Chapter 30 Alex
ALEX
The auditorium buzzed like a beehive. Programs rustled. Kids shouted for their friends across the seats. Parents crowded in with phones ready to capture every moment.
I slipped into the front section, scanning the seats until I spotted Mel waving both arms like she was bringing in a plane. Belle sat beside her, fanning her face with the program.
“There he is!” Mel called as I maneuvered down the row. “Dad of the Hour!”
Belle sniffed dramatically. “I swear I’m not going to cry. Except I already am.”
I sank into the seat beside them, laughing. “We haven’t even started.”
“But my baby is in a PLAY,” Belle said with a wobbling voice. “On a STAGE.”
“Your baby isn’t even in the show,” Mel deadpanned.
Belle glared. “Let me feel feelings.”
I shook my head, already grinning. “You two are unhinged.”
Mel elbowed me lightly. “You excited?”
I didn’t bother hiding it. “Extremely.”
Pride swelled in my chest. Leo had worked so hard. He’d practiced his lines until he could say them backward. He’d been practicing his bow in front of his mirror every night.
My son was going to be on stage, not me, and yet I could barely sit still.
The pre-show music started, the lights dimmed, and the audience went quiet. The curtain rose. The lights hit the stage. And when Leo scampered out in his little mouse costume, I felt something in me crack open.
“That’s him,” I whispered, voice tight.
Mel patted my knee like a proud uncle. Belle openly sobbed. “He’s BEAUTIFUL.”
“He’s a mouse,” Mel corrected.
“A BEAUTIFUL mouse,” Belle insisted.
Leo delivered his first lines with perfect clarity, and then he spotted me in the audience and waved so enthusiastically he nearly fell over.
I waved back, heart full.
And on the opposite side of the stage, I could see Eleanor backstage through the wings, just barely, watching the kids with a soft, proud smile that made something warm unfurl behind my ribs.
Intermission hit like a tidal wave of excited chatter. Parents poured into the lobby with the line for refreshments wrapped halfway to the front doors.
Mel, Belle, and I joined the end of the line, still riding the high of the first act.
“That little scamper was Oscar-worthy,” Mel said, bumping me lightly with her shoulder.
“My baby is a star,” Belle sniffed, wiping another happy tear. “I need someone to hold me during Act II.”
“Absolutely not,” Mel said flatly. “You need to get yourself under control.”
I was laughing when Belle elbowed me sharply. “Heads up.”
I followed her gaze.
And there they were.
Mrs. Tremaine, standing impeccably straight, dressed like she was attending a charity gala rather than a kids’ show. Stacey was beside her, wearing a warm but tight smile. Both were turning toward our group.
Belle straightened, smoothing her shirt automatically. “Oh. Um. Hello, Mrs. Tremaine.”
Mrs. Tremaine’s mouth curved the tiniest bit. “Belle. Good to see you.”
The way she said it made it sound like Belle was a barista who got her order wrong three months ago and she hadn’t forgotten about it.
Mel stepped forward with a friendly smile. “Hi, I’m Mel. Your granddaughter is wonderful, by the way. She and Leo had a great time together the other night.”
Mrs. Tremaine’s expression chilled several degrees.
“Did they?” Not really a question. More like an accusation flavored as politeness.
Mel blinked, picking up the frost immediately. “Yes . . . they played and watched a movie.” A pause. “It was sweet.”
Stacey stepped in with a smoother tone. “Ava mentioned the playdate. She seemed to enjoy it.”
“Oh,” Belle said cheerfully—too cheerfully—“and you should’ve seen Eleanor and Alex the other night, getting all friendly before rehearsal started—”
My stomach dropped. Belle realized what she’d said exactly one second too late.
Mrs. Tremaine turned her gaze on me, cool and assessing. Stacey’s eyebrows shot up in interest.
Mel made a small, strangled sound beside me.
“I—uh—” Belle stammered, eyes huge. “I mean friendly like . . . friendly-friendly. Not friendly. Just friends! Because we’re all . . . friends. In . . . theater. Tech week is very bonding?”
She was digging our grave with a teaspoon. Mrs. Tremaine tilted her head slightly. Not angry. Worse. Suspicious.
“Oh?” she said. “I wasn’t aware Eleanor was . . . making new friends.”
Mel muttered under her breath, “Oh boy.”
Stacey’s smile didn’t fade, but her eyes had sharpened, curious and humming with Tremaine-level gossip potential.
My pulse kicked up a notch. This was bad. Not terrible yet, but definitely off.
You could feel the air shift.
They had both just mentally connected dots in this lobby, and we were not ready for them to connect.
And from the corner of my eye, I saw the doors from backstage open, and Eleanor stepped out with a costume in her hands, searching the crowd. Her gaze landed on us briefly. Her eyes widened.
The moment froze.
And I felt the ground shift under all of us.
We shuffled back into the auditorium with our water bottles and popcorn, but the easy chatter from earlier was gone. The run-in with Mrs. Tremaine had left a chill clinging to me like fog.
I didn’t know the full extent of Eleanor’s relationship with her mother, but I knew enough now to recognize tension when I saw it. The kind that lived in your bones, not your words. The kind that made your shoulders want to hunch even when you stood up straight.
Mel plopped into her seat and whispered, “Okay, that was weird, right?”
Belle scoffed, crossing her arms. “Why did I say that? Why? That woman terrifies me, and it’s like I can’t shut up.”
I kept my eyes on the stage, scanning instinctively for Eleanor even though she wasn’t out here yet. “Yeah,” I murmured. “I’m sure it’s fine.” I was not sure . . . at all.
Mel leaned over me. “Her sister seemed nicer.”
“Mm-hmm,” Belle said, clearly unconvinced. “Nicer like a wolf in better lipstick.”
I didn’t laugh.
Because truthfully, I couldn’t stop thinking about Eleanor’s face when she saw us with her mother. That flicker of shock. That tightening around her mouth. That resigned bracing.
She’d told me what living with her mom was like. Now I was watching the live-action version.
I settled into my seat but sat at an angle, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen.
As I sat there, I tried to decide if I should text her. Give her a heads-up of what had just happened.
But would that make it worse? Would it draw attention if she checked her phone backstage?
She had enough going on. And the last thing I wanted was to make whatever that . . . situation was any harder.
I locked my phone and shoved it into my pocket.
“Are you going to message her?” Belle whispered, leaning dramatically close.
“No,” I said quietly. “I’ll talk to her after the show.”
Belle nodded, surprisingly gentle. Mel gave me a sympathetic pat.
The house lights dimmed for the second act.
I tried to focus on the stage, on the kids, on the magic of it all.
But all I could think about was Eleanor. Back there somewhere in the wings with her mother and sister in the audience, feeling who-knew-what.
And wishing I could be the one to make it better.
The second act flew by in a blur of lights and costumes and tiny, determined performers. Leo nailed every line. The audience erupted each time a kid stepped into their moment, and the energy grew and grew until it felt like the whole theater was vibrating.
And then the final chords hit.
The entire cast moved into formation, faces bright, eyes shining. The audience clapped along as the kids belted the first chorus with all the joy and chaos you'd expect from fifty neurodivergent children giving it everything they had.
Halfway through the second verse, the stage manager waved to the wings.
And suddenly, past Penguin Project performers, kids from last year, the year before, some now in their twenties, rushed the stage, joining hands, joining voices.
Leo sang with his whole heart, half-yelling the words, half-flapping with excitement.
I scrubbed at my eyes quickly, blinking hard.
Belle leaned over me and whispered, “Don’t fight it.”
Mel nodded solemnly. “Just let the feelings come.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, wiping my face again.
But they were right. It was beautiful.
When the curtain fell and the applause shook the room, I practically sprinted to the backstage hallway. Kids were everywhere, hugging, yelling, jumping, and losing costume pieces left and right.
And then—
“DAD!”
Leo barreled into me at full speed. I wrapped my arms around him and lifted him off the ground, spinning him once before setting him down.
“You were incredible,” I said.
He beamed up at me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “I DID IT! I sang really big!”
“You did,” I said, cupping the side of his head. “You were amazing. I’m so, so proud of you.”
He preened, then immediately darted off toward Ava, who waited quietly in her costume. They high-fived, and my heart squeezed.
That’s when I spotted Eleanor.
She was still in costume-wrangling mode, holding a sparkling headpiece, her braid messy from the night, cheeks pink from running around backstage.
She looked beautiful.
I made my way to her, weaving around excited kids.
“Hey,” I said softly.
She looked up, and her smile was there, but thin, tight around the edges. “Hi.”
I leaned in a little, keeping my voice low. “I need to tell you something before you see them.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Them?”
“Your mom. And Stacey.” I hesitated. “We ran into them at intermission.”
I watched her expression freeze, then flicker with fear, dread, and resignation.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Of course.”
“They were . . . polite,” I said carefully. “But it was tense. And when Belle mentioned us being friendly—”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I just wanted you to know before you walk out there.”
She pressed her lips together, lifted her chin, and inhaled a shaky breath.
“It’s fine,” she said. But the look in her eyes said she felt anything but fine.
I wished I could take her hand. I wished I could pull her into a hug I wished I could walk out there with her.
Instead, I just said softly, “I’m here.”
She nodded once, holding on to the words like a lifeline.
Then she squared her shoulders.
And walked toward the lobby.