Chapter 36
Josh
Three days have passed since our conversation in the garden. Seventy-two hours in which everything is different.
Different and beautiful.
The way we exchange love-filled glances and make the most of every second we have alone to be close to each other feels like the beginning of a new life. We didn't talk about her exam again, but when we traveled to Geneva yesterday, I discovered a biology book in Maya's travel bag.
She will find her way, I'm sure of it.
But can I find mine?
Behind the floor-to-ceiling window of the modernly furnished hotel room, Lake Geneva stretches out, where I will perform in a few hours. Next week, we'll continue to Paris. It will be the last stop before the grand finale of the International Music Awards in Rome. And even though I've found a way to steady my hand, I know what I'm doing is not right.
How will this go on?
I can't rely on drinking before every concert. It's not a sustainable solution, but right now, I have no other choice.
After the award ceremony, I can seek new paths, but I don't have the time for that now .
I pace barefoot on the carpet in front of the designer bed. Feeling the rough fibers grounds me. I need that because I should finally call my mother back. Yesterday, she tried to reach me four times, but I couldn't talk to her. Because she could burst the bubble Maya and I are floating in faster than I'd like.
With a deep sigh, I dial her number.
"Joshua, finally." Her tone tells me she’s been worried.
Instantly, guilt washes over me. "It's been hectic, I'm sorry."
She pauses briefly. "I have great news," she says then.
Curious, I press the phone closer to my ear as I continue pacing around the room. "Tell me."
"You won't believe it, but I did it!" I'm pretty sure she's beaming on the other end of the line. "Not only will I be attending your performance at the award ceremony in Rome, but your father will be there too."
That's truly sensational. "Wow." That is all I can manage to say. Immediately, I feel the tension in my neck muscles.
"Consider it a first step on his part." Her tone is suddenly gentle, yet it sends shivers through me.
"Yes. Good. See you next week," I manage to say before I end the call. Because unlike my mother, I know he's not coming to reconcile with me.
He's coming to witness my failure.
Suddenly, the world around me darkens. Everything crashes down on me. It's as if the countless conflicts, the ignorant silence, and his domineering nature weigh heavily on my shoulders.
Just like the memory of the moment when the relationship between my father and me shattered for good.
"We need to talk," he says in my mind, and suddenly I'm back there.
In the body of my seventeen-year-old self, I look up at him. He looks at me seriously with his dark eyes. His hand rests heavily on my shoulder. Reluctantly, I lift my fingers from the piano and allow him to guide me into his study. There, he signals for me to sit in the visitor's chair in front of his imposing desk.
"Next year, you will graduate. It's time to talk about your future," he begins. As he paces the room, it feels like a courtroom. "I'll make it brief, Son. You will study law. Then you'll join my law firm. By your mid-thirties, you'll become a partner. Five years later, you'll take over the company."
He sounds like he's delivering a closing argument. I am the accused.
But I know how to defend myself. "I won't do that," I say firmly. We both know that I am utterly unsuitable to be his successor. And not just since today. "Stop imposing your dreams on me. I have my own."
His stern gaze meets me, his eyes narrowing. "Life isn't always about what you want," he says, folding his hands into a triangle. I've seen this gesture before. He believes it makes him stronger, but in reality, it only shows me how weak he truly is. "This family has a reputation to uphold. It's bad enough that your grades are so poor." His devastating look hits me. "I've spoken to the dean. He will ensure that you're admitted to law school regardless."
"But I..." My protest fades unheard in the room.
"You should be grateful for that," he says, raising an eyebrow. "If I didn't see to it that you become something decent, you would end up in the gutter."
So that's what he thinks? That I'll end up as a penniless artist who can't even afford a place to live? "I never asked for that. So just stop it. I'll follow my own path." This conversation is over for me, so I rise from the chair.
He throws his arms up in the air. "Grow up, Joshua. Even your first piano teacher recognized that you lack talent. Nobody out there is waiting for another keyboard pounder who thinks their tinkling will change the world."
Angry, I take a step toward him. I lift my chin as high as I can. "One day, I will be the greatest pianist of all. Count on it."
He stares at me with a mixture of suspicion and bitterness.
I stare back.
So he can see how serious I am about this promise.
"Well then, show the world what you can do." His mouth turns downward, and he breathes heavily. Ultimately, he's the one who turns away. "But don't expect me to pick you up off the ground after you crash."
With great effort, I tear myself away from the memory. His cold words echo within me. Then and now, I clench my fists so tightly that I can barely feel anything else. I warned him. And ever since, I've fought to prove to my father that I can do it. Nothing was ever good enough for him to admit his mistake.
The gold record.
Pure chance .
The millions in my bank account. Will soon vanish into thin air.
The sold-out tours. Temporary success.
"One day, I will be the greatest pianist of all." I repeat the words I threw at my father thirteen years ago, my voice steady.
The words that have driven me day after day since then.
The words that have made me the pianist I am today: a man whose hand now trembles so violently that it wouldn't even be capable of bringing a glass of water to his lips.
My God, this can't be happening! Finally, I have the opportunity to prove to my father that my music is good enough.
That I am good enough.
If I fail now, everything I've ever worked for will shatter into a million pieces.
In my desperation, I rush to the cabinet. I snatch the bottle of vodka from the pile of clothes where I've hidden it. Hastily, I unscrew the cap and bring the bottle to my lips.
I drink in large gulps because I know it's the only thing that can help me achieve my goal.
"What are you doing?" The words reach my ear shrilly.
I flinch, choking on the vodka. Even without turning around, I know who stands behind me.