Chapter 78-Morning Light-2

The library had transformed into our primary rehearsal space, furniture pushed against walls to create open floor space, Braden's baby grand positioned for optimal acoustics. Dorian had already warmed up and was now running through vocal exercises with obsessive precision, his baritone filling the space with structured scales.
I entered freshly showered and dressed, my own coffee in hand. "Morning," I greeted him. "Optimizing pre-dawn atmospheric conditions, I hear."
Dorian paused mid-scale, turning with a flourish. "The air quality before nine AM provides superior resonance. It's a scientifically documented phenomenon."
"I'm sure it is." I settled at the piano, arranging the sheet music I'd prepared for today's session. "Nadia will be down shortly."
"And Ryan? Will he be joining us?" Dorian's tone carried no judgment, merely practical inquiry.
"He has a follow-up call with the Hamilton people at ten. He'll join this afternoon if possible."
Dorian nodded, accepting this information with uncharacteristic restraint. "We should focus on the trio dynamics today. The Phantom-Christine-Raoul triangle is the emotional core of the production."
"Agreed." I played a few experimental chords, ensuring the piano remained perfectly tuned. "Though Nadia needs to work on the cadenza in 'Think of Me' as well. Her approach is still too contemporary."
"A valid observation." Dorian resumed his position at the center of the room. "The West End expects technical precision with the original arrangements. Innovation comes after mastery of the traditional."
The door opened, revealing Nadia in rehearsal clothes—form-fitting black leggings and a loose sweater that could be removed as she warmed up. Her hair was pulled back in a practical bun, face clean of makeup, ready for work.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, though she wasn't, quite. "Coffee emergency."
"Caffeination is essential for optimal vocal performance," Dorian proclaimed magnanimously. "We were just discussing the importance of trio dynamics."
Nadia's gaze shifted to me, a small private smile playing at her lips. "Trio dynamics are my specialty."
I suppressed a responding smile, maintaining professional focus. "Let's start with 'Think of Me.' The cadenza needs refinement."
She nodded, immediately transitioning to performance mode, setting down her coffee and moving to the center of the room. This was what made Nadia exceptional—her ability to shift immediately from personal to professional, to compartmentalize without diminishing either aspect.
I played the introduction, the familiar notes filling our makeshift rehearsal space. Nadia closed her eyes briefly, centering herself, then began to sing. Her voice, always beautiful, had developed remarkable technical precision over the past year. The transformation from uncertain understudy to confident lead had occurred through dedicated work and natural talent in equal measure.
As she approached the cadenza, I watched her carefully, noting the slight tension in her shoulders that preceded her usual contemporary interpretation. "Remember," I called out without stopping the accompaniment, "more classical structure, less pop influence."
She nodded almost imperceptibly, adjusting mid-phrase. The result was immediately superior—cleaner, more technically precise, yet still infused with her distinctive emotional quality.
"Better," I approved as she completed the section. "Much better."
"Indeed," Dorian agreed from his position by the window. "Though the breath support could be enhanced for the sustained E-flat."
We continued working through the piece, stopping for technical adjustments, discussing interpretative choices. This was the work I loved—the meticulous refinement of art, the pursuit of excellence through careful attention to detail. My own audition repertoire received equal scrutiny when we moved to Raoul's pieces, Dorian offering incisive feedback that I incorporated without ego.
The morning progressed with focused intensity, our collective concentration broken only when Andy appeared with fresh coffee and a plate of carefully arranged protein-rich snacks.
"You've been at it for three hours," he explained, setting down his offerings. "Vocal maintenance requires proper nutrition and hydration."
"You're a saint," Nadia declared, immediately reaching for water and a perfectly quartered egg sandwich.
"Merely practical," Andy demurred, though his pleasure at her appreciation was evident. "How's the preparation progressing?"
"Braden's Raoul is evolving magnificently," Dorian announced. "He's incorporating that interpretation we discussed—the viscount as genuine artistic supporter rather than mere conventional safety."
"And Nadia's finally conquering the 'Think of Me' cadenza," I added, accepting a coffee with grateful acknowledgment.
"Excellent progress." Andy's quiet approval carried its own weight. Though not a performer himself, his technical expertise had given him a refined artistic eye. "Ryan's call with Hamilton is running long. He asked me to let you know he might miss the early afternoon session."
The news produced a subtle shift in the room's energy. Ryan's Hamilton opportunity had become inextricably linked with our own London prospects—a potential solution to the impending separation, a way to keep our unconventional family at least partially intact across the ocean.
"Did he seem positive about it?" Nadia asked, voicing what we all wondered.
Andy's expression remained carefully neutral. "He seemed focused. Professional. It was a video call in his room."
Not exactly the insight we'd hoped for, but Andy had always respected privacy boundaries with particular care.
"Well, no matter," Dorian declared, breaking the slight tension. "We have plenty to accomplish with or without Ryan's presence. After appropriate nutrition, I suggest we move to 'The Phantom of the Opera' duet. The chemistry between Phantom and Christine must simmer with appropriate psychological complexity."
I checked the time, recalibrating the rehearsal schedule in my head. "Let's take twenty minutes. Real break, Dorian—silent rest for the vocal cords, not just different exercises."
He looked prepared to argue but then nodded with unusual compliance. "A valid point. Vocal preservation is essential this close to the audition."
As Dorian and Nadia settled with their refreshments, I moved to help Andy collect the empty coffee mugs from our earlier session.
"Thank you for this," I said quietly as we worked together. "For all of it."
Andy's gaze met mine, understanding the broader meaning. "It's what I do."
"It matters," I insisted. "Especially now, with everything in flux."
A slight smile touched his lips. "Flux is the natural state of theatrical life, isn't it? Perpetual transition from one production to the next."
"This is different," I countered. "This is... structural change. To all of this." I gestured vaguely, encompassing the brownstone, our household, our carefully balanced lives.
"Yes," he acknowledged simply. "It is."
Something in his calm acceptance prompted unexpected emotion. "I'm sorry," I said, the words inadequate for the complex sentiment behind them.
"Don't be." His voice remained steady, practical. "This is a remarkable opportunity. For all of you. The right kind of opportunity justifies restructuring."
"Still."
"Braden." He placed a hand briefly on my arm—a rare initiation of physical contact from Andy. "We'll adapt. That's what we do, isn't it? All of us together."
The echo of Nadia's earlier reassurance struck me. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps the strength of what we'd built could withstand geographical distribution. Perhaps new forms of connection would emerge from the necessary changes.
"Yes," I agreed, finding solidity in the simple affirmation. "That's what we do."
Andy nodded once, then collected the remaining dishes and departed, leaving me to rejoin the rehearsal with renewed focus. Four days until the audition. Four days to prepare not just vocally and dramatically, but emotionally for all that might follow.
I returned to the piano, running my fingers over the keys in a private centering ritual. Whatever came next, we would face it with the same care and attention we brought to our art. And for now, that art required my complete presence.
"Let's resume," I called to Nadia and Dorian. "From the top of 'The Phantom of the Opera.'"
As the familiar chords filled the room, I allowed myself to be subsumed by the music, by the work, by the present moment with its clear demands and satisfactions. London waited. The future waited. But here, now, we had this—our voices, our collective dedication, our shared pursuit of excellence.
For the moment, it was enough.