Chapter Twenty
Convincing Alex to join his mother and stepfather for Thanksgiving was harder than Gwen had imagined it would be.
Well…I usually run the Turkey Trot in the morning with Sonya. And then I’ d have to shower…
I usually go to Dominic’s around one, so maybe I could drop in after.
My mother likes to serve dinner at three, so I might miss it altogether.
Gwen finally told him that she would be heading to Ava’s in the morning, and he was free to join her. She then slammed the door harder than necessary. She let Ava know that she couldn’t guarantee that Alex would be with her, but that she’d stop by for an hour. She would be celebrating two Thanksgivings this year—one in Manhattan and one in Queens. Not that she planned on telling either of her hosts about the other.
She had always spent the holiday with Mabel. Even when her grandfather was alive, Mabel would take the 7 train to the end of the line with a rotisserie chicken and a bowl full of yams and have dinner with them. As an adult, she and Jacob would head to Mabel’s for the day, but Jacob was flying home to Florida with Declan this year. So it would just be Gwen.
Three days before the holiday, the Roses got an offer for a last-minute gig from a Boston venue that was hosting several bands on the evening of Thanksgiving. A portion of the ticket sales was going to a local soup kitchen. Boston had been a hugely successful city on their recent tour, so this was bound to boost sales for the concert.
“Well, that’s an easy out for you,” she said, chuckling as she turned back to the Thanksgiving-themed cookies she was laying on the baking sheet in his kitchen.
“Will you come?”
The turkey she was putting down turned into a blob.
“To Boston?” She blinked at him. He leaned on the kitchen island, pretending to open his mail.
“Yeah”—he shrugged down at a Guitar Center mailer—“I mean, you’ve never seen us live. It’ll probably be a good show. I don’t know the other groups well, but…”
The whole time his eyes were looking down at his fingers, separating bills and junk mail. He was trying not to show how much he wanted her there, and failing badly.
“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’d love to see you live.” The tips of his ears turned pink, and he nodded, still not looking in her direction. “Do the other girlfriends usually come? Will I be alone in the audience?” She chuckled.
“No, I mean, you can…you can watch backstage, if you want.” He pressed his lips together, like it didn’t matter either way to him. She smiled.
“As long as you don’t plan to pull me onstage to play Fugue Number One with you and end up turning me into a star,” she said, turning to the oven with the full baking sheet. “I’ve seen that movie. It doesn’t end well.”
On Thanksgiving morning, Alex was out the door early with a kiss to her forehead as she was just waking up. He would run the Turkey Trot and then meet up with her at noon to drive up to Boston. Gwen rolled out of bed, packed her bag for the night, and slid into some tights and a festive dress. She grabbed her two containers of Thanksgiving cookies and walked through Central Park to get to Ava and Nathan’s on the West Side.
The doorman sent her up to the top floor, and Ava welcomed her inside as Gwen’s eyes widened at the floor-to-ceiling windows and grand piano. There was enough room for a living area and a dining area, and the kitchen had its own room.
“Your place is amazing, Ava,” Gwen said. “Thank you so much for inviting me. I’m sorry I can’t stay.”
“I’m glad you could stop by,” she said, taking the container of cookies from her. “No Alex, I take it?”
“He’s running the Turkey Trot. He informed me that it was very important to him,” she said with a grim smile.
Ava rolled her eyes with a muttered “of course,” and led Gwen into the kitchen to pour her a mimosa. Nathan was checking on the turkey, and greeted her with a smile and a hug.
“We have loads to talk about. So glad you’re here—”
“Nathan,” Ava warned lightly, “not everything has to be business today.”
“Right, right, right. Just a few minutes.” Nathan sipped his mimosa and motioned for Gwen to follow him to the kitchen table. “I have something exciting to show you.” There was a binder on the table. Nathan tapped it and turned to her. “How is Alex feeling about the Valentine’s concert?”
“Well, he told me Lorenz was negotiating or something…”
“Negotiating,” Ava hissed from the sink, disdain dripping off her expression.
“But you want to do the concert, yes?” Nathan prodded.
“I think it’s a great marketing idea—”
“Good!” He clapped his hands together like that settled it. “Look at what our art department mocked up.”
He opened the binder, and Gwen stared down at a rendered picture of herself playing the violin. Alex stood behind her, holding his cello in one hand while the other was wrapped around her waist. It was a rough computer drawing using manipulated photos of the two of them. Nathan turned the page to another sketch of two bodies wrapped up in silk sheets, a cello and a violin lying next to them.
“Oh” was all she could think of to say.
“It’s just a little idea of what we could do for a photo shoot. This would go in the December programs to advertise the duo concert.”
“Right.” Gwen put her mimosa down, feeling a little light-headed. “It’s very…provocative, isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s a Valentine’s Day concert! What better time to be provocative! We could get you both in with a photographer next week and start chatting through the set list. What else is Alex writing? Any more of the Fugue series?”
“Not really. But we did collaborate on something last week,” she offered cheerily. “Are you thinking of featuring more of his original pieces?”
“Absolutely,” Nathan said. He placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her around the corner into the dining room. “And I know Ava doesn’t want to talk about this on a holiday”— he glanced over his shoulder—“but finances are doing good, although not great. Christmas will bring in money like it always does, but if we had this Valentine’s Day concert, we would be solvent for the rest of the season.”
Gwen felt a weight lifting off her. She smiled brightly at him. “That’s great news!”
“So that’s why it would be wonderful if Alex agreed to this concert. I think it could really further his career and his music too. Do you think you can try to convince him?”
“I’ll…do my best.”
Gwen grinned and let herself be pulled into a conversation with Ava about yams and stuffing.
She was already running behind when she got off the subway in Queens. Ava and Nathan had kept her about half an hour too long, and the trains were slow because of the holiday. She would only have forty-five minutes at Mabel’s before she needed to meet Alex back at the apartment.
Mabel had a small garden apartment off a bustling street in Jackson Heights. She had violins, banjos, and tambourines hung on the walls, and every harsh footstep would jangle the cymbals. Her couch was thirty years old, her appliances older, and her cat always scratched if you got too close.
Gwen apologized for being late and moved directly into the kitchen to help with what was on the stovetop.
“I’m only doing a stew this year,” Mabel said, washing her hands. “Without you and Jacob, it’ll just be me and Lenny upstairs, so there was no point in a big production.”
“I’m sorry to ditch you this year.” Gwen lifted the lid off the huge pot on the stove, and the smell of meat and spices hit her nose. She inhaled, preparing what she’d practiced in the mirror. “But I’m going to Boston tonight. With my boyfriend.”
Mabel turned to her with a playful expression. “Gwen Jackson, you didn’t tell me you have a boyfriend.”
“It’s Alex. Fitzgerald. Alex Fitzgerald.” Mabel blinked, and Gwen stirred the stew. “We’ve been getting to know each other. I know he was a nightmare when you last knew him, but he’s really kind and he cares about me a lot. We talk about music, everything from Bach to the Beatles. He’s brilliant—but you knew that. And we…I think we get along so well because of your influence. We see music the same way.”
She took a deep breath and tore her eyes from the stove. The playful look had melted off Mabel’s face.
“Interesting” was all she said.
“I’m really happy,” Gwen rushed out.
Mabel’s lips pulled upward weakly. “That’s wonderful. So you’re headed to Boston.”
“Yeah. Thorne and Roses has a gig.”
Mabel pulled the cutting board out of a cupboard and started prepping the carrots. “Has he brought you to Lorenz?”
“I’ve met him, but I’m not signing with him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She nodded, beginning to chop. Gwen watched the way her lips pressed together.
“What do you want to say? Say it, Mabel.”
“I’m happy for you. Just be careful.”
Gwen scoffed. “I’m careful about everything. Why would this be any different?”
“Because it’s a boy. You’ve never had a boy. Not one that could get in your way.”
Scowling, Gwen dropped her hands on her hips. “Is this about Ava again?”
Mabel’s hands paused. She closed her eyes and inhaled. “Alex Fitzgerald—or Xander whatever—has a full career under his belt. Yours is just beginning. All I’m saying is that it’s easy to lose focus at this stage of your life. He’s in a position to take advantage of you—”
“Mabel, Jesus.” Gwen threw her hands up. “You know nothing about him as an adult. You know nothing about our relationship. He’s giving me the opportunities. He’s writing duets for me to record with him.”
“Oh, isn’t that nice,” Mabel bit out. “Your career will owe him a debt while he profits off your talents in his record sales. And in the meantime, Nathan Andrews is ecstatic, I’m sure. Can’t wait for the new brochures with the two of you on the cover.”
Gwen stuttered, thinking of the mock-ups Nathan had shown her just that morning. “I honestly don’t know how you’ve managed to make this about Nathan and Ava. Again.” She paced away and spun back. “I don’t know the people who wronged you so badly, Mabel. The Nathan and Ava I know have never tried to control my life as much as you have.”
Mabel’s lip curled as she thrust the knife through the carrots. “Control? I couldn’t control you if I tried. You still threw away your chance at college to join an amateur orchestra.”
Gwen felt like there was a river inside of her, and it had finally been given permission to run. All the times she’d wanted Mabel to say congratulations or good job were swirling around her head, reminding her that nothing would be good enough for her. The Pops would never be good enough for her.
The words poured out of her like acid. “You know what you sound like when you go on and on about Ava and Nathan? Jealous and bitter, like someone whose life didn’t turn out the way she wanted. But you still expect that life from me.”
Mabel slammed her hands on the counter. The bowls jumped and the spoons rattled. “Why shouldn’t I? You’re remarkable, Gwen. You’ve always been remarkable. Why shouldn’t I want remarkable things for you?”
“Because you’re not my mother!”
The words vibrated through the small apartment. Gwen felt them spin through the rooms and ricochet back to her.
She wished she could take them back, swallow the words and choke them down. She felt so small suddenly.
Mabel stared—the only indication that she’d heard her was the way she squeezed the knife and bit the inside of her cheek.
The fury from before shrank to sadness, coalescing into a lump in her throat that she couldn’t breathe around. “Mabel, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
Mabel swiveled away from her, returning to the stew— dismissing her.
Gwen waited for ten seconds, twenty. When Mabel had nothing else to say to her, Gwen grabbed her bag, slung it on her shoulder, and moved to the door.
“I never wanted to be a mother,” Mabel whispered in the silence, and Gwen stopped. Mabel waved her hand at the empty apartment, as if to prove her point, and then glanced to her with sad eyes. “But you needed one. So I did what I could.”
“I know. You did everything right. But when I choose differently, I wish you wouldn’t assume that it’s ‘wrong.’” She waited for Mabel to respond, the seconds ticking. Nothing. “I have to get going.”
There were tears gathering in her eyes as she threw open the door and rushed to the subway. She finally cried them on the train that took her out of Queens.