Chapter 20
Josh
At exactly twelve o'clock, the doorbell rings.
While Jasmin is busy preparing the calamari for the grill, I rush to the door and open it.
"Hello, my darling." My mother's lips lift without a single crease forming. With an elegant gesture, she opens her slender arms and embraces me tightly. "You look good. Were you on vacation?"
I savor her closeness and the scent of comfort that surrounds her. "Sort of," I reply before releasing myself from her embrace to take a closer look at her. She hasn't aged a day since I can remember. And her bun is still tightly tied, as if she has to return to the stage after our meal even though she left it over thirty years ago.
Behind her stands my father. "Joshua," he mumbles into his accurately trimmed, mottled-gray full beard with a lost-in-thought expression.
I nod briefly at him. "Father."
"Where is my little angel?" My mother searches the entrance area.
Glad for the distraction, I follow her. "She's still upstairs in her room."
"But why? Isn't she excited to see Grandma and Grandpa?" My mother tilts her head to the side, her bun perfectly secure.
The truth is, she probably isn't excited. And I have no idea why. She caused such a fuss during breakfast today that I asked Maya to accompany me to the obligatory Sunday gathering with my parents. Even though it's her day off, she didn't hesitate to help me. Since she arrived, she's been trying to calm Sophia, and I can only hope it worked.
Because if she has one of her tantrums in front of my parents, I already know what will happen.
I quickly clear my throat. "Of course, she's excited. And she'll be with us in a moment."
My father's skeptical gaze meets mine.
"Come inside first. We'll eat on the terrace." It was Maya's idea to have lunch outside, giving Sophia more space to retreat if she needs it. "Jasmin is already waiting with an aperitif for you."
"Oh, how delightful," my mother trills and proceeds to walk ahead.
My father follows. And I sprint upstairs. When I reach Sophia's room, I knock gently.
That's supposed to convey to my daughter that I respect her privacy. At least, that's what Maya claims, and there must be something to it because a few seconds later, Sophia opens the door with a friendly smile. There's a golden crown nestled in her curly hair.
"What do you want?" She raises her chin defiantly.
"Grandma and Grandpa are here," I say, motioning for her to come to me.
She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me angrily. My gaze shifts to Maya. The wreath of dried flowers on her head looks ridiculous. Her expression, however, conveys a different message. You can't do it like that , she silently tells me.
I shrug. How else am I supposed to do it ?
She winks at me. "My lady," she says in a submissive tone. "The people demand your presence." With a slight bow, she hands my daughter a sparkling wand. "Don't forget your scepter."
I'd prefer if she left that glittery thing up here. And the crown too. She can keep the pink tulle dress if she wants.
"Thank you kindly, my lady." Sophia takes the wand and marches straight beside me toward the door. "Follow me," she commands us with a decisive gesture.
Maya grins at me, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "After you."
Wait, in this undeniably adorable getup, she wants to go downstairs? With the dusty flower thing in her hair and the string of lights wrapped around her waist?
"Um..." Since I'm not quite sure how to phrase it, I simply point with my index finger at the questionable details of her outfit.
She looks down at herself. When she raises her gaze again, her eyes are slightly darker. It's as if she's just realizing where she is and what place she occupies in this world. Quickly, she sheds the disguise and smooths out her lemon-yellow 60s dress with white polka dots. "Better?"
"Better." I can't help but smile. "Although it was quite cute earlier," I say, involuntarily reaching out my hand to her. "Let's go."
She doesn't move, just stares at my hand as if she sees a monster instead of my fingers. Disappointed, I pull back and start walking ahead.
When we arrive on the terrace, my mother already has Sophia in such a tight embrace that the little one is probably struggling to breathe .
"Grandma is so happy to see you," she says, and even though you can't read that joy on her face thanks to Botox, I know it's genuine.
My daughter looks less happy as she's released from the hug. Her shoulders slump, her gaze lowered. She doesn't say a word. Amid the bright furniture, the exclusive tableware, and the beautifully blooming oleander plants, Sophia looks like an outsider. It's best if she sits in the shade next to my father. They fit together perfectly.
Now my mother fashions a bun out of Sophia's long locks. "You'll make a wonderful ballerina someday."
She doesn't like that at all. She abruptly breaks free and glares at her grandma. Her cheeks flush. First pink, then cherry red.
It's about to start.
"I'm not a ballerina!" she screams so loudly that even the neighbors behind the distant hedge can probably hear her, and she stomps her foot on the stone terrace tiles. So hard that her entire leg must be in pain now.
Immediately, I feel helpless. I have no idea how to calm her down. Maybe I should pretend she's a princess? Would that help? I desperately try to come up with a way to salvage the situation. Suddenly, Maya steps out from behind me.
"Good day, Mrs. Friedberg," she greets my mother, extending her hand. At the same time, she signals Sophia to hide behind her. "I'm Maya, the nanny."
The diversion tactic works. For a moment, my mother examines her from her messy crown to her bare toes with their brightly painted nails and self-tied ankle bracelets. Then she smiles and takes Maya's hand. "Mrs. Friedberg is my mother-in-law. Call me Liane."
"Very pleased to meet you." As if she needs to dispel the heat from her body, Maya fidgets with her dress. I give her a grateful nod, which in turn brings out the dimples on her cheeks.
For a moment, she shines brighter than the sun above us.
Beautiful.
"Come, sit next to me." My mother points at the teakwood chair beside her.
Jasmin is already there. "Would you like an aperitif?" she asks kindly.
"No way." Maya's tone sounds as if she's been offered to jump out of a plane. Restlessly, she sits down on the green-striped cushion, almost pulling the armrest of the chair with her. Sophia, still trying to hide as best as she can behind Maya, flinches. "Thank you very much for the offer," Maya adds apologetically although Jasmin has already turned away, shaking her head.
What was that?
Before I can figure out what's going on with Maya, she puts on her brightest smile again. And in just a second, my mother and she are engrossed in conversation. Quite the opposite of my father and me. I hastily glance at him.
He looks expressionless. Better to leave it at that. It's great that the ladies feel comfortable here. And they do. It takes a little while for Sophia to climb onto Maya's lap, and even longer until she speaks again.
Shortly after, she starts talking about Ireland, a fun guessing game that Maya invented, and her phone call with her mother yesterday. Only after Jasmin serves her homemade strawberry ice cream does my father speak up.
"How's the music going?" he asks me, and it even sounds like he's genuinely interested in the answer.
I smooth out the dazzling white tablecloth. "Everything's going well."
There it is again. That doubting look he likes to give me. "You canceled concerts."
Of course, I have to remain composed. "I was sick." To distract myself, I reach for the ice cream spoon. But as soon as I touch it, my muscles start vibrating.
Hastily, I let my hand sink onto my thigh. I try to muster an open smile, but I have no idea if it comes across.
"You don't look sick." He looks at me with his lawyerly expression. Immediately, I feel like a defendant in court. "What did you have?"
What story did Tamika tell the press again? I frantically search my memory. "Summer flu," I manage to squeeze out.
Only one of his bushy eyebrows rises as if he, too, is trying to buy time. He takes a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. "I see," he murmurs thoughtfully. "Glad to see you're feeling better."
He doesn't believe me. But at least he has the decency not to dwell on it any longer. "How's your handicap?" I ask.
After all, golfing is his only obsession besides his law firm, which should definitely not become a topic of conversation between us.
"It's at -31.5." With a broad smile on his face, he adjusts his tie .
Of course, he's improved again. Nothing else would be acceptable to him. I nod approvingly. "Congratulations."
The corners of his mouth lift into a satisfied smirk. I mimic him because I haven't the slightest idea what else we could talk about. Apparently, he doesn't either. He starts devouring his dessert while I just look at mine. The vibrations in my muscles earlier were a warning I must take seriously. There's too much risk of my hand shaking when I try to eat something from the dessert. I watch as the decorative cherry on top of my ice cream slowly loses its grip and eventually lands on the tablecloth.
"Why aren't you eating?" my father suddenly asks.
"No appetite." The excuse works quite well. "The flu, you know," I add.
Again, he scrutinizes me intently. "I see."
That's all he says, and actually, it's for the best. We've maintained this kind of ceasefire between us for years. One spark could end it, and we both know that. That's why we're careful not to ignite it.
I'm sure everyone involved is tired. We don't want to continue our old battle. But we can't put down our weapons either.
That's how it will likely remain.
Until I win the music prize.
Because that's the only thing that can make us tear down the wall between us so we can finally move closer to each other.