On the opening night of Uncle Vanya, she’d practically blacked out from adrenaline. And watching the Empty Chair dailies back in the editing room, she barely recognized herself. Nora gave her one glowing compliment after another to that effect as they sipped their lattes, and Grey allowed herself to swell with pride rather than deflecting it.
They chatted about Jeff and Nora’s recent trip to visit her family in Thailand, Grey’s struggles and victories wrangling Chekhov night after night, and possible festival submissions for The Empty Chair once it was completed. Grey drained her latte to dregs and excused herself to use the bathroom. When she returned, the mirth was gone from Nora’s face.
“What’s up?” Grey asked, easing back into the booth. Nora looked down at her mug, then fixed her with an intense look.
“Has he been in touch with you at all?”
Grey’s stomach did a flip, even without Nora mentioning Ethan’s name. They hadn’t discussed him in months.
“No, why?”
“He’s here.”
Grey whipped her head toward the door. Nora chuckled, her grave demeanor dissipating.
“Not here here. In New York, I mean. I wasn’t sure if you knew yet. I think…I think he might be here to see you.”
Grey felt light-headed. She clutched her empty mug with both hands, her pulse racing in her ears.
“Oh.” A thousand questions ran through her mind, but she couldn’t manage anything beyond that lone syllable. Just when she thought she was starting to get over him, the mere mention of the shadow of a possibility that he might want to see her was enough to knock her sideways, the pain as fresh and raw as the day she’d left him.
“Is that…something you would want?” Nora held up her hands as if anticipating Grey’s response. “I’m not asking as his messenger, I’m not interested in getting between you two. I’m asking as your friend.”
Grey took her time considering it. She ran her finger around the rim of her empty mug.
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, of course. Of course I want to see him. The question isn’t whether I want to, it’s whether I should.”
“Why shouldn’t you?” Nora’s voice was neutral.
“Because I haven’t heard a fucking word from him in almost a year and a half?” Grey felt her voice rising with emotion against her will. She took a deep breath and collected herself. “Because I’ve been working my ass off trying to move on. If I see him…I’ll be right back where I started. It’ll mess with my head too much. It’s not worth it.”
Nora said nothing, just kept her eyes on Grey’s face. Grey turned and stared out the window. When she spoke again, her throat felt tight and irritated.
“You know what the worst part is? I don’t think it was even about me. Our relationship. I could’ve been anyone. He was like…like this starving lion, and I was just the first gazelle to wander into his path.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know if he ever really loved me. I was just something else to be addicted to. To lose himself in. Postpone the midlife crisis a little longer, or whatever.” She blinked rapidly, looking down at the table.
Nora took a deep breath, seeming to mull over Grey’s words carefully.
“I know it’s tempting to try to diminish what you two had to make it hurt less. But I’ve gotten to know you both pretty well by now, and—I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but, you’re no helpless gazelle.”
Grey laughed, a half-choked sob. Nora continued. “Obviously, I don’t know the ins and outs of your relationship. But regardless of how it started, it looked pretty goddamn real to me. It’s okay to mourn it however feels right for you, whether that means seeing him now or not.”
Grey dabbed her napkin at the corners of her eyes. She laughed again, a hysterical gasp bubbling up through her chest. “I guess the fact that I’m getting this worked up when I haven’t even heard from him yet is a sign that we still have some unfinished business to work through.”
Nora smiled sympathetically, tilting back her mug to catch the last drops of her latte.
“Whatever you decide to do, just remember: don’t underestimate yourself. You’re very powerful. It’s easy to let him steamroll you—by ‘you’ I mean me, too. Everyone. He’s used to the universe bending over backward to give him whatever he wants. But I know part of why he loves you is you’ve never been afraid to say no to him.”
They sat there chatting for a few more minutes before going their separate ways, but all Grey heard echoing in her head was: that’s why he loves you.
Not loved.
Loves.
THOUGH GREY WAS GRATEFUL TO Nora for giving her the heads-up that Ethan was in town, now she couldn’t walk down the street without doing a double take at every tall, dark-haired man she passed. Her heart leapt every time her phone buzzed. She felt resentment building toward him for putting her in this position, in perpetual anticipation, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Two nights after her coffee date with Nora, it did.
The production of Uncle Vanya was in a small theater in the round, the audience crowding the actors on all sides. Shortly after Grey’s first entrance, she spotted him; not in the front row, but two or three rows back. When she met his eyes, it felt like she had been struck by lightning.
He was leaning forward in his seat, arms resting on his knees, staring at her with intense concentration. The dimmed lights blurred his features somewhat, but from the way he drew her focus, the lighting designer might as well have swung the spotlight right to him. She felt naked under his gaze, despite her smothering layers of nineteenth-century clothing, and struggled in vain to regain her composure.
Grey moved through the first two acts in a haze, the lines and blocking thankfully second nature to her by now. When she returned to her dressing room at intermission, he had already texted her. Small mercies.
Sorry
didn’t know I would be so close I didn’t want to distract u can I see u after
?
Whether or not he’d become a whole new man since the last time she’d seen him, his texting style certainly hadn’t changed. Her fingers flew over the screen.
it’s okay
yeah, come to the stage door. i’ll put you on the list.
* * *
—
ETHAN TOOK A deep breath and rapped on Grey’s dressing room door.
“Come in,” she called from inside, her voice muffled.
When he pushed the door open, she was facing away from him, still in costume, wiping off her stage makeup. She met his eyes through the mirror and paused.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Neither of them said anything for a beat. She pulled another makeup wipe out of the pack and swiped it across her eyelid.
“You can come all the way in, if you want.”
He cleared his throat and shut the door behind him.
“You, um. That was incredible. You were.”
She smiled a little, looking down at the counter.
“Thanks.”
She pulled the pins out of her complicated updo and unwound her hair. It was longer than he remembered, almost reaching her waist. He couldn’t decide if it made her look more like a princess from a fairy tale or the jealous enchantress who would lock the princess in a tower. From the way the movement hypnotized him, coupled with the dangerous look in her eyes, he was leaning toward enchantress.
She stood up, keeping her back to him, and swept her curtain of hair forward over her shoulder.
“Can you unbutton me? These costumes are impossible.”
His heart hammered in his chest. She turned her head and met his eyes again, challenging this time. He stepped forward and fumbled with the seemingly hundreds of tiny pearl buttons fastening the back of her blouse. Between the familiar scent of sweat on her skin mixed with her shampoo, and the curve of her neck bared inches from his mouth, it was a miracle that he was able to unbutton a single one.
When he was finished, she looked up at him pointedly, and he turned around as she disrobed.
Her whole aura was different than he remembered; her, but not her. Aloof. Icy. Maybe she was still shaking off lingering traces of her character. Maybe she’d changed completely since he’d last seen her. Maybe she just had her guard up around him. He couldn’t blame her for that last one.