Short Story

Piano.

“Why don’t you ever play for me?”
She paused for a moment as he flipped through a magazine at her kitchen table, but quickly continued to dry the dishes from the dinner she had cooked.
“Did you hear me?”
Setting down the last plate, she faced him. He looked up now.
“Yes, I heard you. And I don’t know” she lied, running her fingers delicately over her still-wet palms.
“I think you do. I’ve asked you before and you seem to just avoid doing it. I know you still play. Why can’t I ever listen?”
She held his gaze for a moment before reaching below the sink for a towel. This one was getting better at reading her, and she didn’t know if she liked it or not.
“It doesn’t matter”
The towel was returned to its hook. She did not sit down.
“Why is this a big deal? Don’t get defensive. I’m not asking you to tell me your sordid past or reveal any secrets. I just want to hear you play piano. And you have been doing it for so long that it can’t be because you’re awful at it. You know I wouldn’t care if you were.”
His voice remained kind as he tried to catch her eye and she feigned interest in the dirty window.
They had asked her before. Love ran through her life like electricity. The bulbs would flicker then begin to fade, but she could replace them easily. He was no different.
“You know I don’t understand why you keep things from me. This, we, should always be honest.”
Oh God, is this really going to set him off? She was not in the mood.
“I am not keeping anything from you! I just play the piano, it’s just a thing I do.”
The dial on the stove gave way under her weight, clicking as gas escaped and she turned to correct it.
“I don’t get it, just tell me why you won’t.”
His whole body was facing her now, affirming his interest, and she lost hope he would drop this.
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
She studied her feet now, arms crossed over her chest protectively.
“Why?”
She chewed her lip.
“Because it’s mine.”
She looked up and watched his brows furrow.
“The piano? But you play…”
“No, the music.”
She was surprised she was telling him this and watched his reaction intently.
“But why? Music is such a wonderful thing to share, to bring people together. It would make us closer…”
“No!”
There wasn’t room for arguement in her tone.
“It isn’t fair but this is mine.”
He watched her soft, dark hair all to her shoulders as she undid her ponytail. Even from there he could smell the faint scent of shampoo, that warm and sweet vanilla.
He stood up from the table to her perch by the stove and took her chin in his hand, pulling her face up to meet his.
“Don’t fucking do that,” she said, jerking her head away.
He took a step back, embarassed by how demeaning he must have just come off as.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to hear you play. I understand.”
She wished she hadn’t said anything.