“It’s very real. Marjorie nearly threw my ukulele at me yesterday when I stopped for a water break. People have no idea what a volatile field music therapy can be.”

I didn’t even know music therapists existed until I met Maggie. When I went to her apartment for the first time and found it flooded with instruments, I was taken aback. When she spent the following half hour playing the piano, the guitar, the violin and a dash of percussion, I almost hit the floor.

I’ve always been jealous of musicians. They play and get lost in their music, escaping to an untouchable place that I want to go to, but can’t. That’s probably why music therapy is so transformative for so many people—it’s a little taste of magic.

“I love Marjorie,” I say, remembering her from the time I shadowed Maggie at work. “But I thought you said the nursing home lost funding for music?”

“They did, but they got another grant, so we’re back in business. I’m in the school Monday, Wednesday, Friday and the nursing home Tuesday and Thursday.”

“You have the best job ever,” I tell her. “You’re like a musical saint walking amongst us.”

“Oh, yes. I’m the Fraulein Maria of Midtown. The second my austere but compelling Austrian naval commander appears, I’ll be all set.”

“Meh, forget that. Then you’d have to be the stepmother to seven children, and the student loans for that crew would be insane.”

“True. I’m still working on my own.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Let’s pivot from the student loan talk. It’s too depressing. How was the big pre-wedding extravaganza?”

Cristina and Maggie walk that fine line between acquaintances and friends, with me as their common denominator. They’re close enough that Maggie is invited to the wedding but not close enough to have been at the party.

“As a matter of fact, it was a little unreal. My ex-boyfriend was there.”

“Mark?” she almost shouts. “What was he doing there?”

“No, not him, but I saw him, too. I’m talking about my ex from college.”

“Wait, hold on.” Maggie pulls me closer to her side as we make our way past pedestrian traffic on 2nd Avenue. “Start over. How did this happen?”

“Turns out Ryan, my college ex, is Jason’s friend from when they were kids. So not only is he here for the week, but he’s going to be a groomsman in the wedding.”

“Well, this all sounds very fairy-tale-esque to me. College sweethearts reunited. Did you make out at midnight?”

“That’s a hard no. We didn’t end things on good terms back in the day and it didn’t seem like a whole lot changed, until last night.”

I turn to Maggie for her response when she’s suddenly looking down, frantically digging through her bag.

“One second,” she mutters. “My phone is vibrating.”