What did that hawk do all day? Did he have a mate? What was my squirrel up to? Were they mulling their destinies, their talent, their impact, or were they just watching the sunrise?

What was Oscar—?

Stop. I stood and brushed myself off, trying my best to plod home, not skip.

The lights were on at the house, so Oscar and Dad were up and working. I smoothed my hair and pulled down my sweaty jogging shirt before unlocking the front door. But the music greeting me was muffled—they were in the study, noodling music on Dad’s upright. I recognized the snippet Oscar had hummed last night and felt like I was in on a secret.

Then I glanced at Mom’s Steinway. She was supposed to have collected it months ago for her “new place,” which she hadn’t even started looking for yet, as far as I knew. The piano had stayed put, along with a box of other bits and pieces—an antique hand mirror, a copy of The Goldfinch with a bookmark stuck fifty pages in, the tea mug I’d bought her for Mother’s Day when I was seven.

I wondered what she was doing right now. But the answer was obvious. Wherever Mom was, she was practicing. She played every morning for two hours, took a break, played again in the afternoon for two more.

I’d done it too, every day.

My fingers were resting on my own piano’s keys. I’d walked to it without realizing. I looked at my hands, slowly pressing, gently enough not to make any sound but a near-silent thump. There was something kind about the curve of the instrument, an old friend welcoming me back—but the keys beneath my fingers were as indifferent as ever. I pulled away, feeling tricked.

There came a shock of furious playing upstairs—gorgeous, dazzling flurries raging into a snowstorm. I couldn’t tell if it was Dad or Oscar. It didn’t matter.

I shut the lid and walked away.

•   •   •

“Re: Met tmw—no dress code! Business casual, no fuss. Museum not Opera, YES, buuuuuut I do have a table for that other Met’s gala(!) tonight if interested in making an appearance? Might need a stylist for this one so let me know asap. xoxoxo nora”

My stomach clenched until the second I hit send. “Thank you SO MUCH, but I already have plans tonight. Excited for tomorrow! xo Ruby.”

I did not, in fact, have plans beyond writing back to Farrah, running around with the vacuum, giving the bathroom a quick clean, showering the Lysol smell off my skin.