Chapters (45)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dedication
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- Happy Birthday in Jazz Clarinet
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- Natalie vs. Reid
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- The First Chair Wars
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- Outplayed
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- The Prank War
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- The Setup
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- Aaron Jacobson’s Protégé
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- Anything But Music
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- Acknowledgments
- More from the Author
- About the Author
- Also by Marisa Kanter
“Which I support. Fully,” Henry says.
I don’t know how to process this. “You’re here.”
“Yes. That has been established,” Henry says with a hesitant smile.
I check my phone for the time. “The service is about to start. Can we talk later? For real.”
Henry nods. “I’d like to.”
Without overthinking it, I reach across for a hug because at the end of the day, Henry is my person, he is here, and I don’t want to be mad at him anymore. As much as the distance sucked—Danica was right, Henry did have a right to be mad at me too.
But an apology deserves its own scene.
Not to be rushed in the minutes before Delia’s moment.
“Are you okay?” Fitz asks. “We know about Toby.”
“Right. Danica witnessed that mess.”
“You could’ve called,” Fitz says. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with that shit.”
I shrug. “It’s not like casual antisemitism is a great conversation-starter.”
“I always thought he was a bigoted shit,” Henry says.
“We need a new Moritz, stat,” I say.
“I’ll network the other choices,” Fitz assures me. “But Natalie. Come on! Please don’t bury the lede. You and Reid certainly looked… comfortable posing together,” Fitz says, gesturing toward the bima.
I snort. “You must’ve caught the last twenty seconds. Literally. Delia and Hannah can confirm. Actually, ask Aunt Jenn. Pretty sure we made her wish she missed her flight—”
I snap my mouth shut. I am babbling.
“I didn’t realize Reid’s family was included in the photo session,” Fitz says.
“Yeah. I guess it’s, like, how often does my family get professional pictures? Mom milks it when she can. And the Callahans count as family. So…”
My voice trails off.
I don’t know if I like thinking of Reid as family. I don’t think I like that at all.
Eight hours later, Delia is the star of her party.
The music is loud, the food is yum, and the challah is aplenty. Delia killed her Torah and haftarah readings this morning, just like I told her she would. Reid tried to convince her that she’s secretly musical at heart—her voice is a lot prettier than she’d ever give herself credit for. Delia said this was a onetime performance and her singing will henceforth remain exclusively in the shower, thank you very much.