Page 78 of Requiem

“If I weren’t seeing it … I’d swear it wasn’t possible …” Matthews mumbles. “That kid never goes to strangers.”

“Oh, it’s possible,” quips Brett from behind us, putting an arm over each of our shoulders. “My mother has never met a toddler she couldn’t tame.”

I watch in awe as she bounces him gently, whispering something in his ear and kissing his carrot top. In a moment, Maggie joins them and he perks up, excited to chatter at her.

“You were great, Julia,” Brett says, and I get my own smooch on the cheek.

“Thank you, Brett! I’m really glad you guys could come … and that you brought your mom.”

“Oh, that was all her,” he informs me. “She hasn’t stopped talking about what a remarkable woman you are since you had breakfast.”

“Really? I thought maybe I’d …put her off a little. We talked about some serious stuff and I didn’t agree with everything she had to say …”

Brett shrugs in his navy suit jacket and runs a hand through his hair, a slightly darker shade than his mother’s. “Trudy doesn’t take many things personally, Julia. And she’s not one to hold her tongue, so she’s used to having difficult discussions. Still, she seems eager to spend more time with you and Matthew and the chubby tornado over there,” he says with a chin nod in David’s direction. Just then, my son looks up and spots him.

“Uncaaaaaaa!!!” he screams, making Maggie, Trudy and everyone in a three-block radius wince from the volume.

“Uh-Oh! I’ve been summoned by the prince!” Brett says. “Hey, are we still having dinner at Tucci’s after this?”

“I hope so,” I groan. “I was too nervous to eat all day and now I’m starving. Will your mom be joining us?”

He shakes his head. “No, she’s going to head back to the brownstone. In fact, I was hoping maybe she and Nat could share a cab …just so I know she gets home safely.”

“Oh, of course!”

“Hey,” Matthew interrupts, “why doesn’t she just go back to our apartment with Nat? David would love it and you know how interesting Natalie is. They can order some dinner in.”

“Now that is a great idea,” Brett agrees. “I won’t have to worry about her sitting in my apartment all alone. Let me go suggest it …”

No sooner is he gone than I smell Old Spice close by. I’d know that scent anywhere. When I turn around, Dr. Sam is smiling at me, drink in one hand, overflowing plate of goodies in the other.

“Dr. Sam!” I exclaim as I gingerly try to navigate around his perishables so I can get close enough to give him a kiss on the cheek. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Julia! Your playing was breathtaking, as always. You make me so proud!”

I can feel the familiar warmth of color rising to my cheeks.

“Oh, you! Stop being so bashful, already! Don’t you know you’re the toast of the classical music world right now?”

“Stop it!” I mumble. “You’re embarrassing me!”

“You two sound like a teenager and her father,” Matthew grins with a chuckle.

“Well, you are the closest thing I have to a dad,” I say softly, putting a hand to his lapel.

Just then, Lester Morgan, the Kreisler Competition Director, and host of this oversized soiree, breezes past on his way to the other end of the room.

“Julia!” he says over his shoulder. “Don’t go too far, please, it’s nearly time for your toast!”

He’s gone before I can respond, but he somehow manages to send a waiter our way with a tray of champagne flutes.

“Oh, just seltzer for me,” I tell the young man. He nods and slips away again.

“My dear girl,” says Dr. Sam with alarm in his voice, “don’t you know it’s bad luck to toast with water?”

“I’m not drinking right now,” I reply and give him my best, Mona Lisa smile. He gets it.

“Oh. Oh! Julia, are you …?”