“Yeah,” said Ren, who always seemed to have an answer. “You do it because you love it, and you’re fucking great at it. Better than anyone I’ve ever seen on stage, and I’m not just saying that. Stevie. Come on. What are you so scared of?”
Stevie shook her head, looked away. Ren’s question had infinite answers, everything from the mundane to existential. Failing. Being alone. Navigating the New York subway system. Running out of money. Auditioning and auditioning and auditioning with no callbacks. Letting Dr. Calloway down. Acting on stage next to a legitimately famous actor and making a fool of herself. Rats. Not being able to afford her medication.
You name it, Stevie was probably scared of it.
And then there was—
“Is this about Iris?” Ren asked.
Stevie’s head snapped up. “What?”
“It is, isn’t it? At least partly.”
“It’s not—”
“I’ve seen you, Stevie. Both of you. You’re totally caught up with this woman, which, fine. Not exactly what I had in mind when I suggested you needed a few hot hookups to wash Adri out of your system, but fine. I’m happy for you. She’s nice and I can tell she’s pretty bonkers for you too.”
A tiny smile settled on Stevie’s mouth—a smile Ren absolutely noticed, because they rolled their eyes.
“But tell me you’re not turning down this life-changing, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a girl?” Ren said. “Tell me that is not what’s happening.”
Stevie rubbed her temples, didn’t look at Ren. “Look, I haven’t given Dr. Calloway my answer yet because . . .” She trailed off, because she didn’t know how to finish that sentence, and they both knew it. Fear, sure. But there were a thousand other factors here, factors Stevie didn’t know how to tackle.
“What does Iris say about it?” Ren asked.
Stevie’s mouth hung open for a split second before she snapped it closed.
Ren’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. You haven’t told her. Have you?”
Stevie scrubbed a hand down her face.
“I don’t believe this,” Ren said. They took a deep breath through their nose. “Okay. I’m just going to say it, Stevie. You’re not going to like it, but here it is—my tough love. You ready?”
Stevie folded her arms, looked down at the floor.
“Okay,” Ren said. “Here we go. You’ve spent the last ten years ordering your life around Adri Euler.”
“I have not—”
Ren held up a hand. “Let me get this out. Then you can avoid me all you want.”
Stevie pressed her mouth closed, eyes already starting to sting.
“You have spent the last ten years ordering your life around Adri Euler,” Ren said again, their voice quiet and shaky. “You followed her around, did whatever she asked, and I get it. She was your first love, and she’s a strong personality. Fine. But you know what? When you two broke up, I was relieved. I love you both, but you’re toxic together, and I was glad she finally had the guts to end it, because I worried you never would.”
Stevie frowned, her chest tightening at Ren’s lack of faith. Still, she couldn’t really deny it. She knew Ren was right—Stevie hadn’t been able to see Adri clearly for a long time.
“Then she wrapped you up in this play again, and it pissed me off to no end,” Ren said. “But then Iris came along. And I thought, hey, maybe she’ll be good for Stevie. A new start. A fresh perspective. But you’re just back to exactly where you were with Adri.”
“Iris is not Adri,” Stevie said. “I get what you’re saying, Ren. I do. Adri was controlling. I see that now, okay? I let her call the shots, yeah, but Iris is not like that. She gives me control. She talks to me, works through my anxiety with me. She’s not like Adri at all.”
Ren nodded. “Okay. Fair enough.”
Stevie exhaled, hoping this whole horrible conversation was coming to an end. But then Ren leaned their forearms on the bar, head tilted and that scary, no-bullshit expression in their eyes.
“But if all that’s true,” they said, “if you’re not wrapping your entire life and self-worth around a woman you’re clearly in love with, why haven’t you told her about New York?”
Stevie stared at her friend. Dozens of excuses filled her mind—she hadn’t had time to tell Iris, hadn’t decided what she wanted to do, hadn’t wanted to ruin their dates—but deep down inside, she knew the real answer.
She was scared.
Scared Iris would tell her to go . . . and scared Iris would ask her not to.
Ren just nodded, took a deep breath. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Yeah,” Stevie said. “All right.”
“Hey,” Ren said, reaching over the bar and grabbing Stevie’s hand. “I love you. You know that, right?”
Stevie could only bob her head, tears close to breaking free as Ren walked out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
IRIS KELLY HAD become her own worst nightmare.
Since the night of the fair over a month ago, Iris couldn’t stop thinking about a curly-haired lesbian. She couldn’t stop texting that curly-haired lesbian that she missed her. And she couldn’t stop constantly fucking grinning when she and the curly-haired lesbian were together.
Barely forty days into her and Stevie’s official and very real dating relationship, and Iris was already a complete disaster.
Her friends, of course, loved it. Claire especially. Iris had deigned to go on several octuple dates with everyone, Simon and Emery included, and she had to admit it was nice having a hand to hold. Not just any hand though—Stevie’s hand was soft, and a little calloused from her work at Bitch’s Brew, and fit inside hers perfectly.
She’d even told her parents about Stevie, though she refused to let them meet her until her book launch for Until We Meet Again at River Wild in October. At least there, they’d be surrounded by her friends, making it nearly impossible for Maeve to show Stevie all of Iris’s baby pictures she’d undoubtedly bring with her and drop endless hints about rings and wedding dresses.
Despite all of this disgusting romantic bliss, every now and then, Iris would have a flash of a memory—Jillian or Grant or some asshole from college. She’d lock up, freak out for a few seconds, but fuck if Stevie Scott wasn’t an expert in calming her down. All the woman had to do was look at Iris and know, then take her into her arms and start swaying to some unheard slow song. They’d danced everywhere by now—restaurants, bowling alleys, grocery stores, the Urgent Care center in Bright Falls when Iris woke up one morning at the end of July with a fever and a sore throat.
They’d even danced on stage, in the middle of a live performance of Much Ado. They were on the scene where Benedick and Beatrice confess they love each other, and one night last week, Stevie had really played the scene up, taking Iris in her arms and circling her across the stage while all but yelling, “By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me!”
Iris had laughed, kissed Stevie right there on stage, whispering, “Do not swear and eat it” against her mouth. The audience had fucking loved it, and so had Iris. Stevie was magnetic on stage, pure magic, and Iris couldn’t take her eyes off of her, even as she waited in the wings, watching a scene that didn’t feature Beatrice at all.
The play was going well, a nearly packed house every performance since they opened at the beginning of August. Now, as the weather grew cooler and cooler and they neared the end of the show’s run, getting ready for closing night and the fundraiser dinner and auction to follow, Iris was completely exhausted. This was tough work, acting in a show four times a week for a month, and she was wrapping up her agent’s edits on her second book in her free time as well. Still, it was a good tired, a productive one, and Iris felt a pang of sadness about her time at the Empress ending.
“It doesn’t have to end, you know,” Stevie said now, wrapping her arms around Iris and kissing the back of her neck. They were in Stevie’s bed, the morning of the last show, and Iris laughed.
“Right,” she said. “Even if I did have time to do another play, working under your ex isn’t exactly my dream scenario.”