks down, as if noticing the flowers for the first time. “Right. Um, these are for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking the bundle and trying to ignore Rayne’s yelp as she watches. I’ve never gotten flowers from a guy before, and I run my finger over the waxy perfection of one of the petals, wondering if red tulips have any particular meaning. Red roses equal love. Do red tulips mean I’m-not-attracted-to-you-like-that-so-let’s-be-friends?
Rayne walks over and puts one arm around Griffon. I only wish I could be so casual with him. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat, but my mom’s coming to pick me up. Nice to see you again.” She grins at him and then at me.
“You too,” Griffon says. Rayne gives my arm a squeeze as she walks away.
Silence surrounds the two of us as I try to think of something to say. “I’m glad you came,” I finally blurt out. Okay, not so clever. But not totally cringe-worthy.
“So am I.”
I glance back to see Dad, Mom, and Veronique standing in a small circle staring at us. I figure now is as good a time as any. “Do you want to meet my parents?”
He follows my glance. “Looks like I don’t really have a choice.” He smiles. “Yeah. That would be great.”
“Mom, Dad,” I say as we walk back to them. “This is Griffon.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he says, shaking hands first with Dad and then Mom. Mom smiles at him and raises her eyebrows at me, while Dad just glances at the flowers in my hand and looks suspicious.
“Nice to finally meet you too,” Dad says, looking pointedly at me. “Do you go to school with Nicole?”
Griffon stands up straight and puts his hands behind his back. Somebody obviously trained him well in the art of parent-charming. “No, sir. I live over in Berkeley. I go to Marina.”
“Berkeley,” Dad repeats. “So … you know each other from the conservatory?”
“No,” I jump in. I don’t want to have to explain how we met. Not right now. “Kat knows a friend of Griffon’s. By the way, where did she go?” I hope my attempt to change the subject isn’t as obvious to them as it is to me.
“She left right after your piece finished,” Mom says. “Some work thing she has to do.” She nods toward Veronique, who is standing silently off to one side sipping a bottle of water.
“Oh!” I say, knowing I’m going to get a manners lecture later. “Sorry. Griffon, this is Veronique.”
“Nice to meet you,” Griffon says. As he takes Veronique’s hand, a shadow seems to pass over his features, and his easy smile is replaced by a more serious expression.
“Nice to meet you,” Veronique says, with an emphasis on “you” that is impossible to ignore. I shoot her a look and hope that she doesn’t go on about it. “Cole has an amazing talent, don’t you think?”
“She does,” he says, with a short tone I’ve never heard before. He seems to be studying Veronique, and I notice his jaw muscles tighten like he’s upset about something.
“I, um, have to get my stuff out of the practice room,” I announce, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I can’t imagine what’s wrong with him. He’s usually so polite, but there’s a hardness in his eyes right now that freaks me out a little.
As if he’s working at it, Griffon’s features seem to soften, and he smiles at me, finally taking his eyes off Veronique. “I’ll help you,” he says. He turns back to Mom and Dad. “If that’s okay?”
Dad glances at Mom. “Fine with me. Saves me from having to carry the heavy stuff back downstairs.”
Griffon and I walk up the stairs in silence. He seems to be lost in thought, staring off into space as we climb. At the top, he looks back toward the group and leads me to one side.
“How do you know her?” His voice has an edge to it that makes me nervous.
“Who? Veronique? She’s one of my students, remember?”
“No, I mean, how did you meet her?” he demands.
I put my hands on my hips. In one quick second, he’s gone from sensitive and funny to serious and demanding. “I don’t even remember how we met. Why does it matter?”
“It does matter,” Griffon says, his voice low and his eyes angry. He goes quiet and looks away as another couple passes us at the top of the stairs. He steers me into an empty classroom.
“Try to remember.”
His intensity makes me stop protesting, although I have no idea what’s going on.
“I … I’m not sure.” His eyes are riveted on my face as I search my brain, trying to remember how we met. “I think she was at one of the conservatory concerts last year. She came backstage and shook my hand, met my parents, and all that. Then a few days later she contacted me through the group saying that she’d heard I was giving lessons.”