25. Calliope
Chapter 25
Calliope
I cry the whole way to New York, which is stupid, because I should really be ecstatic—I’ve gotten the opportunity of my dreams.
As the cab takes me from the airport to the hotel, my phone rings, and my treacherous heart speeds up, hopeful to hear Michael’s voice.
Nope. It’s Seraphina.
“Hi,” I say, doing my best to sound cheerful.
“Did Michael find you?” she says instead of a greeting. “He came back to the cafeteria and?—”
“Yes, he found me.” For all the good that it did.
“And?” she demands.
“And we broke up,” I say, fighting a hiccup.
“Why? Didn’t he explain? He?—”
“Left on some urgent business. He told me. It was too late, though.”
“What? Why?”
I take a deep breath. “I have amazing news. Should have started with that, actually. I got a job in New York. I’ll have my own rat show. Like I’ve always wanted.”
There. Saying the words makes me feel a tiny bit of the excitement that I should’ve been feeling this whole time.
“Wait. Back up,” Seraphina says. “How did that happen?”
I tell her, and feel like a traitor when I get to the part where I met my new employer during an event that Michael dragged me to.
“This is amazing,” Seraphina says when I finish. “But what about your Boo? Why the breakup?”
I shrug, then realize she can’t see me. “He wanted me to move in with him. This job means I can’t.”
“But you’d already moved in,” she says.
“That was for protection. This would’ve been for real.”
“And you said no?”
I bite my lip. “I did. Because of the job.”
“So… you’re going to do long distance, right?” she demands. “Or something?”
“I don’t think so.” Given his expression as I left, I doubt he’ll ever talk to me again. “And it’s for the best, really. I realize he didn’t leave because of our family, but I bet he hated us anyway.” Like all guys do.
“Wrong,” Seraphina says. “He told me he loved our family. Said something to the effect that he likes how we all care for each other.” She pauses. “Are you sure you’re not projecting issues with all your exes onto him?”
I narrow my eyes at the phone. “Why are you taking his side?”
“What? I’m not.”
“Why not congratulate me for getting the job? Why not tell me I’m better off without him? Why not?—”
“Look, I’m not the one you’re mad at,” Seraphina says.
“Don’t tell me whom to be mad at.”
“You know what? This conversation is over,” Seraphina says. “Call me when you’re ready to apologize.”
I’m about to counter with something along the lines of that happening on one chilly day in hell, but she already hung up on me.
Asshole.
I fume all the way to the hotel, then drag myself out of my funk by rehearsing an actual show with my rats—an activity that makes me feel a tiny bit better. But not that much.
The next day, the first thing I do is call Linda from HR, but then I recall that it’s Saturday and hang up. To my shock, she calls me back, so I apologize profusely for the short notice and give my resignation.
“That saves us from making a difficult choice,” she says.
“Oh?”
“Ted is back,” she says. “And it turns out that missing work was beyond his control.”
Ah. Right. So that part of Michael’s crazy story is true.
“Great,” I say. “Glad you don’t have to fire me.”
“I didn’t say we were going to,” she says. “You did us all a huge favor with the ‘Honey and Boo Boo’ business, so?—”
“That’s over also,” I say.
There’s no way Michael would be willing to pretend to be with me, and vice versa.
“PR will be disappointed, but I completely understand,” Linda says. “Best of luck to you with your future endeavors.”
I thank her and hang up, somehow still feeling guilty for ditching the hockey team like this. No goodbye to Coach. No sayonara to Dante or any of the others.
Shit. I haven’t even told my parents about my move—though telling Seraphina means they know by now. My sister is like a Klaunbut internet.
Still, I call to tell them officially, and my heart squeezes when they tell me how happy they are for me.
“So sad about Michael,” Mom says just as I was about to tell her about that part. “Your sister told us you broke up.”
“Yeah,” Dad says. “I liked him a lot more than What’s-his-face.”
What’s-his-face is what everyone calls most of my other exes, and I think it’s because the dislike was mutual in those cases.
“I have to go,” I say, not ready to discuss Michael.
“Sure,” Mom says. “Break a leg.”
I hang up with a smile, which turns into a frown as I check my phone for any calls, texts, or emails from Michael.
There are none.
Just as I thought. It’s over. I’m never going to hear from him again.
Was Seraphina right? It’s true that every boyfriend I’ve ever had dumped me after meeting my family. Did I break things off with Michael so fast because I was afraid it would happen again, no matter what he said about liking my family and wanting me to stay?
No. I did what I had to do. He’s met them just the once, and he didn’t even stay for the whole dinner. Who knows what would’ve happened if we’d continued with our relationship?
Actually, I do. He would’ve dumped me, like all the others.
It was just a matter of time.
Regardless, my chest is painfully tight as I head over to the theater, where I find Max waiting for me along with everyone else from the interview. There’s also a large group of unfamiliar people who turn out to be theater staff and their families.
“We have a tradition,” Max says. “Everyone gets to see the first rehearsal.”
Wow. Good team-building exercise but nerve-wracking for me.
I set up the projector, get on the stage, and start with something easy: I dress the rats in cute outfits that have been waiting for just such an occasion and have them strut around like models on a runway.
The rats don’t seem to mind the crowd watching us, which is great. The same can’t be said for myself. I actually feel some stage fright even though this group is only about a tenth of the maximum capacity of the theater—not to mention, I’ve performed in a sold-out circus in the past and have been a mascot at a crowded hockey game.
I guess the fact that this is important is messing with my head.
But hey. Everyone cheers when the first act is over, and that gives me the confidence to proceed. I get the feeling that I’ll be able to handle a bigger crowd—it will just take a little getting used to.
When I get back to my hotel, my phone rings. Just like earlier, my heart leaps when I think it might be Michael, only for it to dive in disappointment when I see that it’s Seraphina again.
“Sorry,” she says without preamble. “I should have congratulated you on the job.”
“No. I’m sorry. I know you want what’s best for me.”
“Exactly.”
“And this job is that,” I say, wishing I felt as sure as I’m pretending to be. Refusing to give in to my malaise, I tell her about my first rehearsal, including the unexpected stage fright.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about that,” she says. “You’re a Klaunbut. No matter how packed the circus, we can swallow swords and stick our heads into a lion’s maw. What’s a little rat action compared to that?”