The Stars That Tremble by Kate McMurray Page B

his workshop, but Dacia and a number of other faculty members had heard her sing and were excited about having her in the program. The audition was mostly a formality. “That is, it’s good to be worried about it because you’ll try your best at the audition and do us all proud. If you sing like you did for my audition, you’ll get in, no problem.”
    “Are you on the audition committee?”
    “Not this year. But Ms. Russini will be there.”
    Traffic was rough, even through the park, and the bus crept along at a snail’s pace. They spent most of the trip chatting about music. Gio discovered this was a girl who lived and breathed music, who followed opera singers’ careers and knew the Met’s schedule and saved her allowance money to go to performances. She reminded Gio a lot of himself at that age. This was good; it meant she had the drive to do well.
    He was starting to wonder if she had normal teenage concerns when she got a text message. She fiddled with her phone while rambling to him about her friend Isobel and some boy—“I think he’s cute, but don’t tell Dad about this, because he will never shut up,” she said—and Gio couldn’t help but smile. At least a normal teenager was underneath all the poise.
    The McPhees lived in a large apartment building on York just off Sixty-eighth Street. Emma led the way inside and escorted Gio to the elevator. Gio found he was nervous as they rose up to the twelfth floor. He and Mike had been speaking on the phone frequently and had managed lunch twice since their night out, but they hadn’t been able to spend any time together otherwise. Suddenly dinner with Mike and his daughter seemed significant.
    He followed Emma down the hall, and they paused in front of a door. Music floated out of the apartment, a steady beat with some terrible singing. “What is that ?” Gio asked.
    “Lady Gaga.” Emma smirked. “The hazard of having a gay dad is that he likes to listen to dance music when he cleans the apartment. Come on.”
    The music was loud enough in the apartment that Mike must not have heard them come in. Just as they walked through the door, he danced his way across the living room with his back to Gio and Emma. Gio was struck again by the way Mike moved, fluid and graceful and confident. Music poured out of every step.
    Mike noticed them and stopped dancing abruptly, but he smiled. “Hi! Come in.”
    Emma didn’t know about their relationship, which was going to make dinner a heartbreaking exercise in restraint, because all Gio wanted to do was get his hands on this man, to dance with him and touch him everywhere and kiss the silly grin right off his face. But Emma was there. She bounded toward her father and presented her cheek for kissing. Mike gave her a peck.
    “I was just finishing up,” Mike said. “There’s chicken in the oven and veggies on the stove, and I’ve got salad stuff too, if you want.”
    “You cook?” Gio asked.
    “Dad’s a great cook,” said Emma.
    Something in the kitchen beeped. “Oh, I should check on that,” said Mike. “Em, why don’t you show Gio around?”
    It wasn’t a big apartment. The living room walls were painted bright blue, probably Mike’s choice. The room was dominated by a huge sofa and a TV and most of the walls were lined with bookcases or framed art or knickknacks. The space was clean if a little cluttered, mostly with the detritus of the people who lived there—sheet music, a baseball cap, CDs, unopened mail, a pink hoodie sweatshirt. Emma pointed out her school photos on one wall, but Gio’s attention got snagged by a photo of a very young Mike standing next to a handsome man, both of them wearing military dress uniforms.
    “That’s my other dad,” Emma said, pointing to the other man. “He died when I was little.”
    That surprised Gio too. It hit him just how normal Emma treated that relationship, like it wasn’t at all unusual to have two dads, and her tone was so matter-of-fact it gave Gio