24. Nick
NICK
Words Fail - Dear Evan Hansen
I love the comfortable silences between June and I. Usually. But tonight her silence … unsettles me. I could pull the car over, demand she confide in me, let me in.
But we came from a three-hour rehearsal of teenagers freaking the fuck out because Nat and Chessie are gone. Years of teaching have given me the ability to stay calm in the chaos, but June? She’s visibly shaken.
So I’m probably overreacting. Maybe she craves silence after all the commotion of rehearsal. Maybe. Something else is going on, too, though.
I rest my free hand on her thigh as I drive. She covers it with her own.
She’s real. We’re real.
It should scare me how quickly she’s become the center of my world, the axis around which I’m turning, but it doesn’t.
Well, it didn’t.
But now I can’t quite read her. This is more than residual nerves from the Nat situation.
After ten minutes of silence that I’m too anxious to break, we pull into the parking lot of Bridge and Barrel.
I guide her through the restaurant with a hand at the small of her back, skin warm through her dress.
This one’s light blue, with little straps that tie into bows at her shoulders.
I want to sneak into the restaurant bathroom, undo those ties to bare her breasts, and watch her in the mirror while I play with her tits and slide my hand beneath her dress, up her smooth thigh, to her waiting heat.
I cough and turn to the side, hoping no one catches me adjusting myself as we wait for the hostess.
Touching her, fucking her, just holding her, it all feels like heaven. I don’t deserve her, but I’ll spend the rest of my life worshipping between her thighs, and everywhere else, if she’ll let me.
The hostess finally appears, seating us at a table on the patio, and I pull out June’s chair.
“Aww, a gentleman,” she laughs, a sound like bells. Maybe I imagined her earlier reticence.
My dad and Shelley arrive a few minutes later. His limp isn’t pronounced; it’s a low pain day. I loose a short breath. He’s always in a better mood when his back’s not so bad.
“How did rehearsal go?” Shelley grips my shoulder in a mom-like squeeze before doing the same to June.
June blows out a breath. “Good. Okay. It was fine.”
“Shells filled me in on the way here.” Don nods to me, then sits, his face splitting into a grimace. Did he think of Mom when he heard the news? I want to ask him, but dinner with his new girlfriend isn’t the time.
June’s parents arrive to round out our table. Tomas shakes my hand—vigorously—while June introduces her parents and my dad.
“So, Shelley, how did you two meet?” Mickie asks.
“There’s this absolutely adorable little cafe I like to stop in on Saturday mornings,” she begins, “and I started noticing Don there every weekend.”
“My doctors encouraged me to get out for walks and the cafe’s in my new neighborhood. By the time I’d walk there, I needed a few minutes to catch my breath, so I’d order a coffee and relax a bit,” Dad supplied.
“Junie said you were in an accident at work?” Mickie shakes her head. “How awful.”
June hated when I used that nickname at Shaker’s, but it’s the only name Mickie uses for her, at least when I’m around. Maybe that’s why June doesn’t like it, though I don’t understand.
“One of the scariest times in my life,” he answers, laying his hand atop Shelley’s and squeezing. “But I’m still here. And recovery’s taught me a lot.”
My throat tightens, a mixture of feelings all knotted up. The memory of terror lingers, yes, but there’s relief, and more than a little hope.
“Anyway, you know me, plain black coffee is my go-to. But this one,” he says, tipping his head in Shelley’s direction. “Her order’s got half this and triple shot that?—”
“Oh my goodness, I just like ristretto shots in my latte.” Shelley laughs and rolls her eyes.
“See?” Dad smiles at her. “Anyway, one time I was behind her in line, and I’d had a hell of a walk there. Shooting pain all down my leg. I needed to order and sit. Fast. But of course she starts in on her complicated drink, and I might’ve … suggested she hurry up.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘it’s a coffee order, not a grocery list. Move it along.’” Shelley drops her voice down, making it gruff. It’s actually not a bad imitation of my dad.
“She turns to me, fire in her eyes. Says, ‘every time you rush me, I’ll make another adjustment.’” He pauses, shaking his head. “I was a goner.”
“He apologized and paid for my drink, then ordered his coffee as well. And he also got a brown butter pistachio croissant.”
Pink splotches flush across my dad’s cheeks. “I’d see her order one sometimes.”
“So, I asked if he’d like to join me while we drank our coffees.”
“And split the croissant,” Dad adds.
“That’s how we started our Saturday morning coffee dates.” Shelley shrugs. “Things were … hard after the divorce. And my son, Greyson, had moved out west. I didn’t realize how lonely I’d become. But hoping I’d see Don in the cafe window became the highlight of my week.”
“Highlight of mine, too. I was damn lucky to move into that neighborhood.” My dad and Shelley share a look, soaking up their companionship.
“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” June’s eyes are so wide they might as well have hearts in them.
“Junie lives in New York, and our middle daughter Laurel moved away too,” Mickie says.
It’s weird, Tomas’s shoulders tighten when she talks about June’s sister.
“You go from seeing them every day and all of a sudden … poof. They’re gone.
It’s a strange feeling. But our Junie’s out there chasing her dreams.”
June’s answering smile is tight-lipped, and she’s biting the inside of her cheek.
“You were a real dynamo in those high school musicals. Leslie said—I think it was Nick’s sophomore year—that you were terrific in that, uh, Shakespeare one,” Dad says.
“‘ Kiss Me, Kate’ . I played Lilli. Landing the lead as a sophomore ruffled quite a few feathers. I had a lot to prove.”
“You proved it, and then some.” Tomas nods at his daughter.
Juniper smiles again but quickly sips her drink. “Thank you.”
My dad clears his throat. “I couldn’t—after she died, I didn’t go to the musicals. I should’ve, though.”
“Mom would’ve loved you in Camelot , too.” My voice shakes, remembering the musical junior year and missing her.
Both Mickie and Shelley give me their best mom-eyes, and it’s nice. It’ll never stop hurting that it’s not my own mom looking at me like this, but going from having zero mother figures in my life to two in one day is a lot to take in.
“Everyone at Conservatory’s so proud of June. Ever since she was a student, I knew she was going places,” Shelley says.
“I’ve still got a long ways to go.” June wrings her hands under the table.
“What about all those national tours?” I ask.
But at the same time, Mickie replies, “I just wish you were here more. You’ve been so happy at home this summer.”
I reach for her hands in her lap, my thumb rubbing back and forth across the thin skin at the inside of her wrist. Mickie’s put June in a tight spot, but no one else appears bothered by it.
“I’m sure it’s because she’s surrounded by artists and other performers all day,” I say, turning to June. “Like when you’re on tour, right?”
Gratitude shines in her eyes, but there’s sadness, too. We’ve spent so much time together this summer that these little shifts are easy to spot. My hand squeezes hers as a sense of pride surges through me, that I know her this well.
“That’s part of it.” She leans her shoulder against mine. “But there’s a few reasons I’m happy to be here.”
“June’s so talented, not to mention amazing with the students.” Maybe I’m too enthusiastic, but I need everyone at the table to know her and love her as much as I do.
My stomach hollows out. The L word. And now that I’ve thought it, I can’t stop. Because it’s true, I love this woman.
“It’s only a matter of time until she’s on Broadway.” Tomas continues the conversation despite my realization rocking me to my soul.
“Yeah, well, you know, it’s just a dream.” June’s voice is doing something weird. There’s no time to dwell, though, as she says, “Nick is super talented too, way more than me.”
“That’s not true.” I laugh at the absurdity of that statement. June’s … June . I’d run out of adjectives before I even came close to describing her talent.
“I don’t write my own music,” she counters.
Shelley’s mouth drops open, surprise and joy lighting her face. “You write music? Donovan, why haven’t you mentioned it? Oh, Nick, I’d love to hear you play. Maybe at one of our concerts?”
“I’d love to hear it, too,” Tomas encourages. Playing in front of literally anyone nauseates me, but playing in front of my girlfriend’s renowned choir director father? Bile burns the back of my throat.
Dad pats Shelley’s hand. “Nicky’s very private about that stuff.”
“Well, he shouldn’t be. His music is incredible,” June replies.
It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue, to announce I might take a sabbatical. Every night I hold June in my arms, I’ve come up with ways to be closer to her. I couldn’t leave my dad, but there’d be days I could drive into the city and see her before she leaves for tour.
And I can write songs from anywhere. Without teaching sapping my creative energy, I’d focus on my music and post it on social media. I don’t need to leave Sadlersburg to do it.
But … I can’t tell them. Not yet.
Everyone’ll ask too many questions, especially June, and I need this dream to stay a dream a little longer.
“Whenever he wants to play for us, I’m all ears.” Dad holds my stare for a second before nodding and turning away.
I need to tell him first. I need to share my music and my dream with him first. It’s what Mom would want. I want it, too.
“You two are such a power couple. Your kids are going to be crazy talented.” Shelley claps her hands together.
Well, shit. In all my worries about this dinner, our parents grilling us about a future and a family never occurred to me.