Two Cellos

She's in her 20s and she can afford a brand-new house in a nice neighbourhood like this? Imaani grimaced while cruising at only 20 kilometers per hour. It's either old money from her parents or I have to check our accounts now. As she drove slow and scanned the house numbers, she spotted Clayton's silver convertible parked on a side street she was passing. Her heart fell into her stomach.

The house she finally parked by from was semi-detached and also had fence posts along the backyard property line but no fence. Maybe I got here just in time, Imaani thought, no longer concerned about the legality of trespassing as she made her way around the side of the house. They only wait a week or two to put up the fence after imbedding the posts.

The question of what she was looking for became abundantly clear, as if the universe was pointing neon arrows at it. Imaani entered the backyard and absentmindedly turned her gaze toward the wide garden doors. She all but did a double-take when she spotted a man hunched over inside the house, atop the dining table.

Oh my god, he's having a seizure or something! Imaani thought in alarm. Then she noticed he was naked, and that there was a woman between him and the table. The man's dark skin and the woman's long blonde hair came into focus. Imaani abruptly felt nauseous.

Looking back, she didn't remember pulling out her phone or opening the camera app, then hitting record. Her eyes were glued to the couple violently gyrating against the dining table, Imaani's strangely rational thought in the moment being why they were downstairs so early when they could have done the same thing in bed.

The man threw his head back upon climaxing like a wolf howling at the moon, and Imaani had clear confirmation of his identity. When the woman collapsed upon the table and turned her face toward the window, her eyes half-closed, Imaani knew she'd bet on the right aide.

***********

Sunday morning, the scent of baby powder hit Quinn's brain before he opened his eyes; before he even left that tentative place between being asleep and awake in which he was hovering. His arm came alive next, his fingers starting to gently caress the soft skin they were resting on.

Fiona, it dawned on him. At least he remembered her name, he thought, eyeing the naked blonde beside him to see whether she was starting to stir. As he let his limbs relax a bit while trying to get his bearings, Quinn tried to piece together the fragments of the previous night.

Fiona in the pub... she had a brunette friend with her... did I leave Ethan or did he go home first? he wondered, wrinkling his nose. All Quinn could manage to scrape together was brief snippets of clothes being shed in a frenzy, maybe knocking over something in the living room. Chu magané en osti, he realized in disgust, his head feeling like it was going to explode.

He slowly got out of bed and slipped on his shorts and t-shirt, worried he'd broken glass last night and hadn't cleaned it up in their haste to get into his bed.

His vase in the living room had luckily landed on the edge of the rug and not on the hardwood. He picked it up and threw a rag over the spilled water, mopping it up with his foot while feeling like he'd aged 30 years. Desperate for a coffee, Quinn dragged himself to the kitchen, his footsteps aligning with the thundering of his head.

Didn't I ask Ethan to keep me to two beers? he pondered, trying again to remember at exactly what point he and his buddy had parted ways the previous night. Hopefully he could rest for a few more hours before attending to his scheduled lessons at the music academy. He plopped himself down on the couch and picked up his phone.

I need you to open up later, he texted Ethan.

Yeah, I counted on it, Ethan replied in a minute. How'd it go last night? Up late?

Can you fill in the blanks? Quinn asked, cringing to himself. Ethan sent back a string of laughing emojis, at which point Quinn put his phone down and peeked in on Fiona.

She's still sleeping, he texted Ethan. So please save the making fun of me for later and tell me what led to me taking her home. I don't wanna wake her so just text.

Really man, I don't know, Ethan responded. We were drinking, you were at the end of the first beer, the two women came over. You looked like you were hitting it off with the blonde. Then Cliff called asking when I'd be home so I told you goodnight and left.

You left me in a bar for your silly husband? Quinn almost laughed to himself while typing.

Dude, I would leave you for him any night of the week and twice on Sunday, Ethan replied with another laughing emoji. Your turn. Reminded yourself there's other women out there aside from your married bandmate?

Sort of, Quinn replied, conflicted. He didn't know Fiona, and he barely remembered having sex with her. He'd been relieved to see the discarded condom in the bathroom garbage can as a sign that he still had at least a few wits about him, even when drunk. Honestly, I feel like shit. This... this isn't the way I want to do this.

Look, make Fiona breakfast and drink a lot of water, Ethan advised. Be honest with her that you're getting over someone and you're not ready to go so fast. I checked the sked already and you don't have a class until 2:30. You'll be fine by then. Between students we'll make you an online dating profile since drunken sex doesn't seem to be your thing.

Quinn sipped his coffee, thankful to have a friend like Ethan. Feeling a bit more awake, he went into the kitchen and started cracking some eggs into a bowl. Just as he reached for the paprika bottle, he was startled by an agitated pounding at his front door. He was so out of it he didn't even look through the peephole before opening up. Suddenly, Imaani was in his arms.

"Hey, hey, what happened?" he asked, tenderly holding her as she sobbed against his chest. "Is everything--is Natasha okay? What about Clay?" She wept harder at the mention of her husband's name, and Quinn immediately considered the worst. "Oh my god, Imaani, is he..."

"He's fucking his aide," she gasped. Quinn was flabbergasted.

"He's--what?"

"He told me he was going to hang out with his college buddy last night and spend the night at his place. Then he sent me a text that clearly wasn't for me," she pulled away from Quinn and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I went out this morning and saw them together." Quinn grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her face, still stunned by what she was telling him.

"I can't believe this," he finally responded. "But it's a Sunday morning. Wouldn't he be expecting you at home by now?"

"Not bloody likely," Imaani all but sneered. "I slashed three of his tires while I was leaving." Quinn tried to suppress a smile as she took off her winter coat and handed it to him, and then headed into the kitchen following the aroma of fresh coffee. Imaani opened the cupboard and helped herself to a mug.

"They say insurance will cover it if all four of your tires are slashed, but not if it's just three. So it's gonna cost that bas--"

"It'll cost him what?" Quinn called back, shutting the coat closet. When he didn't hear a response, he went back to the kitchen to witness Imaani and Fiona standing a few feet apart and staring at each other, the latter clad only in his button-down shirt.

Putain de bordel de merde, Quinn cursed in his mind as he covered his face with his hands. It briefly occurred to him he'd forgotten Fiona was there at all when he'd set eyes on Imaani at the door.

"Red, I'm so sorry," Imaani said sheepishly. "I shouldn't have assumed you'd be alone. I mean, I didn't even know you were seeing someone." She looked at the carton of eggs sitting by the mixing bowl and the frying pan on the stove.

"Well, not really," Fiona admitted. "We just met last night." Imaani glanced at Quinn in such a way that he felt like he and not Clay had been the one cheating on her.

"No, of course," she said, shaking her head and putting her mug back in the cupboard. "Which is to be expected when I just told you this week--excuse me." Imaani shut the cabinet and deked around Quinn toward the front door.

"Imaani, wait," he protested in the hallway as Fiona went back into the bedroom to find her clothes.

"No, Red, I really am sorry," she said, pushing open the closet and grabbing her coat. "I was wrong to think you'd be available to me when I'd made my choice and laid down the law in such a firm way the other day. This is unfair to you."

Quinn tried to grab her arm, flustered at how he was unable to form a sentence when he most needed to. She wriggled out of his grasp and turned her face away from him, thrusting her arms into her jacket while already on the move.

Imaani shut the door behind her a little harder than she'd meant to. She darted down the hallway, sure that she could take off in her car before Quinn was able to bundle up enough to follow her. A lump formed in her throat and she brushed her hands across her eyes as she sped down the stairwell to the parking lot.

***********

Quinn went out of his mind for the rest of Sunday morning, barely remembering he had to show up to his classes at the music academy. He robotically headed back into his kitchen after failing to stop Imaani from leaving, and finished making the scrambled eggs he'd started earlier for Fiona.

"So she's the special one, huh?" Fiona finally asked after emerging from the shower and sitting down at the table with him. "I told you this last night, Quinn, but I'm saying it again because I don't think you remember much. I'm on the rebound too and I wasn't looking for anything serious. I'm not put off by another woman bursting in on us."

"At least one of us isn't," Quinn said almost bitterly. "I'm sorry. I mean, I was trying to make it click with you. And from what little I recall, I think we almost succeeded." Fiona grinned as she speared some eggs on her fork.

"But I'm stupidly in love with the woman who just ran out of here," Quinn continued, "and I'm sitting here eating breakfast with you while wracking my brain as to where I could possibly find her. So as you can see, I'm a world-class asshole."

"I'm in commerce, Quinn," Fiona countered. "I work with a team of world-class assholes every day and I'm telling you, you cannot imagine how far you are from their league. You'd have to commit a string of crimes just to get to their level of assholery." Quinn eyed her mock warily, causing her to explode in giggles.

She would be too easy to fall for, he caught himself contemplating as he took in Fiona's musical laughter. Her beauty and charm seemed augmented from the night before, even when that's not how the cold light of day usually painted a one-night stand. What the hell's wrong with me that the hotness of a woman like this isn't hitting the way it used to?

"So what's the problem?" Fiona asked. Quinn snapped out of his pensiveness and looked up at her, realizing he'd been holding his fork in midair for far too long. He quickly stuffed it in his mouth as she snorted again. "Not the eggs, you goof. Imaani. Are you exes or something?"

"No, we're never-wases," Quinn replied. "She's married."

"And it looks like she may be divorced soon."

"She won't leave him," Quinn shook his head. "What if this is a one-off and they patch things up? He's a big deal at City Hall and they have a teenage daughter together. She's not going to torpedo that life for a struggling music teacher."

"Stranger things have happened," Fiona said matter-of-factly. "I'll tell you one thing, Quinn. Any woman who justifies staying in a disloyal relationship for the material comfort she thinks it will bring her, will end up paying much more for that comfort than if she'd left and found her own way. They don't understand there are worse ways to pay for something than with money."

"I have nothing to offer her." Speaking those words out loud felt to Quinn like he was cementing his working-class station in life compared to what Clay had achieved. He felt like he was confirming he was a lesser man.

"She'll never have to worry about you stepping out on her," Fiona argued. "Maybe you're right and they'll work it out. But there's a lot to be said for falling in love with a friend, or so I've heard. Haven't been lucky enough to have experienced it, though." She shrugged and took her plate to the sink to wash. Neither of them spoke until she reached for a dish towel to dry her hands.

"You're pretty wise for someone who can pull off a little black dress like that," Quinn finally said. Fiona grinned. "I'm hoping you're wise enough to tell me how we made it back here last night."

"It's no surprise you can't remember a thing with the amount you drank," Fiona said, impressed at the memory of Quinn flipping over shot glasses. "Almost like you were--"

"Self-medicating?" Quinn filled in.

"You stole my words. But don't worry, we took a cab. I can call Kate to pick me up."

Quinn told her not to bother because Ethan had driven him to the bar so his car was still parked downstairs. A short while later, he was driving Fiona across town to her place and then doubling back to the music academy, on track to arrive early for his lessons.

He checked his phone for what seemed like the millionth time that day while picking up a sandwich for lunch, conflicted about whether he should be contacting Imaani. Perhaps he shouldn't because he didn't want to further embarrass both of them, but if he didn't call would she think he didn't care about her? Or worse, that he was still with Fiona?

Je m'en fiche, he ruefully told himself, caving to his urge and hitting her number as he got back into his car. As expected, the call went straight to voicemail.

"Imaani," he started, not knowing what words would come out next, "I love you. Fuck! I mean... I probably should have thought this message through first." He slapped his hand against his forehead. "Look, I know I don't have to explain anything to you, but Fiona was just me trying to figure things out. We're not together and we didn't even exchange numbers.

"I want you to know I'm here for you, but more than that I need to know you're safe. Even if you're disgusted with the thought of seeing me right now, please just let me know you're okay."

Quinn exhaled and dropped his phone in the passenger seat, vowing to not contact Imaani again until she replied. He started the engine when he heard the ping beside him.

She's okay, read the text from Claire. She had her cello with her so we're jamming for some stress relief.

Thank god, Quinn texted back, relieved Imaani was with a friend.

I'm going to help her pick up some stuff from her house later, Claire replied. She and Nat are going to go to her sister's for the time being. Hasn't decided how long.

Okay, Quinn said, unsure of whether he should add anything else.

Relax, I'm putting in a good word for you.

Don't, Claire, Quinn shook his head to himself. I promised her I'm not going to look at her that way again. Clay cheating on her doesn't change that.

Clay cheating on her changes fucking everything. Quinn could almost hear Claire's voice as he read her words. You told her you loved her.

I meant as a friend, Quinn lied.

Bullshit, Claire replied, their texts now popping up out of sequence, mimicking how they talked over each other in person.

Please, just forget that happened, Quinn typed, glancing at the time. Thanks for letting me know she's staying with you. I won't try to call her again. Gotta go do a class.

***********

"You didn't even call her to ask whether she was going to make it?" Ethan asked Quinn four mornings later, gesturing to the cargo van holding his disassembled drum kit. A dense fog blanketed the parking lot and he couldn't even see 10 meters past their parking spot. "And I hauled all this down here when you didn't even know whether we'd be doing a concert?"

Quinn looked at the high school stage exit they were standing in front of, then turned back to his friend. He hated that Ethan was caught in the middle of this drama, but he'd promised he wouldn't contact Imaani again.

"She'll be here," Quinn assured him. "Imaani's not the type to just flake, especially when she's been early for every other gig we've had. She's probably at her sister's place by now, which Claire told me isn't far from here."

They spotted another set of headlights enter the school parking lot, then another, the annoyance amplifying on Ethan's face when neither vehicle turned out to have their bandmates in them. Quinn checked his watch for what felt like the millionth time when he spotted Imaani's compact sedan turning by them.

"Thank the lord," Ethan breathed, grabbing the snare drum case and the legs to hold it. "Let me get set up."

This is where it gets awkward, Quinn shook his head to himself and gripped his cello as he watched Imaani and Claire exit the car.

"Hey, loverboy," Claire murmured with a grin as she sauntered past him, swinging her violin case.

"Crosse-toi," he smirked back, checking to see they were far enough away that Imaani was out of earshot. Not that she'd understand he'd just told Claire to fuck off, but Claire jovially waved at him with her middle finger without breaking her stride. Then she twirled around, grinned, and winked at him.

What was that about? Quinn asked himself, perplexed. He had mulled over how he was going to break the ice when he and Imaani first saw each other again, and now swallowed hard as he approached her car. She was bent over her backseat, trying to slide her cello out.

"How are you?" he asked softly. He thought he saw her lip twitch but she gave him a small smile and nodded.

"I've been better, obviously. Maybe we should talk after the show."

Quinn was grateful to have that out. They warmed up, played their set, and he found himself thinking again how awesome it was that their music hushed the unruly auditorium within seconds. The comfort of their strings melding together enveloped him like a cloud, and it was his favourite place to be with Imaani.

They communicated only with their eyes and the occasional smirk, completely each other's musical phrasing. Quinn loved how Imaani's heels bounced to the beat and her entire body got into working her cello. They took a break for questions and Quinn picked up the mike he'd been handed by one of the school's music teachers.

"How much money do you guys make?" a student called out.

"That's not an appropriate question, Connor," the teacher admonished.

"No, it's alright, I can take that one," Imaani said, to Quinn's astonishment.

"You sure?" he whispered to his partner, but Imaani gestured to be passed the mike.

"I don't make a nickel playing the cello," she said bluntly. "In fact, I arrange to work extra hours in my day job when my friends and I play at schools like this." Quinn was taken aback at the new tone in her voice, which was resoundingly confident.

"I'm going to give you an unpopular opinion here, but you don't have to love your job," Imaani stated. The auditorium was abuzz but she kept going.

"I know everyone says 'do what you love and you won't work a day in your life' but the flip side of that is that trying to monetize what you love may transform your passion into drudgery, and perhaps make you resent it if you find it's not so easy to make money off it.

"There are lots of people who love their work, but there are other people like myself who feel that work is there to make you money. I play the cello for love, not money. And I make a good salary at my boring-ass desk job so that I can keep doing what I love." Soft laughter erupted through the room and Quinn softly chuckled to himself, enchanted by Imaani's newfound poise.