The bed-and-breakfast was a three-story, white Victorian-style house on the corner of Dickens and Claus. It was garnished with colorful Christmas lights that reflected onto the pure white snow on the roof and balconies. The second and third floors each had a long balcony that wrapped around the front wall. There was a pot of anthuriums in the living room window, right below the sign reading The Berlin Bed and Breakfast. It was here that the four flautists would spend their Christmas season.

They stood outside in the cold, their silk black flute cases in hand. The bass-flautist had to carry hers with both hands. The first flautist stood on her tiptoes and rang the doorbell before patiently waiting. Mrs.Berlin opened the front door to see the four girls all standing side by side, politely smiling at her. At first, she flinched.

“Uh...hello! Are you the entertainment?” Mrs.Berlin asked. The flautists nodded in unison, except for the second flautist. “Thanks for coming at such short notice. It’s not that often that we reach no vacancy half-way through the season.”

They stepped into a cozy parlor, with a decorated Christmas tree in the far left corner and hollies lining the walls. Couches and chairs were gathered around the near right corner, where three wire stands were set up. The kind of wire stands that crumbled to the ground like a house of cards if you put a single piece of paper on it.

“I hope I got the right stands,” Mrs.Berlin commented. The piccoloist, never ceasing to smile, put a hand on Mrs.Berlin’s shoulder and slowly stated, “You tried.”

They were led up two flights of stairs to the third floor, where the four flautists were shown their room. They each immediately sat down on their beds, dropped their bags and hastily opened up their flute cases.

“Oh, are you doing your show, now?” Mrs.Berlin asked.

“Yes,” the first flautist responded.

“I was thinking after dinner…”

“You thought wrong,” the second flautist pointed out.

“I mean, everyone’s here,” Mrs.Berlin considered. “I’ll...go tell them the flutists are here.”

“Flautists,” the piccoloist corrected.

“Are you guys British or-”

“No,” the bass-flautist answered.

“Um...how about I just learn your names.”

The four girls lined up, and each shook Mrs.Berlin’s hand and said their names.

“Maria Anna Mezzo,” the first flautist introduced.

“Paula Allison Sweet,” the second flautist greeted.

“Michelle Sophia Giovanni,” the piccoloist.

“Carly Bassini,” the bass-flautist introduced.

They set up their sheet music on their cruddy wire stands as inn-guests filed in. Michelle took a full minute trying to gently place the sheet music on the stand. But the second she pulled her hand back, it hit the stand and the whole top portion of the wire stand fell to the ground. Michelle stomped her foot and uttered curses under her breath as she aggressively put it back together, and Maria gestured for everyone to tune to each other. They all played a high b-flat together, and right after, Maria cringed.

“You’re as sharp as Tom Holland’s jawline,” Maria told Carly, and then told Michelle, “You’re just about as flat as my b-”

“Oh my gosh, that flute has, like, a broken neck,” a monotone, sort of whiny female voice commented. They all dreadfully glanced to their right to see a hipster couple with ugly sweaters and Raybands watching on the couch with only slightly open mouths.

“It’s a bass flute,” Carly corrected.

“Is that, like, a low flute?” her boyfriend asked. Carly didn’t even give her the dignity of an answer. More people walked downstairs and sat on the couches and chairs, murmuring to each other before the show started. Well, except for a single man who sat alone and stared forward at them.

Two brunette brothers sat close as could be, one showing the other a bunch of photos on his phone. A couple (different than the hipsters) sat with their heads together, and their best friend sat a foot away, uncomfortable. An elderly lady tapped on the shoulder of one of the two women, and asked, “So...which one of you kills the spiders, and which one makes the decisions?”

The two young women stared at each other for a second, then one declared, “I kill the spiders.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” the other one laughed.

“Listen up! The show’s starting!” Mrs.Berlin called to get everyone attention. “Uh, these are the...fl-ow-tists. They’ll be here throughout the season, playing Christmas tunes, to, uh...lighten up the spirit.”

There was quiet, and the four flautists prepared to play. Right before they started to play, the hipster girl blurted out, “So, are they gonna playing every day, or-”

She was hit with four identical death stares, and shut up. With that, they began to play. Carly started with long, low notes, while Paula started with short, staccato quarter notes. After a few measures, Maria came in with the melody of Married Life from Up. Her entrance was as soft as a songbird’s singing. Each note was clear and exact, with the occasional note flowing right onto the next.

After one playing of the chorus, the piccolo joined in. She was a pitch higher but played in complete unison with the first flute. When they played the high notes, they were in harmony. The pleasant, familiar waltz continued, being played so naturally that you’d swear they’d known it since they were born.

Even though, in fact, the bass flute still sounded exactly as sharp as Tom Holland’s jawline. But hey, no one could hear her anyway.

The song ended with the four girls playing the same long, sweet note, and the audience started clapping before the fermata had finished being held out.

The next morning, the flautists woke up to light bouncing off the snow and pouring through the window, the faint sound of a familiar waltz, and no sign of Maria. The three that were left traveled downstairs to find Maria in the middle of the parlor with some of the bed-and-breakfast guests (including the weird loner guy) sitting on couches and watching her with delight. She gracefully skipped around the room, twirling and playing the iconic “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music. The elderly couple was obviously grinning with nostalgia, but so was the pair was siblings from last night.

“Remember when Grandma would put on that movie when she wanted us to shut up, James?” one brother asked.

“‘Course I do!” James answered. “I think she had every movie Julie Andrews was in.”

“Well, I just happen to know every song Julie Andrews ever-” Maria called out.

“Maria, don’t start,” Paula groaned, rolling her eyes and rubbing her forehead. When Maria didn’t listen, Michelle slapped her hand.

The other brother shifted a little, uncomfortably.

“You’ll...show those movies to your kids right?” the other brother asked, leaning in.

“Yeah! I mean, if I have enough time to have ‘em.”

“You can’t travel that much with your new job.”

“Who knows? You’ll have your kids at least.”

“Yeah…” The other brother sat in awkward silence while the other whipped out his phone again.

“Who wants to hear me play “Somewhere over the Rainbow?!” Maria exclaimed, to which Michelle promptly answered, “No.”

“Wait, what will you do all day? You only play in the evening,” Mrs.Berlin pointed out.

“Christmas shopping,” Paula replied before. “But not for each other. We did on Black Friday, and we all ended up in the same store.”

Mrs.Berlin chuckled. “You girls have fun!”

Smirking, the four flautists turned over their right shoulders and stepped forward with their left feet. When they were out the door, Carly asked, “What would a middle-aged woman with little musical intelligence enjoy?”

A few nights later, Maria and Paula had just finished a duet of “Come All Ye Faithful” when their audience started calling out requests.

“How about ‘Sleigh Ride?’” the friend of the lesbian couple suggested. “Bands play that every year, right.”

The four flautists looked at her like she had just confessed to murder.

“We don’t speak of that song,” Michelle whispered. In the background, Maria did her cross. The four of them had learned the names of the couple, Marsha and Liza, but had yet to hear their best friend state her own. The couple had grown surprisingly close to the elderly couple. But the four flautists had developed a game where they keep track of every time the best friend tried but failed to chime in. Every failed interaction equaled one time the four would talk loudly about orchestra so their audience felt as stupid as the friend.

“So Masha and I visited Washington D.C. this November,” Liza told the elderly couple.

“I went too and I-” the best friend muttered.

“My wife and I used to work there!” the elderly man interrupted.

“Guys, let’s play ‘Winter Daydreams’ next. I love Tchaikovsky!” Maria exclaimed

before playing a little bit of his first symphony. Paula slapped Maria’s hand.

“He’ll never be as awesome as Stravinsky. Isn’t “Rite of Springs’ such a banger?” Paula commented, crossing her arms.

“How about Mozart?” Michelle asked.

Maria scoffed. “Basic.”

“What? He wrote a whole play about a flute!”

“Guys, Sophie Lacaze could decimate all of them,” Carly chimed in.

“Oh, you just chose her ‘cause she’s the only one who writes parts for you,” Maria pointed out. When they finished laughing about it, they turned to a crowd that was looking at them like they had three heads each.

“What was that about chai coffees?” the hipster boy called out.  After a few awkward seconds of silence, the best friend exclaimed, “How about you play “Silver Bells?’”
“Perfect!” Paula responded, getting right into it. Maria stared at her for a second, honestly a bit shocked. The other two flautists went along with it and Maria reluctantly joined, the best friend looking a bit surprised her request was taken.

Just a few days after that, the four musicians were gathered around the T.V. watching White Christmas and gazing with delight, as if both Santa and Jesus had shown up to Christmas dinner. Watching the movie with them were everyone in the house other than the two brothers. That sadly included that loner guy.

“He’s been here since Thanksgiving,” Mrs.Berlin had told him. “But he pays us a fortune, so we don’t question it.”

Paula wasn’t as focused on the movie as she was on the best friend’s constant, split-second glares at her friends. She’d shot them a hard glare, then looked back at the T.V., the glance again to see if her friends were looking at her. They never would. Paula honestly pitied them. She wanted to go and talk to her, but Maria grabbed Paula’s wrist as she surged forward.

“Listen to those 16th notes,” Maria whispered, as two blonde sisters in blue dresses swung fans around and danced in front of a small band. Said 16th notes could barely be head over the trumpets.

“How do you hear that?” Paula whispered back.

“Don’t question me,” Maria hissed, shooting Paula a stink eye. Paula shut up.

“I remember when this movie came out,” Mrs.Green, the elderly woman, recalled. “I thought it was pretty stupid at first. Probably because it was released after Christmas.”

“Oh my gosh that’s so meta,” the hipster girl commented.

“It’s terrible marketing, but okay,” Michelle muttered. They watched as the characters chatted over each other, barely talking loud enough for the audience to hear. They pointed out unimportant details, such as the seating arrangements according to gender. The scene soon changed to a dance scene on an outdoor, Florida pier.

“Aw, that place looks just as exotic as the keys,” the hipster boy said, blankly.

“Not as exotic as Barcelona,” the hipster girl responded, her voice bordering on whining.

“But it wasn’t as hip as Iceland.”

“Hey look, they’re both walking at the same time!” Carly interrupted, annoyed.

“Oh my gosh,” both of them sighed in unison, staring at the screen. Smiling, Carly glanced to her right. The loner guy was staring right at her, his head tilted. Nervously, Carly looked back at the screen.

Christmas Eve rolled around before they knew it, and the four flautists were ecstatic. They’d had their sheet music in a neat little pile on their bedside all week, and carefully lined up on the wire stands so not an edge of ripped and not a corner was folded. They stood with their backs straight and shoulders back as the guest sat on the couches.

The Christmas lights outside cast a light, colorful glow in the house. The tree, garnished with decoration, was lit up with presents underneath. Hollies and garlands lined the wall, and the room smelled of pine. The only thing that could foil the aesthetic was the looks on everyone’s faces.

The sullen best friend was sitting on a completely different couch than Marsha and Liza. The other brother was staring forward with slight anger as James stared at his phone. The hipster couple looked just as awkward as usual, and the loner from before was still staring at Carly. Her defenses were up.

“We shall start our concert with ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite,” Maria announced, as Paula inhaled sharply from impatience. She turned to Carly, who was just then realizing the spit from her valves was dripping onto her fingers and was cringing, and said, “They don’t have a part for you so just play whole notes.”

The iconic tune began, and so did the awkward looks. Maria had memorized the music enough to not look at it, so she caught every action. The other brother stared at his brother, eyebrows knit. James looked back, smiled, then went back on his phone. But the other brother kept glaring. The best friend’s eyes would dart towards her friends and then dart back (even though her friends weren’t looking back at her). The hipsters were looking around the room, slowly becoming more distressed. Mr. and Mrs.Green were too busy enjoying the music to notice (as they should). Lastly, Mrs.Berlin stood leaning against the wall, watching everything with a face that said, “Something got screwed up.”

When the song ended, only the Greens, Marsha, and Liza clapped.

“The next song is Irving Berlin’s ‘White Christmas,’” Maria announced. She barely played the first g-note when the hipster girl yelled, “We should’ve gone to the Netherlands this Christmas!”

She sprang up and stomped up the stairs, the hipster boy following after her. Everyone was in a stunned silence until the best friend stood up and faced her friends.

“And you know what? I don’t think you’ve talked to me this whole trip!” she exclaimed. “I just wanted to spend some quality time with you before your wedding. I thought this would bring us closer again, but I guess I was wrong!”

The flautists glanced at each other, almost giggling as they watched the scene play like a soap opera.

“And I’m on my last nerve with you,” the other brother yelled, overpowering every voice in the room. “All you ever talk about is your job. And how far away it is. And how much it pays. I know that when you get this job, you’ll never have the time for your family. You know what, if you’re leaving our family, then I’m leaving first!”

The other brother stood up and stormed right out of the house, slamming the door behind him. The room was silent as the slam echoed off the walls. Biting her lip, Maria ran out right after him, muttering, “There’s nothing a Julie Andrews song can’t fix.”

She ran out into the street, flute in hand and a cold breeze blowing at her back. The other brother wasn’t too far down the road yet, so she brought her flute to her lips and played a part of the beginning of “Feed the Birds.” He stopped right in his tracks, so she kept playing. He slowly turned around as he played the first verse, the two several yards apart.

The closer she got to the chorus, the more expressive she got. She smiled a little as she blew into the mouthpiece, and her eyes widened. She slowly took a few steps forward, stepping on her heel and rolling down to her toe. The other brother stared at his feet, not making eye contact with her. But his angry expression soon softened into one of sadness.

Maria started doing a little waltz on the balls of her feet, smiling wide. She led with her elbows and skipped in circles until the other brother just couldn’t be mad anymore. He flat out started chuckling. When she finished the chorus, she smirked at him, waiting for him to respond.

“Cute,” he commented.

“So…” she led on.

“Oh, I’ll...I’ll talk to him.” The other brother walked past Maria and headed back into the bed-and-breakfast. And just like that, the street was quiet again. She stood alone in the cold street, her eyelid twitching at the anti-climatic-ness of it all.

Paula watched the best friend stomp all the way up the stairs. She listened closely as the best friend stomped off two flights of stairs. Once Maria had run out, Paula jogged right up the stairs. She stopped at the third floor and found the best friend’s bedroom door ajar. Paula peeked her head in and saw that the best friend sitting in the corner, her knees pulled into her chest and a scowl on her face. Paula couldn’t help but pity her. She maneuvered around the suitcases and clothes scattered on the ground and sat right next to the best friend.

“You gonna play a song or something?” the best friend asked, not looking her in the eyes. Sort of caught off guard, Paula played the first song that came into her head: “Umbrella” by Rihanna. “Stop.”
“I don’t like that song either,” Paula blurted out. “Reminds me of that time I walked in on my brother watching-”

“It’s like I’m in their shadow all the time,” the best friend interrupted, cutting straight to the point. “It’s been like this since they got engaged. They’re constantly like ‘We're gonna spend our lives together,’ and leaving me in the dust. I thought this would help, but...nothing’s changed. You know how that feels?”

“Kinda,” Paula responded. “I mean, with Maria-”

“You guys have names?” the best friend joked.

“Yes?” Paula paused. “Well, she acts in charge sometimes, and-”

“I noticed she always calls out what your gonna play.”

“She does that a lot.”

“Was it her idea to bring you guys here?”

“Yep.” The two smiled and stifled laughs before it got back to being quiet. After sitting in silence for a hot minute, Paula lifted her flute to her lips. She glanced at the best friend, and she nodded subtly. Inhaling through her nose, Paula began to play the melody of “Everything Stays.”

Paula stared into space as she played, so she could focus on remembering all of the notes. The best friend listened in closely, looking down at her knees. She didn’t say a thing as the sweet music filled the air. Paula poured her heart and soul into the song, and when it concluded, she didn’t say a thing.

“That was pretty,” the best friend muttered.

“Thanks,” Paula responded.

“I’ll, uh...talk to them. Hopefully making a scene guilted them enough. Are you gonna talk to that girl?”

“Nah, no one gets through to her. Thanks anyway, uh…”

“Anna.”

“Anna. Good luck, bud.” The two smiled and exited the room side-by-side.

Michelle didn’t run into the people she was stuck consoling. They went up to her. Michelle was traveling back up to her room, two of her friends off helping everyone get other the episode in the parlor and her not wanting to follow suit, when the hipster girls stopped her in the hallway and asked, “Have you ever put a part of another instrument in your instrument.”

Rolling her eyes, Michelle answered, “I put my friend’s trumpet mouthpiece in my piccolo.”

“Oh my gosh, what did it sound like?” the hipster boy asked.

“Like a rich man’s kazoo,” Michelle whispered, proudly.

“Wow,” they breathed in unison.

“Shouldn’t you guys be going to the Netherlands?”

“We not really sure yet...were you the only piccolo-er?” the hipster boy responded.

“No, but I was the only one that didn’t sound like a bunny getting its head ripped off.”

The hipsters started laughing, and Michelle plastered on a smile. “Wanna see what else I could do with this?”

Without warning, she started playing “Flight of the Bumblebee” in fortissimo. The hipster watched on with delight as the high-pitched, fast, chaotic song blasted. They were in such a trance of stupid whimsy that they didn’t notice how much the sound hurt their ears and foreheads. And Michelle evilly smiled at them the whole time. When she finished, the hipster girl slurred, “Are you...in pain too?”

“I’m immune to it,” Michelle whispered. She turned over her shoulder and started to stroll back down the stairs. “I’m going to see if everyone’s done crying.”

“You know what, we should stay here!” the hipster girl exclaimed.

“Dang it,” Michelle grumbled, gritting her teeth.

Carly was the last flautist in the corner they performed in. She stood there awkwardly for a minute or so until the loner guy asked, “So you said you were in marching band?”

Carly flinched, and uncomfortably answered, “Yes?”

“And you marched with that big bass flute.”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, you’re awesome,” he breathed. Carly couldn’t help but smile. The loner gesturing for her to sit next to him at the table, and she did.

“It was no easy task. Not to mention no one heard me half the time. But I heard that people couldn’t get their eyes off the bass flute. My parents got so many questions from people in the stands. And there was that time I smacked a color guard member when we were called to set.”

“Guess you could say she got a taste of her own medicine?”

Both of them broke out in laughter.

“I played the oboe and was the only one,” the loner said. “I was never squeaked during my solos, except at competitions. And only competitions.”

“You got solos? My band director was kind of ashamed of me-”

“Carly! Off your butt!” Maria commanded, stomping back into the door. “We’re continuing the concert.”

“We are?” Carly questioned, standing up.

“Yep,” Maria said, and then pointed to Michelle walking down the stairs. “Get your music together.”

“O-okay” Michelle blurted out, all too familiar with an angry Maria. They all gathered to their corner, impatiently waiting for Paula to arrive. The second she reached the first floor, Maria gave her the stink eye.

“God, wait up,” Paula told her with a smirk. With that, she took her time making her way to the corner while relishing in the priceless look on Maria’s face. When Paula proudly stood in the center of their space, Maria was silent for a second before stepping back so everyone could see her.

“Okay, flutes,” Maria announced. “What should we play?”

“‘Silent Night,’” Michelle answered without hesitation.

“I’m on board with that,” Paula immediately responded. Lastly, Carly grinned and said, “I’m fine just playing whole notes.”

They turned back to the audience to see the brothers deep in conversation, Anna talking with Marsha and Liza, the hipsters taking in the scenery, the Greens and Mrs.Berlin flat out looking distraught, and only the loner paying attention. Taking a deep breath, Michelle played the highest whistle she could muster. It was enough to get everyone’s full attention.

As soon as the whistle ended, Michelle got right into playing the slow, soft melody. Maria and Paula played the lower harmonies, creating a beautiful symphony of song-bird-like notes. The whole room was quiet and attentive as the familiar tune was played. The sound, though not that loud, managed to fill the whole room. Each note was filled with emotion and executed perfectly.

Even if they didn’t have enough time to tune after the blowout and it showed.

But when the old Christmas carol finally concluded, the applause was bigger and more heartfelt than ever. The other brother was in tears, James’ arm around him. Anna grinned proudly at Paula, then at her own friends. They grinned back. It was hard to decipher, but the four flautists had never felt any prouder, either.

The next morning, the four flautists woke up late on Christmas morning. They all woke up to the colorful Christmas lights reflecting off the snow on the balcony and reflected into their room. The house was silent; not a creature was stirring. No, not even a mouse. Maria was the first one to wake up in the white room, and threw her rosy bedspread off of herself and sprung out of bed. She woke up the others, and the four traveled downstairs, still in their pajamas, leaving their flutes in their room.

Downstairs, they found Mrs. Berlin alone at the big table, sipping hot chocolate in an empty room. Four pre-prepared snowflake mugs of hot chocolate were on a silver tray. All the guests were probably at some relative’s house somewhere close by, leaving the morning sun-lit inn to the five of them. There were two big boxes under the tree, marked: For Maria, Paula, Michelle, and Carly. They stared at Mrs.Berlin with excitement, and she gestured for them to open it. They hastily tore the wrapping paper off to reveal two portable stands. But not just any stands, but the sturdy, black, quality kind that they were given at a concert.

“Thank you!” they all exclaimed, one after the other with their voices overlapping. Mrs.Berlin smiled, the gray circles under her eyes crinkling.

“We got you something, too,” Carly said, handing her a gift bag with a picture of Rudolph on it. “We didn’t know what to get you, but the woman at the store said that if you have to deal with millennials all day, you need a lot of it.”

Mrs.Berlin removed to the tissue paper and pulled out a huge bag of black coffee. She started chuckling. “Thanks, girls.”

The four girls took their mugs of chocolate and sat around Mrs.Berlin.

“So did you all meet in school?” Mrs.Berlin asked. “I mean, you all look young enough to be in a school.”

“Oh, we all met in marching band,” Paula told her. “And the same concert band class.”

“Didn’t you win the award for best marching technique for a freshman?” Maria recalled.

“That’s not really saying much-”

“Wait, you marched in parades and stuff with that big thing?” Mrs.Berlin asked, pointing to Carly.

“That’s why I won the award for strongest shoulders,” Carly said, laughing.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I could fit my instrument in my sleeve when it got cold,” Michelle commented. The snow outside muffled the soft chatter of stories and quiet laughter as the five sat at the dining room table, sipping chocolate all Christmas morning.