Chapter 30 #3
My stomach knots. This kiss onstage is nothing like his kiss with Catstrike Gwen in PB.
Oh gosh. He really was surprised then. He didn’t kiss back.
I mean, I know this is a staged kiss. I know it’s been rehearsed, but it's also a representation of two people consensually kissing.
And that looks very different than one party leaning in and surprising the other.
I feel terrible. Also swoony. If it were possible to order kisses off a menu where some kisses were small plates and others were desserts, this one would be an entrée.
This is the kind of kiss that leaves a woman full.
It’d become my favorite meal. But kisses don’t work that way. At least I don’t think they do.
Mike and the actress onstage break away, and then it happens.
He smiles at her but then turns his head ever so slightly and winks at me.
I mean. I could be wrong. The theater is dark, but I swear he winked at me. And I am not okay.
“No wonder you’re in no hurry to get back to work,” Mom says as the applause dies down.
I give her a look before laughing.
“What? I’m just saying I understand the appeal of spending as much time as possible in that young man’s proximity.” Mom waggles her eyebrows just once before flagging down Dad. “George! Wasn’t it wonderful?”
“Spectacular! Are you going to the cast meet and greet?” Dad shouts.
“Yes, of course!” Mom pulls me in step after her.
“Mom, no,” I beg.
“It’s the best part. It’s even more fun than the play.”
“I couldn’t.” I haven’t spoken with Mike since the Catstrike night, and I don’t want to now.
“Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you’re even my daughter. When did you become such a recluse?”
“Michael! Michael Benedick! You were wonderful!” my mother says, strutting up to Mike like she’s the captain of a starship. “You’re glowing!”
“He has every right to be. He just finished a two-week run,” I mutter.
“Thank you for coming,” Mike says, folding my mother’s hand warmly into his. But he stiffens when he sees me and drops his arms to his sides. “I’m glad you could make it. I was worried you’d be too sick.”
“Oh, she’s fine,” Mom says.
“Senior Benedick!” My dad sandwiches himself between me and Mom and extends his hand to Mike. “That was quite the performance.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mike says with a smile and a curt bow. “I had quite a lot of help.”
“And a director who let you get away with stealing Beatrice’s best lines.”
“They indulged me, to be sure.”
“Nice to see you again, Mike.” Mom pats his arm. “Congratulations on a great show.”
Dad takes Mom’s hand. “Yes, we better get going.”
Mom turns to me. “Your father and I are headed home to Del Mar. We have an early tee time at the country club, so we’re calling it a night.”
“You’re welcome to come home with us,” Dad says.
“I live in La Jolla now,” I say coolly.
Dad’s smile falters. “Well, maybe you can get a ride.”
Mom gasps. “Maybe Mike could drive you. After all, you’re going to the same place.”
“Are you kidding me?” I say.
“Mike?” Mom calls. “Would you mind giving Bea a ride home?”
But no. I’ve been set up. Worse. I’ve been Molly McKinneyed.
“I’ll walk home. I’ll crawl. Swim.”
“Bea, it’s no big,” Mike says.
It’s humiliating, but I give Mike a tight smile and try not to fall into his honey-colored eyes. “Thanks.”
“There’s an after-party that I have to make an appearance at. If you come with me, I’ll have a rock-hard alibi for leaving early.”
“I didn’t plan this.”
“No. Your mother did. What’s her angle?”
“Grandchildren.”
Mike swallows. “Well, good thing you have very high standards. Hang tight. I’ll just be a minute.”
I watch as Mike thanks the other people who have hung back to greet him. He’s charming, sincere, and makes everything look so easy.
“Thanks for waiting,” he says after the last of them filter out. “Shall we?”
We walk in awkward silence to his truck. And just as I open my mouth to say something, Mike does too.
“You go ahead,” he says.
“Thank you for the tickets, and I’m sorry. For my parents roping you into giving me a ride home.”
“I’m happy to.” Mike shoves his hands into the pockets of his peacoat.
“It gives me a chance to finally apologize.” He stops walking.
“I’m sorry, Beatrice. I messed up. I let a stupid joke get out of hand that night at the escape room, and I hurt you, and I’m furious at myself for it.
I wanted to make you jealous, but instead I…
” He blows his breath out quickly. “I gave you proof that I am an arrogant, selfish, despicable villain and shallow flirt.” He grimaces.
“I’m not that guy, but I know how to play him convincingly.
And I took it too far. It’s not Catstrike’s—I mean, um… ” He’s struggling now.
“Gwen?”
“Thanks. It’s not Gwen’s fault. She was just playing along and following my lead. But there’s nothing there. There’s no room for there to be anything there.”
“Right,” I say, and for a moment, he looks so hopeful, but I can’t go deep. I’m too scared. “You’ve been busy with the play and the house.” But I can’t stop there. I need to know. “Why?”
Mike’s eyebrows raise, but otherwise he stays very still.
“Why can you play villains so convincingly?”
The corner of Mike’s mouth twitches. “Because I know what it’s like to lose everything. And in that moment, I know how insidious the illusion of control is and how willingly nihilism can take over.” Mike clears his throat. “I understand the choices villains face.”
And he made different ones. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I’m glad you did. And I’m glad you came.
” There’s something soft, almost fragile in his tone, but it dissipates quickly with his next words.
“I was half expecting to find the tickets ripped in half on my doorstep, but my grandma always said that words aren’t enough when it comes to apologies.
Actions have to accompany them. I figured at the very least you’d get a chance to see me suffer onstage in front of a crowd. ”
“Is that what suffering looks like?” I resume walking toward his truck.
Mike follows. “I don’t know how to fix things, but I want to be your friend.”
Friend. Yay! Meanwhile, I want to grab him by the lapels and tell him that his scheme worked. I was insanely jealous before I was insanely hurt. Now kiss me. Love me.
“I got carried away,” Mike says. “I made things weird, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Forgive me?”
“You don’t—”
“I do. I…” Mike kicks a small pebble. “It’s what friends do.”
I muster a smile, because this is also what friends do. “Of course.”