That’s what I played for your father that night. “In the Hall of the Mountain King.” When I finished, he was looking at me like he had just gotten a gift, one he’d been waiting for his whole life.

“Queenie,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t just play the piano, you play the piano. You’re . . . you’re amazing.”

I shrugged, my eyes wet with tears. “I’d be better if I hadn’t stopped lessons when my mom got so sick. But it’s something I’ve always had a knack for. My mom loved listening to me play.”

We’d talked about my mom before, on our walks through the city, at night, in whispers in the dark, when I couldn’t get her out of my head before I went to sleep, when I missed her so much it felt like it was taking over my whole body.

Your dad sat next to me on the piano bench then and held me. “I got you,” he said, like he always did. And those words, his arms, his voice made the feeling of loss ebb enough that there was room inside me for other feelings, too.

—

A few weeks later he told me to close my eyes before we entered his dorm room. He led me by the hand through the maze of books and clothes and shoes on his floor. Then he stopped.

“Okay,” he said. “Open them.”

I was standing in front of a keyboard, all set up on a stand with an amp and headphones and a damper pedal.

“It’s for you,” he said. “Happy two months before your birthday.”

I was blown away. “For me?” I said. “Really?”

He nodded. “Someone with your talent needs her own instrument. I’ve been checking Craigslist and finally found a keyboard that’s worthy—some Upper East Side parents bought it for their kid who gave up on lessons after a few months. They just wanted it out of their house. It was practically free, but it’s top of the line.”

I turned it on and started playing. The music was in my fingers, just like it had always been.

6

After they left the hospital, Ezra and Emily turned away from the East River, away from the rushing traffic on FDR Drive, and Ezra said, “I know you wanted dinner out tonight . . . but I’m afraid I won’t be the best company.”

Emily took his hand. “How about pizza and Law and Order?” she asked, as they headed west to Lexington Avenue, the hospital buildings giving way to tall towers of condos. “Special Victims Unit.” It was one of their go-tos. An easy way to spend time with each other but still be in their own minds. Together but apart.

“Throw in a bottle of wine, and you have yourself a date.”

Emily paused.

Ezra noticed. “Wait,” he said. “It’s . . . did your period . . . ?”