34. Hank
HANK
It’s an odd thing to see my son nervous. No matter what he does, whether it’s competing in quiz bowls or giving presentations or preparing for make-or-break tests, Brody has always had the ability to remain cool as a cucumber. He prepares, he studies. Nothing seems to faze him.
Until singing, apparently.
“You’re going to kick so much musical butt,” I tell him, but he’s only half-listening. Instead, he’s pacing in the school parking lot, ignoring the flurries fluttering down on his head.
“I have to sing. In front of people.”
“You’ve been practicing like crazy. You sound great. I know I’m supposed to tell you that you’re going to do a great job no matter what, but I honestly believe it.”
“Wait—have you not believed it other times?”
Shit.
“Don’t change the subject.” I put a hand on his shoulder, stopping his pace. “You got this. What has Mr. Calloway said?”
“He said I’m a natural.”
A smile beams out of me, the gut reaction whenever someone compliments my kid.
“But what if I mess up a line? What if I miss a cue? This isn’t like quiz bowl where you get a question wrong, and it’s onto the next one.
If I mess up, then it messes everyone else up, and it creates this chain reaction, and the play is ruined.
” He looks up at me, his big brown eyes two sacks of worry. “Dad, I don’t want to ruin the play.”
“You’re not! Do you remember that time I made you join little league?”
He bristles. “Don’t remind me.”
“It was before I realized that sports weren’t your thing. Remember you were covering second base, and you missed that pass, and then the other team scored three runs in a row because you couldn’t catch the ball?”
“Why are you recounting this story? There better be a point.”
“The point is that you survived that game. In the eighth inning, I begged the coach to give you another try, you caught that fly ball. If you mess up a line or a cue, nothing says you can’t dust yourself off and keep going, because you might just catch a fly ball in the next scene. You know what I mean, right?”
“Strangely, I do.”
“As a goalie, I’ve mucked up a lot. But I’ve also saved us from losing. Pobody’s nerfect.” I wrap an arm around him and motion us to the school. “Let’s go inside. Some snow went down the back of my shirt.”
South Rock High School is buzzing tonight.
The idea to hold the premiere on New Year’s Day has given the play a bit of mystique and a jolt of anticipation.
A hand-painted Little Shop of Horrors banner hangs in the lobby.
On a board are photo stills from the production, including one of Brody tearing it up as Orin.
Parents and kids and even regular townsfolk have come to watch the show.
Not Cathy, noticeably, who didn’t want to cut her New Year’s trip to the Bahamas short.
Mr. Calloway, a sprightly redhead who feels like he could veer into diva territory at any moment, rushes up to Brody.
“There you are! I was worried you were going to bail on me.” He lets out a laugh that’s 90 percent nerves. “You’re not going to bail on me, right?”
Brody gives him a firm nod. “Nope. I’m ready to go.”
A man in a tight polo shirt and warm-up pants blows his whistle, startling all of us. “Rush! Get your butt into the locker room.”
Mr. Calloway puts a delicate hand on the man’s chest. “Backstage, sweetie.”
“Right.” He blows his whistle again. Brody and I jump. “Rush! Backstage!”
“You know, we don’t need you blowing the whistle. These kids are nervous enough,” Mr. Calloway says, in a softer tone that I swear sounds flirtatious.
“I’m trying to mentally prepare them, Ev.
This is live mothereffing theater. Anything could happen.
Someone in the audience could sneeze. A fan could rush the stage.
One of the actors could literally break a leg.
Heck, Brody’s voice might crack in the middle of a song. He’s still going through puberty.”
“Oh my God.” Brody turns red, bows his head in primordial embarrassment.
“You need catlike reflexes to be up on that stage,” the guy with the whistle says.
“I don’t think any of those things will be happening,” Mr. Calloway assures him. “But I love the enthusiasm.”
“Yeah you do.” The guy winks at Mr. Calloway, who despite himself, blushes.
“Who’s that?” I whisper to Brody.
“Mr. Marshall. He’s my gym teacher, but he’s also dating Mr. Calloway. He helps out on show nights.”
They make an odd couple, but a cute one. A flicker of jealousy arises in me. I’d like to think Nick and I were this adorable.
“Hey, you’re the guy who hooked up with the prince, right?” Mr. Marshall asks me.
“Guilty.” I still haven’t gotten used to people bringing up Nick. I mean, Prince Nicholas. I can’t think about it without feeling a hole growing in my heart.
“He seemed cool.” Mr. Marshall shrugs.
“I have to ask, did you get to meet Meghan Markle?” Mr. Calloway leans in.
“Wrong royal,” Brody says.
“I know that, but I figure they all know each other. And…she knows Oprah,” Mr. Calloway whispers to us. “Oprah!” He says louder when we don’t give him the reaction he expects.
“Ev, get your head in the game. Showtime is in twenty minutes,” Mr. Marshall says. He threatens to blow his whistle again. Brody zooms to the backstage door in two seconds flat.
“Love you!” I call out to Brody. “Good lu…leg! Break a good leg! And kick some ass!”
I take a seat in the fifth row, center section. Prime viewing of the stage. Des and Tanner and their brood of kids join me, followed by Jack, Griffin, and Griffin’s two young daughters. Our row, and my heart, are equally full.
“You all came?”
“Of course!” Tanner says. “We wouldn’t miss Brody’s theatrical debut. We watched the movie in preparation.”
“I like when the plant eats people!” says Tanner’s rambunctious son Dean.
“I love the movie! I’m excited for the show,” Jack says.
“You are?” Griffin cocks an eyebrow. Jack turns to his boyfriend and wiggles both eyebrows at him.
“Yes! I like watching movies and going to plays as much as I like going to concerts and bar crawls. I contain multitudes, ya poopyhead.”
“That’s right, poopyhead!” says June, Griffin’s daughter who’s three feet of pure attitude.
Griffin cocks a stern eyebrow at his daughter.
“Sorry, Daddy.” June bows her head.
“You suffered through a bar crawl for me. That’s true love.” Jack kisses him on the cheek, and I swear, a slight wave of relief washes over Griffin. There may be twenty years between them, but Jack is totally smitten with him. He’s not going anywhere.
“How you holding up?” Griffin asks me.
“Everyone keeps asking me that. You’re all acting like I had my gallbladder removed or something. Nick and I broke up, if you can even call it that.” I wave off my friends’ concerned faces. “There was no way it could work. So we ended it. Whatever.”
“Not whatever. You liked him, Hank,” Des says.
“I did, but…it wasn’t meant to be. He’s in Ardenia. Doing royal things. I haven’t heard from him since the news about him leaving the monarchy. He’s busy.” I sent him a text checking on him when the news broke, but it’s been crickets. “He has a lot on his plate.”
“Maybe he needs you there, but he’s afraid to ask,” Jack says. He nods his head at me as if there’s only one logical solution here.
“So I’m supposed to go there and what? Take an Uber to the castle?”
“Why not?” Jack shrugs his shoulder. Oh, to be a delusional twentysomething again. I’m waiting for my older and wiser friends to mock his suggestion.
They do not.
“I…that’s crazy. I couldn’t even sneak onto a float in the Yankees championship parade in high school. I can’t get into a castle. It won’t work.”
“If I recall, you technically did get on the float for a few seconds before security threw you off,” Tanner says. I rub my shoulder in phantom pain from hitting the barricade.
“Man, when did you get so negative?” Des asks me. “Hank, do you want to be with him? Yes or no?”
“I—well, I mean—”
“Yes. Or. No.” June leans forward in her seat and stares me down.
“Yes! Of course I do. I love him. But…” I pull at a loose thread on my shirt. “The funny best friend doesn’t get the happy ending.”
“Funny best friend? What the hell are you talking about?” Des says, turning heads in the entire row.
“You know…I’m Hank. I say funny, odd things. I’m not the leading man.”
“Hank, you’ve said a lot of dumb things before, but that is the dumbest.” Griffin shakes his head.
“Yeah. You’re not even that funny,” Des cracks.
Tanner pats my knee. “If you want to be the heroic main character, then be the heroic main character. Your script isn’t written. The part you play is the one you cast yourself in.”
His words land harder than I did when I was thrown off that parade float. It’s time that I stop playing the side character.
“There is a prince in a tower who wants you to rescue him,” Des says.
“Yeah.” Confidence builds in my chest.
Des locks eyes with me. “It’s time you storm that mother—”
“Des.” Tanner shoots him a look.
“—flipping castle.”
Being the main character in your life is a scary concept, but it’s time that I actually try.
“Des, can I borrow your credit card? I need to book a really expensive plane ticket.”
My friends’ faces absolutely light up. Des hands over his credit card with the biggest smile. What would a main character be with a wealthy sidekick?
I look up flights to Ardenia on my phone. Oy, I’m going to have to unclog a lot of sinks to pay Des back. The theater lights flash on and off, telling us the show is going to begin in a few minutes.
“Hold on a second.” I pause mid-booking. “I need to talk to Brody.”
I run down the aisle, hop onto the stage, and find my way into the wings. Kids in costumes and other kids in black T-shirts flitter about the tight space.
“No civilians back here,” Mr. Calloway says, standing in my way.
“It’ll take a minute.”
“The show is going on in a minute.”
“Please.”
“Dad?” Brody steps out of the communal dressing room in his dentist costume, his face coated with makeup for the lights. “What’s wrong?”
“Ev, let him talk to his son,” Mr. Marshall puts a hand on Mr. Calloway’s shoulder.
“He’s messing with the preshow atmosphere. He’s going to throw off the vibe.” Mr. Calloway steps aside. “Fine. But if there’s one offkey note or a missed cue out there, I’m holding you responsible.”
I rush over to my son. “Brody, what if I had to miss your show tonight?”
“Because you have to see a prince?”
I nod yes. Brody’s eyes catch on fire with excitement. He has wild Orin energy dancing through his body. But I quickly come to my senses.
“No.” I shake my head. “I want to support you. You come first. What am I doing?”
“Dad.” Brody puts his hands on my shoulders. It’s nuts that he’s as tall as me. “Catch that plane.”
“Are you sure? I really wanted to watch you perform.”
“Catch that plane, Dad.” Brody kisses me on the cheek.
“I…” Nerves splutter around in my stomach. Am I really doing this? What if he says no?
I heave out a breath. “Main character energy.”
All of the actors and tech crew have gathered around us, fully invested.
“Gromantic gesture. Let’s freaking go!” Mr. Marshall throws a fist in the air.
“He means grand romantic gesture,” Mr. Calloway stage whispers to me.
Everyone erupts in cheers as I run for the backstage exit. I hear Mr. Calloway say “Places everyone” as the show begins.
I barrel down the halls of South Rock High, heart in my throat, feeling every bit the leading man. I race past the cafeteria into the main lobby, throw open the front doors in a dramatic fashion–
And hit a man in the face.
He collapses to the ground holding his nose. When he removes his hand, revealing his beautiful face, bloody nose, and those deep, dark eyes, I can’t help but swoon.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Nick says.