Chapter 35
The show, perhaps, may actually go on.
After a full day of working on the space, most of the volunteers go home, weary and exhausted but with an against-all-odds
sense that we’re going to be okay.
That the show is going to be okay.
In the evening, Dylan took the cast to the dance studio to run through the show, and while I wanted to be there, I didn’t
feel like I could leave the cleanup efforts. Afterward, she returned and gave me a full report, and I think maybe she was
proud of herself for running things without me.
I was proud of her too.
I thanked her and told her to go home and sleep, to which she replied, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
Good to know the Dylan I know and love is still in there somewhere, even if she sometimes hides behind the face of a responsible
person.
The stage is still damp in spots, but we cleared it in time, and it doesn’t look like the water will render it unusable, so
I’m taking that as a win.
This has been one of those days where you’re in one place, focusing on one thing for so long, the concept of time is lost.
I think it’s probably dark out, and I know I need to go home, but when Booker walks in with a pizza, I realize I’m not going
anywhere until it’s been completely devoured.
“Oh, you beautiful human,” I say.
He grins. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
He hands over the box, then spreads a tarp out on the stage. The work lights are on, but they’re dim, and the longer I stand
there, the more I can mentally turn this setting into a romantic one... despite the disaster of the day.
I walk over and set the box at the center of the tarp, then go back to the scene shop and grab two bottles of water from a
small refrigerator in the corner.
When I walk back out onto the stage, I slow down, studying Booker when he’s unaware. It’s one of my favorite pastimes—people
watching—but watching him, admiring him... it’s a different experience. Transcendent somehow. He has an effect on every
part of me.
It’s still early, but I really think there’s something here. I think maybe, it’s possible, under different circumstances,
that I could... you know, love this guy.
And more importantly, if I let him, I think maybe he could love me back.
He glances up. “That was quite a day.” He takes a bottle of water from me, and we both sit, the pizza box between us.
We’re quiet for a long moment. The adrenaline of the day is still sloshing around inside me, but thankfully I can start to
feel it ebb.
“Quite a day,” I repeat.
He opens the box, and we each take a slice of what I am certain will be the best meal I’ve ever had simply based on how hungry
I am. “I can’t believe I survived.”
“You did more than survive. You were amazing. I think your cast respects you even more now.”
I shake my head. “They think I’m embarrassed by them.”
“I feel like you proved how important this show is to you.” He takes a giant bite of pizza, closes his eyes, and lets out a moan that’s practically rated R.
“Do you want me to give you a minute?” I laugh. “Or a room?”
He half finishes chewing. “I just realized I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“Me either. I didn’t even have time to feel hungry.”
I look around. Compared to this morning, the stage looks a million times better. I know we still have a lot to do, but it’s
progress. And a lot of it happened because of him.
“Thank you for your help.”
“I’m glad I was here,” he says. “You’re good in a crisis.”
“Ha!” I laugh. “I hid my panic well.”
We eat and talk about what else needs to be done. I tell him about Bertie and Arthur, which, it turns out, he already knew
about, and it’s... nice. This casual familiarity that’s developed between us is something I’ve grown to love.
It’s strange—people talk about romance like it’s all flash and sizzle. Heck, musicals are the worst for romance. People fall
in love within the span of one act. Unlike Sarah falling for Sky after one trip to Havana, or Maria falling for Tony’s fire
escape falsetto, I’m finding the quiet, simple things stick with me longer. I still want to spend a fair amount of time kissing
him, but this—the conversation, the getting to know each other—is the good stuff.
This is the stuff I’ll carry with me when I go.
When I go.
The thought attaches itself like a cinder block tied to my ankle.
“You know...” He throws a crust into the box.
“You’re a heathen,” I say, thankful for lighter thoughts. “That’s the best part.” I pick up his crust and eat it.
He smirks at me. “It’s Friday.”
I swallow the bite and shake my head. “I don’t even know what month it is.”
He chuckles. “If you’re not up for it, I get it.”
I shake what’s left of his crust at him. “Bring it on. I’m not scared of you.”
“It’s not exactly a question,” he says. “It’s a request.”
“This is supposed to be about sharing feelings ,” I say.
“Do you really want to dig into your feelings after the day you had?”
“Fair point.” I take a drink. “So, what is the request ?”
He brushes crumbs off his hands, then leans back on his elbows and looks at me. “Would you... sing for me?”
I stop mid-swallow and nearly choke. “What?”
“I didn’t get to see your performance in the dining hall,” he says. “Some of my patients told me about it. I feel like I missed
out. And I think I deserve a personal concert.”
“Oh, you do? Why?”
“Because I’m an excellent kisser.” The corner of his mouth turns up.
“That’s true.” I set my water bottle down and crawl toward him, but not in a sexy way because I know the second I try to be sexy, I’m probably going to end up looking like a newborn giraffe. I move into his orbit, stopping right in front of
him, our lips barely an inch apart.
I stare into his eyes, and I hear his breath hitch. The words that wander through my mind cannot be spoken aloud, but it’s
taking everything inside me not to tell him exactly what I’m feeling. Even though these feelings are big and complicated and messy. All I can think is, I love you .
“I have a Friday question,” I say, without moving a muscle.
“Okay,” he breathes.
“Do you see any way that this ends well?”
I feel him stiffen. “I thought we agreed not to say goodbye until we had to.” He brushes his lips gently across mine, and
I pull away slightly.
“You know we have to think about it.”
“I don’t want to think about it.” He sits back. “I want to live in this moment, here, with you, on a tarp on this damp stage, eating pizza and drinking water. Can we just leave the future out there for a little while longer?”
I wish I could. I wish I could freeze time, or at least stretch it out, but it’s there, the end, waving a red flag at me,
whether I want it to or not.
I kiss him, and his hands sweep up into my hair. I shift, sitting sideways on his lap, and he holds me so close, I feel safe
in a way I’ve never felt before.
I love you . The words are back. They scare me, and yet they feel absolutely right. So I choose to take Booker’s advice, to give in to
the moment and stop dwelling on what happens tomorrow or next week or next month. I’m leaving, but maybe there’s a solution
we haven’t thought of.
Either way, I don’t have to figure it out now. It’s just life.
And yet, this feels like a lot more than just life . It feels like a precious, tangible treasure I can’t fathom losing.
I’m not good at expressing my feelings like normal people, so instead of blurting out something I’ll regret later, I back
away, sitting cross-legged on the tarp across from him. I draw in a breath and start singing “When You Say Nothing At All”
by Alison Krauss. I get through a verse and a chorus before Booker silences me with another kiss.
This kiss leads to another kiss, which leads to another kiss. And finally, he pulls away. We’re both breathless, and I’m dizzy,
feeling drunk on something that’s so much better than alcohol.
“Oookay... I need a minute,” he says through a smile. “To calm down.”
We both lay back on the tarp, staring up to the rafters overhead.
After a minute, he looks at me. “Your voice is amazing.”
“Thank yo-ou.” I sing the words—badly.
He laughs. “And you’re still so weird.”
I let my head rest on his chest, and he wraps an arm around me, holding my hand with his free one. We lie like that, in silence, right out in the center of the stage, and I think but don’t say, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. This is where I belong.
I’m so comfortable that I let my eyes flutter closed, and then the world fades to black.