30. June
JUNE
Goodbye - Catch Me If You Can
My hands are numb from all the clapping, and mascara tracks itch my cheeks from all the tears. I stand in the wings, unable to fight my goofy grin, as my students take their final bows.
My students.
Les Mis is over. Conservatory is done. Fresh tears blur my vision, but I wipe them away as the cast beckons me onstage in front of the audience.
Ryan Huang cradles a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a mic in the other as he stands downstage center, saying, “… None of this would’ve been possible without our amazing director Juniper Daniels.”
The whole cast whoops and hollers, and the audience claps.
I wish I could swallow that thunderous applause, keep it with me.
Because let’s be honest, applause always feels good.
But several hundred people clapping for my directing skills is …
new. It fills me near to bursting in a way other applause never has.
Ryan hands me the bouquet and the mic. I deflect, but he’s annoyingly persistent.
I swipe under my eyes and swallow, hoping my voice isn’t thick with tears.
“Thank you. This means—I can’t even tell you what this means.
But these talented actors are the ones who deserve the applause.
They made my job easy. Well, relatively easy. ”
Chantal cups her hands around her mouth, yelling, “We love you, June!”
I run a hand through my hair, damp at the nape of my neck from only a few minutes under the hot stage lights. “These kids were flexible, adjusted to changing circumstances, and took it all in stride. I was lucky—so lucky—to have this group for my first time directing.”
I turn upstage to the cast, locking eyes with each camper before continuing, “Thank you. I am so awed by your talent, your ambition, and so, so humbled by your faith in me.”
I pass the mic to Ryan, who’s already holding another bouquet. This one for … “Mr. Harper, come on out here!”
Nick gets his flowers and takes his well-deserved bow.
After a few words, Ryan asks Chelsea up to the stage.
He’s not holding another bouquet. Instead, he pulls out an envelope from the shirt pocket of his costume.
“We all signed a get-well card for Natalia’s mom and chipped in to get you both a gift card. ”
Chelsea’s hands shake as she accepts the proffered envelope, silent tears running down her cheeks and glistening under the lights. Ryan hands her the mic, but she shakes her head. Instead, she wraps him in a fierce hug that whumps through the speakers from the microphone pressed between them.
We wave as the curtain closes, effectively shutting out the noise from the audience. But those forty high schoolers hopped up on the adrenaline of live theatre shriek, hug, and dance.
The noise scrapes against my skin and while I’m super happy for my cast, I need to be happy for them somewhere quieter. Even the crinkling cellophane around my bouquet is so loud, I set it on a prop table in the wings. But with nothing to hold onto, my fingers shake.
The campers all surround Nick, chatting and snapping pics on their phones they’d snuck backstage after I expressly said, multiple times, that phones have to stay shut off in dressing rooms.
I jump when Chantal’s rich mezzo voice calls, “Juniper?”
“Hey, Chantal. God, you were incredible. Your Thénardier brought the house down.” My smile is knowing, and the same smile breaks out on her face, too. I told her she’d rock that role, and she exceeded my expectations.
“I just wanted to say …” Her voice goes soft, hands fiddling with the thick fabric of her costume skirts. “Thanks. For everything this summer. And I’m sorry again about the—the video.”
“No, I’m sorry.” I open my arms, hoping she’s up for a hug. And she walks into my embrace. “You were going through a lot. It’s my job to check in with you and make sure you’re handling everything well. You’re a student before you’re a performer. And I forgot that.”
It’s too dark backstage to tell if she’s crying, but she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “I know, but you’re the first person who’s ever treated me like a performer, taken me seriously. It meant so much for you to see me like that.”
With my hands on her shoulders, I hold her out at arm’s length and smile. “I see you, Chantal. And you’re amazing.”
She blinks fast, shaking her head. The movement catches the stage lights, and her cheeks shine with tears. But cast members skip offstage to the dressing rooms, and a few call Chantal’s name. She wipes her eyes, laughs, and mouths, “ Thank you ,” then follows her friends.
I grab my flowers, eyes finding Nick—the slope of his shoulders, the sharp features in his profile.
But he’s still caught up with students. I duck between the thick red velvet curtains to the house.
The pit members pack up their instruments and music, and Mal stands off to the side, chatting with Ethan and Chessie.
He’s holding a bouquet of flowers.
I approach, more tears leaking from my eyes as he wraps me in a hug.
“I can’t wait to say I knew you way back when.” Mal lays his flowers on top of the bouquet I’m already holding.
“You really did.” I sniff.
The curtains ruffle and Nick’s charcoal waves peek through. “There you are.” He sighs, eyes finding mine.
He joins our group, hugging Chessie first, and they chat. I turn to Mal, not ready for our moment to end. “Thank you, for everything. Not just the job—but all your help, and your faith in me. You taught me what it means to have somebody in your corner, and how important that is.”
“And I’ve loved watching you pass it on to your own students.” He pauses, head tilting. “You know, this directing gig suits you.”
“All I did was come in at the end and make sure everything went off without a hitch.”
“No, you taught those kids lessons they’ll carry with them forever.” Mal hugs me again, careful not to crush my mountain of flowers. “Next time Philip and I are in the city, I’ll give you a call. I’m proud of you, June.”
Mal heads up the sloping aisle and exits.
Ethan asks Chessie, “You ready to go?”
I shift to face my friends, focusing on their conversation, but Mal’s words stay wrapped around me like his hug. With a head shake and some tear wiping, I say, “Ethan’s dropping you off at the airport for your red eye?”
“Gross, but yes,” Chessie answers.
“And I’ve got a late-night bus to catch. Give Nat and her family my best.”
She nods, her smile wavering. “I hate goodbyes.”
“But it’s not,” I say, reaching for a hug. “It’s see you later.”
Ethan and Chessie hop on stage and head behind the curtain, presumably leaving through the bay doors. But Nick’s parked out front, so he laces his fingers with mine as he pulls me through the house, then outside.
It rained at some point today—not that I’d know when I’ve been stuck in the theatre since eleven this morning—and the wet pavement glitters under the streetlights. The air smells earthy, crisp, reminding me of fall.
At his car, I toss my flowers into the backseat, on top of my luggage. When we’re both seated, Nick’s head tips to the side as he asks, “Want me to take care of the bouquets for you?”
The thought of Nick putting my flowers in a vase at his house and watching them die slowly has tears stinging my eyes. I swallow them, but I’ve cried so much in the last few hours that I can’t stop a few more from leaking out. “No,” I say, way too loud. “I—I want them.”
He leans over the console, wiping a tear with his thumb. “It’s okay.”
I nod. It’s the only response I’m capable of. If I say anything, I’ll burst into more tears. I want to lie to myself, say it’s just the residual effect of the musical, of the huge relief of the show being done, but that’s not quite it.
But just because I don’t want to lie to myself doesn’t mean I’m ready to tell the truth, either.
So, we drive in silence to the bus terminal. Nick walks me to where my coach is parked because the station this late at night is, as the kids would say, sus.
But we’re saying goodbye in a public place.
There won’t be any stolen moments under the warm comforter on his bed, the feel of his skin sliding against mine, my hands in his hair, his breath hot on my neck.
It’s hard enough to leave Nick now, when he’s tired after a full day, but to leave morning Nick?
With his lazy, barely awake smile, and his messy hair, and his extra-crinkly eyes. I’ll miss all of it.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up in my bed, in my apartment, in the city. Alone. “Nick …” I shake my head. I want to throw myself at him and tell him how badly I want to stay. But it would hurt him, and I can’t do that.
He has to know how I feel, though. Because his hands frame my face with such care. He touches me the way he plays piano, with intention, with passion, wanting to get lost in me the same way he gets lost in his music. “June.”
The rawness of his voice, and the reverence of his hands, is too much, too close, too deep. And the words I’ve held in check for far longer than I care to admit come spilling out. “I love you.”
Nick freezes, his whole body—pressed against me—turns rigid. “You love me?”
“Nick, I love you so freaking much it’s driving me crazy. I’ve never felt anything more wonderful or scary in my life.”
“What are you scared of? Me?” His eyes widen, pinching tight at the corners.
“Never.” I trace his brows with the pads of my fingers. “I’m only scared to lose you.”
“You’ll never lose me, June. I won’t let go. I can’t. Because I?—”
I silence him with a kiss, pressing my mouth to his, hard. My tongue darts out, licking the seam of his lips, and he groans. It rumbles up his throat and vibrates against my fingers.
“Don’t say it back,” I pant against his cheek, running my lips across his stubble.
“Why not?” His voice is a gravelly whisper, threadbare with need.
“Because I needed to say it first, before my audition. Because I need you to know that no matter what happens tomorrow, I love you.” My breath hitches as my throat closes, but I push through. “Because if you say it back to me right now, I won’t be able to walk away from you. Ever.”
His hand spears into my hair, the other squeezing the flesh at my hip until my core turns liquid. Why, why, why are we in public right now? His gaze darkens as he pins me with his eyes. “But you expect me to let you walk away after you say it?”
“You h-have to, Nick. That’s why I said long distance isn’t fair to you, because it has to be this way.” More tears slide down my cheeks.
He pulls me in, presses his face to the spot between my neck and shoulder, inhaling hard as his fingers curl around the back of my head and my hip.
“Okay,” he says against my skin. “Okay. I know this is hard for you. I’m sorry.
And I won’t say it, but I hope you feel it.
I hope you feel it on the bus tonight, and in the audition tomorrow. ”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He trails his lips up the column of my throat to my ear. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“But I am.” I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only makes it worse, my senses narrowing to all the places we touch. “I’m not easy to love.”
“June—”
“Don’t.” I slip my hands to his chest. “It’s okay. I know what I am. I don’t want what I’m supposed to want, what women my age are expected to want.”
“You know I don’t care about any of that.”
“But, don’t you see? I’m the one tearing us apart, leaving. I can’t let you comfort me when I’ve done this to myself, to us. You deserve a partner as strong and selfless as you, and I’ll do everything to be that for you.”
“Don’t say that, angel. You’re not tearing us apart. God, June, I can’t—I have to tell you?—”
“You said you wouldn’t say it.”
“No, I …” His eyes waver between mine until he nods at whatever he sees in my face. “It’s not about who deserves what. Love doesn’t work that way.”
I smile, and though it wobbles, it stays mostly in place. Nick senses what I need and stops pushing. He stood against the torrent of my desperation, a stoic wall, keeping it from flooding out of me. “Okay,” I sigh, hugging him once more. Like that’ll ever be enough.
“Text me when you get to New York. And when you get back to your apartment safely,” he says, and pauses for a moment before continuing, “And after your audition, too. You know what? Just a constant stream of texts.”
“Better yet, voice notes.”
“Yes. Just leave me hour-long voice notes.” He laughs.
I kiss him one more time, not the way I want to, but I need to feel his lips against mine. “Bye, Nick.”
“Bye, angel.”
He walks me to the bus, puts my luggage in the storage area, and presses his lips to my temple as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
I walk on numb feet up the coach bus steps and settle into a seat, frigid yet stale air blasting out of the vent above me. Your career, you’re doing this for your career .
I need to work, to pay the bills. This is the right choice for that. Helen said it’d be hard getting work in straight theatre. And with Nat being gone, I don’t even know if her show is happening. But I know touring. I’ve lived on tour for years. What’s one more?
We pull out of the station, the streetlights of Sadlersburg receding as the wheels hiss and bump beneath me. And even though it’s carrying me home to the city I love … I can’t help but worry I left my real home behind.
I rub my eyes, not worrying about makeup because I’ve cried it off by now. This is exhaustion talking. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up in my own bed—not the horrible paper-thin one at Kinney Run—fresh-faced and ready to audition.
I hope.