Chapter 16 Logan
LOGAN
Dress rehearsal starts next week, and we’re nowhere near having the stage ready.
The mechanical pieces still aren’t rolling on and off their marks properly.
My notepad with the set designer’s feedback has gone missing.
And now the HR controller is insisting that the new automated payroll system be in Excel with a safety measure and countermeasure process that has only led to payroll mistakes.
I’m convinced HR gets off on messing with us on purpose.
Earlier, Richie sent me a meme of a dog sitting in a chair in a room that’s on fire with the words This is fine. It captured what this entire show has felt like.
I slam my laptop shut, letting my mind take me back to Hazel’s birthday. It felt like we were in our own little world. Reality felt so far away. That’s how it’s always felt with Hazel, but maybe that’s because most of what we’ve experienced together has been surreal.
“You got a visitor,” Richie says behind me.
I run my hand down my face. “If it’s Frank’s team again, tell them we need our sidewalk today—”
“Okay, okay. You can have the sidewalk,” Hazel’s voice says behind me.
I spin around, tucking my pencil behind my ear. Despite everything that’s gone wrong already today, I can’t stop the ridiculous grin that forms every time I see her.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “We set up a temporary woodshop on the sidewalk when it gets too crowded in here. Sometimes it’s a battle with the other theater crews.”
“Geez,” Richie cuts in. “Can I get a smile like that every now and then? Hey, Joe had an idea for how we could get the sparklers to go off without catching fire.” He explains something involving way too much fireproofing spray.
After having started one fire already, I’m weary. “I don’t know if that’ll work.”
Richie looks surprised. “You got a different idea?”
“No.” It’s a shit answer, but it’s all I’ve got. I don’t know what else to do or try. Nothing seems to work. I fix one problem, and another pops up.
“Okayyy, well, take some time to think on it. I’m sure you’ve got a couple ideas somewhere in there,” Richie says, tapping on his own head.
He waves bye to Hazel. To everyone else backstage, he tells them to take thirty, and the place clears out.
Over his shoulder, he shouts to me, “Don’t forget, you owe me fifty bucks! ”
“Fantasy Soccer. I lost,” I update a confused Hazel.
“So that’s your best friend, huh?” Hazel says, watching Richie go.
I huff a laugh. “Is that what he said?”
“Among other things.” She holds up a bag with takeout boxes inside, along with a bundle of candy. “This is for you.”
Inside the container are a few slices of pizza and waffle fries. “You came all the way uptown to bring me lunch?”
“You mean dinner?” she asks.
“Is it that late?”
A flash of concern crosses Hazel’s features.
“You need to eat something,” she says, nodding to the food.
“I wanted to thank you for the other night. And for the cake you had sent to Sweet Escape on Wednesday. Everyone was confused by the Happy Day After Your Birthday written in icing. Didn’t stop them from eating it, though.
Gloria took the new order of champagne bottle gummies and lined the entire sides of the cake in them.
Emma was so mad.” She laughs. “But it’s more like this fake-mad act. We can’t really ever be mad at Gloria.”
I smile. It really seems like Hazel’s enjoying her time at the candy store.
“I’m glad you all liked it, but I didn’t do it so you would return the favor,” I say. “That’s not how this works.”
“How what works?”
“This.” I move my finger back and forth. “Us.”
“Us,” Hazel repeats, like she’s trying out how it sounds coming from her own mouth. “How exactly does ‘us’ work then?”
“We don’t need to repay each other,” I clarify. “I can do nice things for you, and that can be that. This isn’t transactional.”
“Well, then. Likewise,” she says, crossing her arms.
I pull her into a hug. “We’ll work on it. Also, hi.”
She unfolds her arms and wraps them around me, burying her face in my chest. She lingers longer than usual, refusing to break the hug first.
“The milkshake machine is still down,” she informs me.
“Figures,” I say on a sigh. “How’d your interview go?”
“I’m being moved forward to team interviews,” she says flatly, releasing me.
“That’s great news! Congrats.”
“Thanks,” she mumbles. She doesn’t say anything else about it.
“What about the pop-up? How was that?”
She brightens. “So great. Both days were pretty much nonstop,” she says.
“Now that the event’s behind us, I want to see how I can help with inventory management.
I’ve got ideas for processes that might help with allocation, replenishment, fulfillment…
Sweet Escape got a lot of coverage. Speaking of, we need to be more cautious about being seen together. ”
“Wasn’t that the point of the disguises? People don’t know what we look like.”
“But they know our names. So no more introductions. We can make up new names if we need to.”
I can’t tell if she’s being serious, so I play along. “I can go by Gan, and you can be Zel.”
Hazel’s mouth curls into a smile. “We just need to be careful.” She fills me in on Marlin and her near-miss with the magazine writer, which explains what prompted her texts. “Anyway, the event was a nice distraction from… everything.”
“I’m sure. Are you still thinking about—”
“Taking out a personal loan? Probably? I don’t know,” she says, looking around like she’s ready for a topic change. “So this looks like it’s coming together.”
“Don’t let appearances fool you.” I clench my jaw.
I walk her back to my office and set the takeout container on my desk. I offer her a slice of pizza, but she doesn’t want one.
I’m quieter than usual. We both are.
“You okay?” she asks. “I know you’ve got a lot to do. I can come by another time.”
“I always have time for you,” I rush out. “Unless you’re tired and need to go? You had work and an interview.”
Hazel leans against my desk. “I’ve still got a little left in the tank. So, tell me. What’s up?”
I wait a few long seconds before finally admitting, “I’m just trying to remain calm, I guess.”
I leave tomorrow for Maine, and I already know I’ll be putting Richie in a tough spot.
“Did something else happen?”
“It’s all fine,” I say. It comes out forced.
She nods slowly. “Well, that right there”—she points at the spot between my eyebrows—“tells me otherwise.”
I drag my hand over my face. “Better?”
She smooths out the lines on my skin. “Now it is. What are you working on?”
I grunt. “We have this new Excel payroll system, and I need to fill out the hours today, but the system’s messed up.”
“Oh, I can help you,” she offers.
“You know payroll processes?”
“I know Excel.”
I show her the problem on my laptop. She sits in my chair and starts typing.
“I do most of my data work in Excel,” she says a few minutes later. “It’s not ideal, but…” She turns my laptop to face me. “You should be able to plug in your crew’s hours in that cell.”
I exhale in relief. “Thank you. You’re a wizard.”
“Actually, I’d be a witch—”
As she says this, there’s a loud crashing noise out on the stage. It’s the faux antler chandelier from the dining room set.
Hazel jumps up and runs over to assess the damage. I’m close behind.
“Is this how bad it is still?” she asks.
“It would’ve been worse if someone had been under it.” If Richie had waited for me to let everyone go for the day, someone could’ve gotten seriously hurt.
She kneels and pokes the dull tip of a faux antler. “Should we try to save any of this?”
“It’s mostly wood. I’ll work with props to get a new one made.” I add the task to my growing to-do list. “That wasn’t my best work anyways.”
I grab a broom and a garbage bag and start sweeping as Hazel collects the larger pieces. “This is stressful. And dangerous,” she says, shaking her head.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say on instinct. I shrug like I’m trying to prove how relaxed I am, but it ends up looking like I’m trying to touch my shoulders to the tip of my ears.
“Actually, nothing about this seems okay. Like at all,” she says.
“This experience is going to make me stronger.”
Hazel shakes her head. “Don’t fortune cookie me. I don’t want to hear pithy, positive statements.”
“Depends on whose fortune it is. If it’s yours, there’s nothing pithy about it. If it’s mine, I’d cut myself off midsentence.”
“Talk to me,” she says gently. She takes the broom from me and lays it on the stage.
I release a breath and shake my head curtly. “I don’t want to complain. Maxwell said lucky people see the positive in bad things that happen. That’s what I’m doing. Hell, it’s what I do!”
“He also said lucky people don’t linger on those bad things.”
“I’m fine—”
“So don’t linger.” Hazel takes my face between her hands. “But can you at least acknowledge? You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.”
“Honesty is one of my favorite traits about you, Hazel. I like that you don’t sugarcoat things, but it’s not as easy for me as it is for you to just say how I really feel.
” I mirror her usual crossed-arm stance.
“I don’t want to bring you down, and I don’t want to feel bad.
” There’s a finality in my tone, but Hazel pushes past it.
“Down? That’s where I’ve been. Come hang out,” she says, sliding her hands across my chest, breaking my arms apart, and grabbing my hands. “If you did, what would you feel bad about?”
My core is tight as I say, “This is all just part of the process.”
“What would you feel bad about?” she repeats.
Hazel’s not giving up on this. She’s not giving up on me. I take in a full breath. If Hazel can acknowledge her birthday for me, I can do this for her.
“I feel bad about every single thing that’s gone wrong on this show,” I finally admit. “And people quitting out of nowhere. That’s been rough. Having two weeks until opening night and not having my shit together.” I hold up my cast. “Falling down the damn stairs. That hurt like hell.”