String Bridge Read Free

the course and my bright ideas about how beneficial it will be for kids nowadays—which now I’m not quite sure of; they’re not as bright as I thought—to the Greek Board of Education to try to get the course accepted into next year’s curriculum. If it gets accepted into next year’s curriculum, I’ll know by next week and I’ll have made the company a whole lot of money that I’ll never see. But I could see some of it, possibly, because if it does get accepted into next year’s curriculum, they’ll want to make me chief editor of a collaborating publishing house—”
    “Mel, that’s fucking fantastic!” Alex interrupts. He gets out of his seat and approaches me with open arms, but I take his hands and push them to his sides. He frowns, shakes his head in question.
    “Alex, the publishing house is in London. We would have to relocate.”
    I massage my left brow as if nursing a headache. Alex looks at me blankly. We stare at each other—his breath and my breath clash. His anger thickens the air around me like starch in water. His fists clench, but he keeps them by his side.
    “London? Mel, I’ve just turned down a job in New York for you.” Alex crosses his arms, making himself taller by straightening his back and broadening his shoulders. He hovers above me. I will not let him intimidate me anymore. I will take no notice of this manipulation.
    “Last night, you said you were happy here,” Alex continues. “My God, Mel. And you’ve known about this possibility for a year? And you’re just telling me now?”
    “Well, I could have told you back then—”
    “Yes. Why didn’t you?” he asks, his voice tight. “We’re responsible adults. We can both decide what’s best for our family, don’t you think? And since when are you so gung-ho about your job? I thought you didn’t like it.”
    “I don’t. I’m not finished with what I want to say.”
    Alex squints. “Go on.” He leans against the wall and flicks his chin up as if giving me permission to speak.
    “I’m tired of this routine, Alex. I want to play gigs again. I want music back in it. No, you know what? I don’t just want music back in my life. I want it to be my life. I want my dream; the dream you somehow convinced me I didn’t need anymore. So, if I get this promotion, and if you want to save our marriage, then we will relocate to London, where I will have the opportunity to follow my dream.”
    “No, Melody. We won’t. You won’t follow any dream. Forget it—we’re not going anywhere.” Alex sits back behind his desk.
    “Excuse me?” I screech.
    “You heard me. Just hope that your presentation doesn’t go well, so that you don’t have to regret turning the promotion down.” Alex takes hold of his mouse again, clicks a couple of times, and pretends to read something.
    “Alex. I …”
    I want to tell him that I’ll just go without him. That I’ll take Tessa and flee without even discussing it, but I lose my nerve. Am I being irrational? Selfish? Is it so bad to want something for yourself? Is it selfish not to accept living a life you didn’t wish for?
    “What?” Alex snaps. “Alex, what ?” He glares at me. I shake my head. “Go, to your stupid presentation. I have work to do.”
    Tears fill my eyes. My bottom lip shudders a little in the hope that what I want to express might find the words to do so. But I don’t utter a word. I close my mouth, press my lips together and swallow my devastation. I have an important presentation to give. I must pull myself together. Tonight. I will continue this conversation tonight.
     
     
     

 
    Two
     
    The sharp shrill of car horns and Tessa’s wails prick my head from every direction like acupuncture needles, doing nothing to help lessen my grip on the steering wheel while I inch along in slow, grueling traffic. It’s so hot and congested that I feel as if I’m sitting in a box of melting forgotten chocolates. All we need now is an amateur string quartet to add