The curtain goes up. I peer into the audience, and even though it’s dark, I feel my breath catch at the sheer number of people I can see. But I keep looking until I find them. Randall, Mom, Dad, and Rose sitting in the second row. Dad holds Rose’s hand, but he leans into Mom’s shoulder to whisper in her ear. I watch her smile at whatever he said while Courtney, the narrator, finds her mark.
“Two households, both alike in dignity . . .” I hear her begin.
* * *
I go on for my first scene with Romeo and realize it’s the first time I’ve spoken to Tyler since Friday night. We exchange amorous glances across the Capulet Manor set, and I linger downstage before he strides to me and takes my hand. Waiting under the lights, I feel none of the revulsion I do for Tyler himself.
Because I’m not watching Tyler right now. I’m watching Romeo, and I’m Juliet.
He kisses my hand, and I snatch it away, playing the hard-to-get Juliet I’ve come to love. I exchange hushed dialogue with Nurse Jenna before I exit stage left for the end of Act I. Anthony’s by the curtain, his eyes fixed on his mark, his lips moving imperceptibly. I put a hand on his shoulder and whisper, “Juilliard’s going to love you.” I catch his slight smile in the uneven backstage lighting.
In the wings, I watch a couple of freshmen diligently organizing the prop table. There’s the dagger, the apothecary’s bottles of poison, Owen’s prayer book. The stage crew silently wheels the balcony set into position behind the curtains, and I catch a glimpse of Andrew Mehta and Bridget Molloy standing next to each other watching the narrator on stage, their hands inconspicuously entwined. I smile to myself. I guess Romeo and Juliet gets to everyone.
I turn and find Owen, who’s helping Jenna with a quick-change from nurse to noblewoman near the wings stage right. And because I’m flushed from the Capulet Manor scene, because he’s my boyfriend, because I’m ridiculously happy about that, because it’s borderline pathetic how much I want to kiss him right now, I can’t keep my eyes off him. He looks up, and he returns an unabashedly huge grin. We’re worse than Romeo and Juliet.
Not taking my eyes off him, I walk backward, knowing I only have a minute to climb the stairs to the top of the balcony set. Mercutio and Benvolio are nearing the final lines of their scene on stage—
There’s an enormous crash.
I whirl, restraining myself in the middle of the show from yelling at whoever’s fault it was. I find Tyler in a heap on the floor, the wooden trellis in splinters surrounding him. Everyone’s frozen, every head turned in our direction. Tyler begins to brush himself off, looking dazed if unhurt, when Bridget rushes over, her face ashen.
“Are—are you okay?” she stutters, clearly fearing the lead has just broken his leg. “What happened?”
“I was practicing the jump, and it just . . . collapsed.” Tyler gestures to the trellis. His eyes clear, and a sudden fury fills them. He rounds on the stagehand nearest to him. “What the hell?” he hisses in the loudest whisper he can.
“It wasn’t secured properly,” Andrew Mehta offers weakly.
“Yeah, no shit.” Tyler fixes his glare on Andrew in the dark. “What I want to know is whose fault it was.”
“Tyler,” I say sharply, stepping in to shield Andrew. “We don’t have time for this. Anthony’s on the final lines of the scene.”
“If we don’t have the trellis, we don’t have the scene. I have to stop the show until we can fix it,” Bridget murmurs in exasperation. She glances over her shoulder. “Where’s Will? He’s our only carpenter.”
Nobody says anything. It’s Andrew who finally speaks up. “He, um, left. He said he had to call Alyssa.”
Bridget lets out a frustrated groan and begins muttering feverishly into her headset. It’s exactly like Will, I realize. I don’t know if he’s trying to make the production, and by extension me, look bad because he’s pissed I got the Juliet role back from Alyssa, or if he just doesn’t care about the play anymore. Either way, he’s screwed us over.
If we pause the play, it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. It’d just pull the audience out of the story, look unprofessional, reflect poorly on the Stillmont drama program—okay, it’d be the worst thing ever. But without Romeo climbing the trellis and kissing Juliet, I’ve never been able to pull off the scene. Owen walks up then, and his eyes meet mine.
And just like that, I know.
“However long it takes!” I hear Bridget say. “We need to drop the curtain, and tell the audience we’re having technical difficulties—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “We’ll do the scene without the trellis.” I give Tyler a quick look. “Just play it like it’s written.” He gives a short nod. Anthony comes off stage, and I turn to the stagehands while Bridget hurriedly calls off the curtain. “Roll the balcony on,” I tell them as I step onto the set. I climb the staircase, the wooden boards creaking beneath my feet like they have in countless rehearsals.
I’m briefly blinded when the lights come up, and I watch Tyler from where I’m hidden on the set. Once again I’m impressed by how flawlessly he delivers his lines, this time because I know he’s tempering his anger from hardly a minute ago.
When it’s my cue, I walk onto the balcony and begin Juliet’s monologue. Instead of waiting for Romeo to kiss me, I try to coax the love from Juliet’s fearful heart. I find myself glancing at my family out of the corner of my eye. I remember Owen’s steady heartbeat under my cheek while we drifted off to sleep. The way my dad held me this morning. With every line, I feel Juliet coming to life. I know what it is to love and to be loved.
I wonder breathlessly whether a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, I give Romeo my faithful vow, and when I tell him, “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” I feel tears in my eyes.
* * *
I die tragically in Act V and come back to life once the curtains have closed. When I walk to the front and take Tyler’s hand for my bow, the cheering gets louder, and I can’t help it—I’m proud of myself.
I don’t know if I’ll ever act again. I won’t write it off entirely. But I do know I’m glad I did it. Being in the spotlight’s not terrible, and it taught me that losing yourself in a character might lead you to find something new in yourself. If I do return to acting, maybe I’ll play someone without an all-consuming teenage romance.
Then again—where’s the fun in that?
We file off the stage. The instant we’re out of view, we’re no longer noblemen and noblewomen, daughters and cousins, Montagues and Capulets. We’re us, smearing stage makeup in a stupidly happy group hug.
I look for Owen and Anthony in the throng. But instead, I find Will waiting behind the crowd, looking uneasy. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Tyler break off from the group and head directly for him.
“Look who showed up,” Tyler says, his voice raised and edged in sarcasm. Everyone falls silent, and I know he’s done restraining his anger.
Will doesn’t flinch. “What’s your problem, man?”
“You, man,” Tyler returns. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? I could’ve broken my leg on stage, in front of everyone. You could’ve ruined the entire show!”
“Whatever. It went fine, didn’t it?” Will tries to say. “You got your applause—” but before he finishes the sentence, Tyler steps up in his face.
I’m running toward them in the next moment, knowing their staring match could erupt in the blink of an eye. The excitement and pride and camaraderie of the room are ebbing fast, transforming into something ugly. “Tyler!” I force a hand between them.
“What? You’re defending him?” Tyler rounds on me.
“It’s so not about that,” I fire back. “It was shitty”—I glare at Will—“but it doesn’t warrant physical violence,” I finish, turning back to Tyler.
“I deserve an apology. You do, too. It was your directing he ruined.”
“Yeah, I do.” For more than Tyler knows. I look back to Will and, surprisingly, from the guilt in his eyes, I know he knows what I mean. With Will in front of me, Tyler at my back, I tell the two guys who’ve hurt me worst what I know to be true. “If you beg for every apology you’re owed, your throat will go dry,” I say, noticing Owen watching by the back door. “You can’t lose yourself over every problem, hurt, or wrong someone’s committed you. Bad things happen. You fix your eyes on the future, and you move on.”
I don’t wait for Tyler or Will to say something. Without a backward glance, I walk to Owen.
“Ready?” he asks. There’s an eager waver in his voice.
I nod, reaching into his heavy sleeve to take his hand. Instead of fighting our way through the crowded theater, we head to the back door behind the dressing rooms. We run into the night, the cold turning our cheeks and noses pink. It’s a short sprint to the front foyer where our families and friends are waiting.
I search the room for my parents, and instead my eyes land on Anthony, fake blood staining his tunic. Out of the way of the crowd, Eric’s handing him a bouquet of flowers—small, yet they look carefully chosen. Eric’s eyes are eager, colored with a little nervousness. Anthony’s are understanding, and appreciative. I don’t know what’s going on between them. But I feel like both of them know they’d be idiots to give up on each other.
Anthony catches my eye, noticing me. And though he gives me only the hint of a grin, he’s glowing.
I nod at him and begin to walk away, wanting to give them their moment.
“Megan.” I hear Anthony behind me, and I turn around. “You were an amazing Juliet.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” I say jokingly, but my smile is genuine.
* * *
My family’s seated when Owen and I get to the restaurant, a white-tablecloth French bistro near the theater. My parents went ahead and got a table while Owen and I changed, scrubbed the stage makeup from our faces, and met Owen’s family. His mom, a surprisingly short woman considering Owen’s height, looked startled that Owen had a new girlfriend, while Sam tromped around the foyer boasting that his brother was dating Juliet. Owen didn’t appear to mind.
When we sit down at the table next to my mom, Rose peers at Owen.
“I know you,” she says, her face lighting up. “You’re Biff Loman!”
“What?” Dad sits up and sets down his glass. “You’ve met Megan’s new guy already?”
“Dad . . .” I say warningly, not liking the direction this conversation is heading or the way he clarified “new guy.”
“I’m just really glad I have the chance to meet one of Megan’s boyfriends,” Mom chimes in while buttering her baguette.
I round on her, my eyes shouting traitor. “Mom, you’re making it sound like there’s one every week! I’ve only dated one other guy this year.”
“School year or calendar year?” Randall asks, raising his eyebrow. Next to me, I hear Owen stifle a laugh. I jab an elbow into his ribs.
“He’s handsome, this one,” Rose whispers to me like she’s finally finished her appraisal of him. “He’s got nice eyes.”
“Two sets of parents are way better than one,” I grumble, reddening.
Dad leans in. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
“Dad!”
I feel Mom squeeze my hand under the table. “Let’s let Owen be,” she says reprovingly to my dad. “I’ll bet Megan’s given him enough trouble.” She winks at me, and mercifully the discussion moves on to the new baby and Rose’s birthing classes.
Two crepes later without further interrogation of Owen, we’re in the middle of ordering dessert when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I surreptitiously check it under the table, and my heart stops.
The email is from Professor Salsbury at SOTI. I open it with a shaking hand.
Dear Megan,
I’m terribly sorry I had to run after the play before we could chat, but I felt I couldn’t let a performance as fine as yours go without prompt recognition. You played an outstanding Juliet.
I’ve been speaking to your teacher, Ms. Jody Hewitt, and she couldn’t have had higher praise for your directing achievements. I think you’ll be a wonderful addition to our directing program.
I look forward to seeing you on campus in the fall!
Michael Salsbury
I glance to the side, wondering if Owen’s reading over my shoulder. But he’s talking to my dad about Snakes on a Plane. I bring my phone up to the table, and I’m about to tell everyone the news until I notice Randall. Wiping sweat from his brow, he raises his knife to his wine glass and taps it once.
“If I could steal the spotlight for just a couple minutes,” he begins, everyone’s eyes on him. “I would like to say something to Catherine in front of all of you.”
I’d almost forgotten. I hold my breath, knowing what’s about to happen.
“This has been the greatest year of my life,” he continues. “You, Catherine, are the most kind, caring, intelligent, creative, beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
I glance at Mom. Her eyes glitter with tears.
“You’ve given me innumerable gifts over the past year,” Randall says, “including tonight, here with your family. I didn’t have much of my own growing up. Since we met next to the Greek vases in the Blanton Museum—I had no idea what I was looking at, and you showed me everything—there’s nothing I’ve wanted more than to be with you. But the more time I’ve spent with this family, the more I’ve realized it would be an equally great joy to be a part of it, too.” He shifts his eyes to me. “I know you were joking, Megan, when you said ‘two sets of parents,’ but the truth is, I feel like we have become a family. And there’s nothing I’d like more than to make that permanent.”
He takes my mom’s hand before he continues. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to meet someone like you,” he tells her, “let alone spend a year with her. If I could just have a little more luck—”
He kneels and pulls out a small black box. Mom gasps.
“Catherine, I love you more than anything. Will you marry me?” Randall asks.
Mom manages a yes through her torrential tears. The restaurant applauds while Randall slides the ring onto her finger and sweeps her into an embrace.
Owen puts his hand on my leg, and I feel him lean into me. He’s looking at me questioningly, wondering how I’m handling this.
I watch my mom for my answer. She’s staring into Randall’s eyes, and I don’t know why I ever doubted her feelings, because her gaze holds as much love as I’ve ever seen when she looked at Dad. I never expected Randall to earn it, but I felt tears in my own eyes when he knelt down with the ring. Randall isn’t just an awkward accountant who’s in a bowling league—he might be the love of my mom’s life. My dad’s words from this morning ring in my head. While Mom may never entirely move on from her past marriage, she has fallen in love. She’s happy.
There’s nothing holding my family together, not now, because there’s nothing left broken. It doesn’t matter where they’ll be next year and where I’ll be. They’re my family. Complicated, messy, and mine.
I turn back to Owen. Placing my hand on top of his, I give him my answer in a smile.
I wouldn’t change a thing.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ROMEO: Did my heart love till now?
I.v.59
THEY NAMED THE BABY JULIET.
I tried to dissuade them, but Rose insisted it’s because of Juliet’s wit and strong will, not the lovelorn-teenage-lunatic thing. She fell in love with the name after the performance, and I had no choice but to take that as a compliment.
“I don’t think the name suits her, honestly,” I say to Owen, who’s hiking a couple of steps in front of me. I’m not a natural-born hiker, but today’s the first day of spring, and I’ve been planning this since December
. “She does nothing but sleep. Erin prepared me for the worst, but Juliet’s, like, the most even-tempered baby I’ve ever heard of. I don’t think she’s really a Juliet.”
“You never know.” I hear the smile in Owen’s voice. “I’ve seen Juliet-ish behavior come from the unlikeliest of people.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “Well, I found her chewing on a copy of your play in the living room. Is that Juliet-ish behavior?” He laughs ahead of me. “It was my favorite scene, too. I think I’m going to need you to print me a whole new copy.”
“You don’t need to read it again, Megan,” he says, sounding secretly pleased.
“Of course I do. My boyfriend wrote an amazing play, and I intend to read it every month until forever.” We reach the top of the mountain, and I walk to the edge of the campground to take in the view. “Wow, you were right. This is nice.” The forest opens in every direction below us. It’s quiet, and the trees have grown in their new leaves, washing everything in bright green. I remember looking at the photos of this place, Bishop’s Peak, on my phone with Owen months ago. It looked beautiful then. It looks nearly unreal now.
I take a quick picture and send it to Madeleine, who graciously lent me her hiking boots this morning. In the months since Romeo and Juliet, we’ve become even better friends. I told her about Tyler when I got home from Ashland, and she promptly broke up with him. She was upset for a couple of days—until she got into Princeton early, continuing her trend of being, well, perfect.
I turn to look for Owen and find him sitting on a log, notebook already out on his lap. I walk over and gently take it out of his hands, setting it down next to him. He glances up at me questioningly. “Owen, I didn’t really bring you up here to write.”
Always Never Yours Page 27
