“Oh my goodness, yes,” Mrs. G said. “There’s no such thing as a family who doesn’t have those little bits of trouble. Who was it who said . . . I can’t remember now who the quote was from, but somebody said when you decide to be alone or have a family, you’re pretty much choosing between feeling lonely or feeling aggravated.”
Sofia laughed, and seemed to feel a little better.
“Well, anyway, it gave the young people a chance to talk. Luisa has been talking about Raymond ever since he was here last.”
“Ah,” Mrs. G said. “I see. That does explain a lot.”
Raymond, who felt revealed, was careful to say nothing more.
“I hope you all understand,” Mrs. G said about ten minutes later. “I’m just so tired. I get tired when I go out. And then I ate so much. I haven’t been eating all that much lately, but everything was so good, and I just stuffed myself, and now I feel as though I’ll just fall right to sleep.”
“Why, you hardly ate at all!” Sofia said.
Raymond wished she hadn’t said it. If she had known Mrs. G, she would know the older woman had put away a remarkable quantity of food—for her.
“But we understand,” Luis said. “Of course. You have to promise to come back again, though, and that’s nonnegotiable.”
He rose, walked to the couch. Helped Mrs. G to her feet.
“I promise,” she said. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I would stay longer, but I’m just so tired.”
Raymond hooked his arm through hers, in case she became unsteady on her feet. Which happened when she was very tired. Luis tapped him on the shoulder, and when Raymond turned, he saw a twenty-dollar bill in the man’s hand, with possibly another bill underneath.
“I insist you take a cab,” he said.
“Thank you,” Raymond said, and took the money.
On his own, for himself, he would have refused. He could have ridden the subway. But Mrs. G was tired, so he took it.
They rode together in the back seat of a taxi, Raymond keeping one eye on the meter.
It had begun to spatter rain, and the streets slid by behind patterns of droplets on the cab windows. Raymond could hear the distinctive sound of the shoosh of tires on wet asphalt.
Couples walked down the street hand in hand under umbrellas, or ran because they had none. On one corner Raymond saw a couple standing on the curb, facing each other, caught up in a shouting match and ignoring the weather.
“Do you think I’ll ever have a family?” he asked her.
“Oh, so that’s what’s troubling you. Yes, of course you will, if you want one.”
“But what kind of family?”
“That’s the last question you should be asking, Raymond, because it’s the part that matters the least. Any kind you want. If you want more emotional intimacy, you’ll have a companion who understands the way you are. If you want to raise children, you will. Your own, or adopted or fostered ones. Or you’ll just be the world’s best uncle to your friends’ children. The thing about a family is the love. The ‘what kind?’ and ‘how will it work?’ is nothing. That’s just a thing you worry about before you learn that those details aren’t what matter at all.”
Chapter Eighteen
* * *
The Cellist
Raymond was walking from his father’s apartment to the subway when he first heard it. It was an extended musical note, played live on some string instrument. It had a resonance that he could feel in his gut, as though the string lived in his large intestine, just under his stomach, and some unseen bow was making it tremble. It was a beautiful bass note, but also almost unbearably sad. It made tears spring to his eyes immediately, which surprised him.
He stood in the middle of the sidewalk and looked around until he saw the musician. He was a middle-aged man sitting on a three-legged stool on the corner, close to the subway stairs, playing the cello. His hair was wild and gray, missing on top but full around the sides. In front of him on the street was an upturned hat in which Raymond could see a small handful of dollar bills.
He moved closer.
The man looked up at him and smiled briefly, then returned his attention to the instrument.
Raymond squatted down on his haunches to listen. It was a slow, heartfelt classical piece. The more he listened, the more impossible it felt to hold back his tears. The notes just seemed to find Raymond’s sorrow in its hiding places and pull it out into the light. He swiped at his eyes with one sleeve.
He pulled a five-dollar bill out of his pocket and dropped it into the man’s hat. It was the only bill the musician had been given that was bigger than a single.