by Cynthia Hand
I feel my shoulders relax. I’m home.
“Break a leg, Cass,” Bastian says, giving me a quick hug. “Only don’t, really, because that would ruin our performance.”
“Break a leg,” I whisper.
“See you in a minute, Cindy,” he says to Nyla, back to being Cinderella’s Prince. He disappears into the wings.
I stare after him, smiling faintly.
“Are you ever going to go out with Bastian?” Nyla asks.
I frown at her. Blush. “Um, well . . . I’ve been kind of preoccupied,” I point out.
“True. But now you’re not preoccupied,” she says innocently. “Now you’re free.”
She’s right. Now my mom’s going to be okay. Now my life doesn’t seem like I’m wandering through the fun house at the county fair. Now I can actually focus on me. I can have a normal life. I can have (gulp) a boyfriend. And I happen to know the perfect boy.
“I’m just saying, maybe you should think about asking him out. . . .” Nyla rolls her head to one side, stretching, and then the other.
“Okay, fine.” I say like this would be a chore, but now I’m definitely thinking about it. I help Nyla with the kerchief that’s over her hair, making sure it’s pinned down tight, then turn around for her to tie the back of my apron into a neat bow.
The music starts. We exchange glances.
“Here we go,” Nyla says.
Here we go.
34
That night, the last night of Into the Woods at Bonneville High School, feels like the first night of the rest of my life. I sing my heart out. I make people laugh. I make people cry. I soar to the stars and back, all in the space of three hours, and when the three hours are done and I’m standing in front of the cheering audience, my parents come into sharp focus. My mother, smiling and crying, my dad, on his feet and clapping so hard it must be hurting his hands. And I am happy, as happy as I’ve ever been, and I think, finally, that Mom was right about the universe.
After we’ve taken our final bows and the curtain has closed, we go out into the hall, where our friends and family are waiting to congratulate us in person. Nyla’s parents are there, too, along with her brother and two sisters, all dressed up and looking so proud. They sweep Nyla into one giant embrace, and then off they all go in a noisy crowd.
I locate Mom at the end of the hall, sitting on a bench by the gymnasium. She stands up to hug me. She’s still crying, dabbing at her mascara. It’s so great to see her wearing mascara, even if it’s smeared.
“That was beautiful,” she gasps from behind her mask. “I’m so glad I got to see it.”
She’s wearing gloves, too. The doctors are being nice, letting her come out tonight, but they’re not messing around. I squeeze her hand three times through the latex. “Me too.”
“You were simply amazing, Boo.” Dad gives me a bouquet of a dozen pink roses from Uncle Pete’s shop, but Uncle Pete came to the show on opening night. And Grandma came for Friday night. And Dad’s parents drove up from Oregon last weekend. Everybody showed up to support me—and to see Mom. It was nice.
Dad sighs wistfully. “I remember when I was your prince.” Because when I was like four or five years old, my parents used to do plays with me, like Snow White or The Little Mermaid or whatever other movie I’d been watching. Dad always played the prince. Mom was the witch, because somebody had to be the villain. I think she secretly loved it. And I obviously had to be the heroine of the story.
“You’re still my prince,” I tell Dad now, and he grins goofily.
The rush of the evening is starting to fade. The electricity’s dimming. The actors are going back into the dressing rooms to take off their makeup and their costumes and resume life in the real world. But I don’t want to return to earth yet.
Speaking of princes, I spot Bastian slipping toward the side door.
“Bastian!” I call, lifting my hand up like he wouldn’t otherwise see me. “Bastian, wait. Come meet my mom.”
He ambles over. “Hi, Cass’s mom! I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Mom laughs.
“And it’s good to see you again, sir,” he says to Dad.
“Great show. The agony songs were hilarious!” Dad claps him on the back. “I love that the two princes are the princes from every fairy tale. It’s so twisted.”
“And the wolf song was so good, too,” Mom adds. “You’ve got some voice there, don’t you?”
“Thanks so much,” he says a bit shyly, which I think is funny.
“What about your parents?” I ask, looking around. “Were they here tonight, or did they come earlier?” I don’t remember him ever mentioning that his parents were in the house for any of our other shows.
He shakes his head. “My parents like those big booming musicals from the olden days. Annie Get Your Gun. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Meet me in St. Louis,” he sings, then sighs. “They’d be okay with the first act of Into the Woods, the one where everyone is happily ever after, but the second act, when happily ever after falls apart—” He grimaces and shakes him head. “Plus I play a roving adulterous prince and a sexy wolf. They wouldn’t understand. It’s for the best, them not coming.”
“Right.” I wonder again if Bastian is Mormon. Or if his parents are.
“I like act one better, too, though,” Mom muses. “Act two is kind of dark.”
“Anyway, great show tonight, Cass. Your daughter is a rock star,” Bastian tells my parents. “I should—” He looks toward the door.
“Do you have somewhere you have to be?” Usually, there’s a cast party on closing night, but this time Mama Jo decided we’d combine it with a strike-the-set party tomorrow afternoon.
“No,” Bastian says. “Not really. But I should—”
“Do you want to get pie with us?” I ask. “We could go to Perkins. They’re open all night.”
“Well, you know I loathe pie,” he drawls with a half smile.
My mom’s eyes widen. “Who hates pie?”
“He’s kidding. He loves pie,” I say. “Chocolate cream pie, if I remember correctly.”
“Guilty as charged,” Bastian says.
“Stay where you are,” I say, moving backward toward the dressing rooms. “I’ll meet you right here in five minutes.”
I’ve never gotten dressed so fast in my life. When I return to the hallway, my parents and Bastian are deep in a conversation about the best books to get fifth-grade boys into reading, and Mom’s smiling up at him from behind her mask, stars in her eyes, and Dad, too, is clearly getting a little crush on Bastian himself, I can tell. Not that I can blame them.
We walk out together to the parking lot.
“I’ll ride with you?” I ask Bastian.
“Actually,” Mom says slowly, “I have to get back to the hospital.”
“But the hospital’s right by Perkins,” I point out.
“Yes, but I’m the Cinderella now,” she says. “The ball is over, and midnight has struck, and I’d better get back before I turn into a pumpkin.”
Dad nods. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Oh.” I frown and turn to Bastian. “Sorry. I guess I can’t have pie.”
“Oh, no, you two should go,” Mom says. “Don’t let me spoil the evening. You should celebrate your pitch-perfect performance to end this show you’ve worked so hard on. Go.” She nudges Dad, and he gives me a twenty-dollar bill.
“But—”
“Can you drive her home, then?” Dad asks.
“Sure,” Bastian says. “I’ll get her home.”
Off go my parents. This seems suspiciously like they have set me up on a date, but it’s with Bastian, so . . .
I smile. “All righty, then. Here we go.”
“So tell me the truth: Are you a Mormon?” I ask him later.
He pretends to choke on his bite of pie. “You think I’m Mormon?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. You’re still kind of a mystery to me. Conservative parents. Neve
r kissed a girl before you kissed me. Lover of all things musical theater. . . .”
“I’m not Mormon,” he says with a laugh. “My parents aren’t, either. They’re just a little traditional about the world.”
“I see. Well, parents will be that way, I guess.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Your parents seem great.”
“They are great.”
He sighs. “I think you’re great, too.”
I’m blushing. God. It’s so bizarre that almost every night for the last three weeks or so, I’ve been kissing this guy, getting carried off by him, rolling around with him, literally, but it’s tonight that feels like a kind of beginning. Maybe because it’s the first time we’ve actually been alone together.
Thank you, universe, I think.
“I’m so glad I met you.” He lifts his cup of coffee. “To us.”
“To us.”
We clink and drink. He gives a little moan at how good his coffee is. “I couldn’t survive without coffee. How could you have ever thought I was Mormon?”
I don’t know. I really don’t know.
He drives me home. He’s quiet on the way, like he has something on his mind. I guess I can’t blame him. I have something on my mind, too.
I want to tell him that I like him. That I’ve always liked him. That he’s my version of the perfect boy. I want to ask him on another date, a real date where he picks me up and we go see a movie or something.
We pull up to my house. The windows are dark. My dad’s not home from the hospital yet.
Bastian stares out the windshield. “I didn’t tell you when I was here before, but . . .” He turns to me, smiles, and my breath catches. “I love your house. It’s got character.”
Oh. My house. “The blue window boxes were my idea, but the rest is my mother. She’s the decorator in the family.”
“I’m so happy for you, that she got a new heart.”
“She deserved it.” I smile. “She’s the best.”
“Right. But I mean I’m happy for you. There were some days when you looked so sad at school and rehearsal. And other days where you seemed . . .”
“Pissed off?” I answer for him.
He nods. “You were a cute pissed off, but yeah. And then there was the fight with Nyla.”
My stomach gets all twisty. “I wasn’t myself that day. You believe that, right?”
“Yeah, you were going through something,” he says so easily I could sing. “Everybody freaks out from time to time, don’t they? But now things are fine again with Nyla, right? You two are back to being like peas in a pod. Or, like, joined at the hip. Birds of a feather.”
“Did Nyla ever say anything about our fight?” I wonder if she told him about the other thing I said to her that day. The racist thing. I don’t know if I could look him in the eye if he knew.
“She said you were having a bad day because your mom was sick, and we all have bad days.”
Because Nyla really is the best bestie.
“Anyway,” he says.
“Anyway.” I wonder if he’ll lean over now and kiss me. A real kiss this time, with no one else gawking at us. I wet my lips nervously.
“I better get going,” Bastian says. “I have a pretty strict curfew, and I desperately need to sleep. We’ve got to take down the set tomorrow.”
He walks me to the door. We stand for a minute under the porch light. Then he says, “Good night, fair maiden!” in the prince voice and drops into a courtly bow.
I giggle and attempt a curtsy. “See you tomorrow. Good night.”
That’s when I lunge forward and press my lips to his.
Bastian steps back, his dark eyes wide. “Whoa. What was that?”
“Me, trying to be brave,” I explain. “Make the first move. Own my feelings.”
“Yeah, but Cass—”
“I like you,” I say finally. “Hasn’t that been obvious? I think I’ve been pretty obvious. I like you so much.”
He frowns. “Yes. I like you, too, but . . .”
He’s upset for some reason. I don’t know what the problem could be.
“Cass,” he groans. “Oh, Cass.”
“Bastian.” My stomach suddenly feels like it’s on the sidewalk.
He doesn’t like me back.
“Is it Nyla?” I ask hoarsely.
“Nyla? What?”
“Are you in love with Nyla? I would understand if you were. I know you two are close now. I mean, Nyla’s beautiful and talented and smart.”
He shakes his head like he’s trying to wake himself up from a bad dream. “Yeah, Nyla’s great—I love Nyla—but Cass . . .”
He loves Nyla. God. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have— I should—”
“I’m gay,” he says.
I’m floored. “Huh?”
He drags a hand through his hair. “I thought you knew. Nyla knows, doesn’t she?”
“No, Nyla doesn’t know you’re gay,” I gasp. “How would we know?”
“Well, doesn’t everybody know about . . . and I told Alice months ago. I thought she would have . . .” He shrugs. “I thought you knew.”
“But you’ve been flirting with me.”
He looks stricken. “Oh my God. That’s how I make friends, Cass. That’s not how I flirt. I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were—”
“But you said I have great lips.”
“Because you do,” he says. “I’m gay. I’m not blind.”
“But you kept staring at me when you didn’t think I was looking. Like you were crushing on me.”
“You reminded me of someone I know,” he says.
“Oh.” I stagger back a few steps. “Oh . . . boy. I’m a total fool.”
He shakes his head urgently. “You’re not. You’re brilliant. You’re like the most amazing girl I’ve ever met. If I liked girls, you’d be the perfect girl for me.”
I give him a sharp look.
“Okay, I get that that’s not helping.” He holds his hands out like he’s trying to give me some invisible something that will make this all less humiliating. “What can I do?”
“I think I need to . . .” I open the door to my house and stiffly step inside. “Good night, Bastian.”
“Good night, Cass.”
“I’ll see you . . . tomorrow.” Oh flip, how can I possibly see him tomorrow?
“Okay. Tomorrow. We’ll talk then, right?”
“Good night.” I slam the door and lean against it for a minute. “I’m a fool.”
“You’re not a fool,” he says through the door.
“Go away, Bastian!” I yell.
“I’m going away now!”
I fumble for my phone. I can’t call Nyla fast enough.
I unlock my phone, and the first thing I see is the notification for a missed call. A voicemail in my inbox from a number labeled IDAHO HEALTH AND WELF— And then it’s like my world freezes for a second. Everything stops.
I click on the message.
“Hello,” the lady’s cheerful voice says into my ear. “This is Linda, calling from the Bureau of Vital Records and Health Statistics regarding your request to receive any letter that might have been written to you in the Birth Mother Correspondence Program. Well, we’ve got some letters for you. We’ll need you to come and pick them up in person. Please bring two forms of identification—your driver’s license and social security card would do. Our office hours this week are Monday through Friday, eight a.m. to five p.m. Call me if you have any questions, but I hope to see you soon.”
All thoughts of Bastian and my utter humiliation fade in an instant. I put the phone down, then pick it up and listen to the message one more time.
“Wait,” I say to my empty house. “Letters, as in more than one?”
Then I call Nyla for an entirely different reason than I was going to sixty seconds ago.
“Ny, wake up,” I say when she answers.
“What’s happening?” she asks blearily. “Hey, did you leave ton
ight with Bastian? Your mom said something yesterday about how she might try to use her mom powers or the universe or something.”
“Bastian’s gay. But I don’t care about that.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve got bigger stuff to deal with. As usual.” My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop the phone.
“Bigger stuff than Bastian being gay?”
“I need you,” I gasp. “Can you come over now?”
Dear X,
I keep telling myself that at some point I’m going to stop writing these letters. You know all about me by now. You’re probably even sick of me. I can imagine you opening this one thinking, God, just give birth to me already! Get it over with! Stop talking!
Sorry, X.
Of course it’s possible that in the next few days all that I’ll be capable of writing is UGHHHHHHHHHHHH.
It’s been a rough day.
Which brings me back to why I am writing this particular letter. My dad came to visit me today. I was genuinely surprised when Melly knocked on my door and said he was waiting for me downstairs. He never wanted to really talk to me, ever, even when I lived with him. For a guy who’s supposed to make his living relating to people, he doesn’t know how to talk to them.
I went downstairs to the living room and there he was, sitting awkwardly on the couch, his hands folded in his lap.
“Hey, Dad,” I said a little shyly. “Long time, no see.”
He stared at my belly. “You look—”
“I know.”
He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe I could get myself in this situation. As if the thought of me having sex still shocked him to the core. “How are you feeling?” he managed.
I came right out with it. “Why are you here?”
He cleared his throat. “I wanted to see how you were.”
“You did? Why?”
“You’re my daughter.”
“Oh, okay. So why did you want to see me now? You weren’t so concerned before.”
“I’ve called,” he said.
“Once. In the five months I’ve been here.”
He looked down at his hands. “Evelyn and I are getting a divorce.”
