Chapter 36 Why did I not predict this possible outcome?
Why did I not predict this possible outcome?
Sean
WHEN I ARRIVE to collect Josie for our date, she texts me that she’s inside Jason and Emmy’s house and to pick her up there. I tell her okay, but to please meet me at the door. I don’t want Snack or Emmy to see me like this.
I finished the coat, and it’s glorious. The diet and exercise regimen for my upcoming audition has shaved off every last fat cell, so this George Washington is svelte.
I added the powdery makeup and wig for camouflage—I don’t want to be recognized.
Of course, it makes me look weirder than if I’d just thrown on the jacket, boots, and hat like a lot of people do.
Yes, I’m wearing the hat. Of course I am.
Dangling from my finger is a hanger bearing my Thomas Jefferson costume.
It’s not the one Daveed Diggs wore, but it’s a decent likeness complete with a frilly white cravat, purple vest, short pants, stockings, and black tricorn hat.
I tailored the slippery, shimmery suit to what I thought might fit Josie even though I didn’t have her measurements.
I take a deep breath and consider turning around, getting into my car, and forgetting this whole thing.
Bringing Josie to Hamilton on the Roof was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, hands down.
Why am I not taking her to P.F. Chang’s and the opera?
I’m courting disaster. No, actually, I’m marrying disaster. We’ve opened a gift registry.
She was right all along—she said I was too high-profile, that she’d be found out if she dated me, and that’s exactly what happened.
But at least this way, we can keep it contained.
Hugo will keep his big fat mouth shut, and Josie can fade into the background, like she’s been trying to do ever since I dragged her into the spotlight.
Maybe it’s better this way. I like her too much, anyway. And tonight, like it or not, she’s going to see the real me. She’ll probably run for the Hollywood hills.
I ring the doorbell, and she opens it clad in jeans and a blouse. My heart rate jumps as she looks me up and down.
“Hello.” I bounce on my toes and try to hold eye contact with her, but it’s hard. This was a terrible idea.
She swallows. “If Paul Revere was supposed to give me a heads-up about this, you might want to fire the guy.”
Ha ha, but I’m too nervous to laugh. I hold out the Thomas Jefferson costume.
“I don’t know if you want to…?” I trail off, looking at the ground.
And then I wait with pulse thundering, collar dampening, jaw clenching.
Snarky remarks and derisive laughter, come on in. I’ve pretty much thrown open the door.
Instead, I feel the hanger snatched from my finger.
“Come in.”
“Actually, can we do this in your trail—”
“Come inside, Sean.”
She’s holding the door open. God almighty, why did I not predict this possible outcome? I take a couple hesitant steps into the foyer. “Is anyone else home?”
“Oh my,” Emmy says, appearing from the kitchen in her pajamas. My cheeks are so hot under my powdered makeup that I can’t even conjure up a greeting.
Jason turns around from where he’s sitting on the couch in the sunken family room. “Whoaaaa…” He drags the word out like a fuse to a bomb.
“I’ll be right back!” Josie bounds off with her costume.
“You look good, George,” Jason says over the back of the couch, a shit-eating grin plastered to his face.
“That’s General Washington to you, son,” I manage to fire back, adding a pointing finger.
“It’s not really much different from the kind of stuff he normally wears,” Emmy tells Jason, her tone unconvincing. “Minus the Esquire stamp of approval.”
God, I hate this.
“Hey, Peyton!” Jason yells, still grinning at me. “Come see who’s here!”
“Aww, no, there’s no need to bother h—” I start.
But Peyton bounces into the room anyway. “What’s up—? Oh. Wow. Oh my… Is that? Shee—Ah…” She dissolves into some mumbled Gen Z slang I don’t understand, but I think she throws “slay” in there just to make me feel good.
Mattie pops up from where he’s sitting beside Jason. Grabbing a toy lightsaber, he runs over and begins slamming the thing into my thigh over and over.
“My name is Eego Montoy!” he yells.
“Wrong movie, buddy.” I disarm him and lob the toy into the dining room. With a yell, he runs after it.
“Josie said you two were going to a Hamilton show,” Emmy says, drying her hands on a kitchen towel.
“Yes.”
“Are you starring in it?”
“It’s complicated.”
Peyton tilts her head at me. “I don’t like the wig. It makes you look ugly.”
Mattie is back now with the lightsaber. The onslaught renews, this time on the backs of both my thighs.
“Is this kid British?” I reach behind me to grab the flailing plastic blade again.
“Mattie, stop,” Jason commands. “Come over here, or he’s going to make you dress up like that, too.”
Mattie shrieks and throws the lightsaber at me in one last Hail Mary attack before scampering back to his dad.
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, you know!” I call after him.
“Are you going to sing the songs?” Peyton asks. “I mean, that’s what you’re doing, right?”
“Ohhh!” Jason wags a finger. “I know what this is! It’s like The Rocky Horror Picture Show but with Hamilton. Lin-Manuel Miranda mentioned it in an interview.”
“Okay.” Emmy looks like a surprised puffer fish who can’t quite figure out how to deflate.
“Josie, time to go!” I bellow.
“What’d I miss?” She pops into the room in the purple costume with jazz hands in full force.
With her hair stuffed under the tricorn hat, she’s rocking it, and the fit across her shoulders looks tailor-made, if I do say so myself.
She’s used eyeliner to draw a mustache on her lip, and her smile is radiant.
My heart thrills. I grab her hand and clear my throat, mustering my best George Washington accent.
“Farewell, good people. We’re off!”
“Bye!” Josie calls over her shoulder, leading the way.
Part of me wants to get out of here as fast as possible, but it’s a different part of me that halts on the threshold, pivots, and executes a sweeping Broadway bow on the way out.
Mattie actually cheers.