I nod, because what she’s saying makes perfect sense. And the realization that all the therapy in world isn’t going to help me unless I take the responsibility for helping myself is both terrifying and exhilarating.
She pats me on the arm. “Well, our time is up. I’ll see you in a few days. In the meantime, try not to be too hard on yourself, and please wish Ethan all the best for me.”
“I will. Thanks.”
When I step out into the waiting room, Ethan’s there. He closes the book he’s reading and stands.
After the roller coaster of emotions I’ve just experienced, I’m amazed at how happy I am to see him.
The way he looks at me makes me warm all over.
“Good session?”
I smile and go to him. “Pretty good. Watcha reading?”
He holds it up for me to see.
“The Art of Happiness?”
“It’s written by the Dalai Lama.”
“So just a light read, then.”
He shakes his head. “Not light, but definitely worth it.”
“Yeah? What does it say?”
He steps forward, his expression serious. “In a nutshell, it says ‘Make Cassie smile every day and tell her you love her even when she doesn’t want to hear it.’”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Excess emotion wells up.
He doesn’t help by wrapping his arms around me like he never wants to let go.
I don’t want to let go, either.
The thing is, if people were books, Ethan would be a bestseller. A sexy, intelligent, page-turner you’d find hard to put down, even after it reduced you to a sobbing mess.
TWENTY-ONE
ENCORE
Three Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
Senior Showcase
We wrap around each other like we’re all that’s holding each other to the earth. Adrenaline pumps through me, and even though snuggling with Ethan helps channel my nerves, I can’t get rid of them completely. Neither can he. This performance is too important.
A few nerves will do us good. Raise our energy. Keep us on point.
When the call comes to take our places, I pull back and look into his eyes. He strokes my face and looks back with love, but there are also flickers of something else.
Doubt?
Fear?
Both?
We head down to the stage, and the show begins. Our scene is first. Romeo and Juliet. Performing with him is so easy. We tap into our connection effortlessly. The scene is flawless, and after we take our bow, he leads me offstage and kisses me in triumph before running off to get changed.
The rest of the night passes in a blur. We do scenes and monologues, take our applause, and get changed into our next costumes. We see each other briefly backstage, but we’re focused on what we’re doing as we slip out of one character and step into another. Show our range. Impress the audience. It’s not just people filling those seats tonight, it’s representation and contracts, too. It’s our futures.
Ethan and I rise to the challenge. Despite our nerves, we both perform incredibly well.
The last scene of the night is Portrait with me and Connor. I’m confident and in the moment. Connor and I are on fire. The energy onstage crackles with realism, and it’s not until I take my bow that I see Ethan, stony-faced, in the wings. My smile drops. He hasn’t witnessed this scene before. I’d made sure of that.
After our fight a few days ago, I’d begged him not to watch it tonight.
Obviously he’s done listening to me.
I barely look at him as I exit the stage.
Present Day
New York City, New York
Graumann Theater
Opening Night
Every opening night is a mixture of excitement and fear, but this one … well, it’s even worse. I have to do my eyeliner three times because my hand is shaking so much, and when the production intern, Cody, knocks on the door to find out if I need anything, I just about jump out of my skin.
“You okay, Miss Taylor?” he asks.
“Yeah, fine.”
“You’re ready early.”
“Yeah, well, I have a lot of panicking to do. I need to allow enough time to fit it all in.”
“You don’t need to panic. You’re amazing. The show’s fantastic.”
“Yes, but every Broadway reviewer worth their salt is here tonight. The asshole from the New York Times is out there, for God’s sake, and he makes a habit out of not liking things just to piss people off.”
“Well, that’s just wrong.”
“Tell me about it. He’s already done a piece about how skeptical he is about this play. He doesn’t like the script, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like Ethan and me.”
“Has he met you? Seen you perform?”
“No, Cody. He’s a reviewer. He doesn’t have to see something to know he doesn’t like it.”
I pull a brush through my hair. “How’s Ethan doing?”
“Well, he vomited.”
“How many times?”
“Three. Now he’s lying down. Do you need me to get you anything?”
“Valium, a bottle of bourbon, and about ten pounds of self-confidence.”
“I’m predicting that if I get you the bourbon, the self-confidence will take care of itself.”
I turn to him. “Holt’s been telling you stories about me being drunk again, hasn’t he?”
“Just a few. I’m impressed.”
“Let me just say this: That time in Martha’s Vineyard? Everyone was half naked. Not just me.”