by Maggie Riley
But I didn’t text any of those replies to her. I didn’t respond at all. Because what good would it have done? She wasn’t even going to be in New York in a few weeks. I didn’t know why she was thinking about getting an apartment when I was sure she would take that out-of-town job. It was what she wanted.
And I couldn’t stand in her way. It wouldn’t be fair.
“Shane!” My sister’s voice startled me out of my thoughts again. “You’re still not listening to me.”
I winced. “Sorry. Sorry,” I apologized, trying my best to focus my attention on her. “OK, can you start over? Please?”
Megan let out a sigh of immense frustration. I couldn’t blame her. I was a real lousy dinner companion tonight.
“Why don’t we talk about why you’re all mopey and lame,” she offered, twirling some spaghetti on her fork. “What did you screw up now?”
I frowned at her. “How do you know I screwed something up?”
“Because it’s you,” Megan said succinctly. “And you always screw things up.”
“I take offense to that.” I pointed my knife at her. “I didn’t screw you up, did I?”
“That remains to be seen,” she told me. “My issues might not surface for years.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, why wouldn’t I want to share my relationship problems with someone as understanding and supportive as you?”
Megan perked up, and I immediately realized my mistake. I let my head drop. “Relationship problems?” she asked.
“Let me rephrase that,” I tried, but she was already leaning forward.
“What happened with you and Allie? What did you do?”
I gave her a look. “If I say I don’t want to talk about it, will you let it go?”
“Absolutely not,” she said with a smile. “Just like you wouldn’t let all my college stuff go. Consider this payback.”
“I hardly think that wanting you to go to college and you wanting to discuss a minor—minor—hiccup in my personal life are comparable.”
“They are.” Megan scooted her chair until she was close to me. “OK, big bro. Spill. Tell me everything. How did you chase Allie away?”
I sighed. “First of all, this really isn’t any of your business, and second of all, I did not chase her away.”
“Then what happened?” Megan demanded. “You guys seemed so great for each other.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Are you kidding? We are polar opposites. She’s all about list-making and planning, and I just want to go with the flow.”
“Yeah, and that flow has led you here. Girlfriend-less. Great work.”
“Allie was not my girlfriend.” I ran a hand through my hair. “We were just casually seeing each other. And now we’re not. That’s all.”
“So you’re just pouting over someone you were casually dating?” Megan looked unconvinced. “You’re such a liar.”
“OK, fine, I like her, OK? She’s funny and pretty and smart and I even like all the lists she makes about literally everything on the planet.” The confession spilled out of me before I could stop it.
Megan was silent for a moment.
“Wow,” she said. “You’re in love with her.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I told her. “We barely know each other.”
“Sure, because no one has ever fallen in love with someone they’ve just met.”
“People mistake lust for love all the time,” I reminded her.
“So all these feelings you have for Allie are just lust?” Megan prodded. “That’s all?”
Dammit.
“It doesn’t matter,” I muttered. “Even if there was something there, she’s not interested in anything serious.”
“So you told her you loved her?” Megan asked.
“Well, no,” I said slowly, a terrible realization dawning on me.
I hadn’t told Allie anything. I had assumed that she wasn’t interested, but I hadn’t asked. Was it possible I was wrong? That I had assumed incorrectly? I remember how upset Allie had been that morning in the workshop. She had asked why I had told the landlord not to rent to her. Was she trying to ask if I wanted her to stay? Had I completely misread the situation?
Fuck. And I had just let her walk away without saying anything. Without risking anything. I was a coward. A big, dumb coward.
“I’m a moron,” I said out loud.
“Yeah, you are,” said Megan, patting my shoulder. “But even morons deserve love.”
Before he and Emily left, Josh extended his reservation at the Plaza for a couple of days. “So you don’t have to go back to the apartment if you don’t want to,” he told me. His generosity had started the first weep-fest in what turned out to be an entire day of crying.
By the time I had to go to the theatre for that evening’s show, I had managed to get all the tears out of my system. Or so I hoped. My face was puffy, my eyes were red, but I didn’t seem to have anything left in my tear ducts. Heading into the theatre, I kept my chin down, hoping I could avoid seeing anyone before the show started. If I could just get through the pre-check and head into the booth, I’d manage to bypass anyone who might ask why I looked so utterly miserable.
Unfortunately, I was not fast enough to avoid Reagan.
“Hey!” She popped up behind me, and I screamed. Loudly. And dropped my binder.
“Oh my god.” Reagan bent down to scoop up the notebook. “I’m so sorry, are you OK?”
I pressed my hand to my racing heart. “Yes, I’m fine.” I pushed my hair back. “Sorry about that,” I told her, knowing that my shriek had been slightly out of character.
“Joanna keeps saying I should wear loud jewelry,” Reagan said with an apologetic smile. “I’ve scared her a couple of times, too.” She peered at me. “Oh, Allie, have you been crying?”
“It’s nothing,” I told her, but before I could turn away, I found myself bundled up in a big bear hug. For someone as thin as she was, Reagan gave really, really nice hugs.
“Joanna!”
The producer had appeared in the doorway of the theatre and Reagan waved her over.
“Allie’s having a bad day,” she said.
“Oh.” Joanna looked down at me. “There, there.” She gave me a pat on my head. “You’ll be all right.”
I couldn’t help smiling at the icy blonde’s attempt to be affectionate, especially since Reagan kept beaming at Joanna like she had aced a test or something.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she asked.
Joanna sniffed. “It seemed unnecessary.”
“I appreciated it,” I told her, and saw her expression soften just a little.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, good.” She squinted at me. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying anymore,” I said, hoping that they would drop it. But Reagan was too smart and too observant to let it go.
“Did something happen with Shane?” she asked.
My shoulders drooped, and Reagan let out a little sympathetic sigh.
“I’m sorry, honey.” She gave me another hug.
“He’s a jerk,” Joanna added, and then paused. “Right?”
I shook my head. “No.” I felt the tears welling up again. “I’m the jerk.”
“That can’t be true,” Reagan argued. “You’re wonderful.”
Her kind words just made me feel worse about the job offer I was hiding from them. I had a feeling if I told them, they wouldn’t be nearly as sympathetic or understanding. Not that I blamed them.
“What happened?” Joanna asked, showing an unusual curiosity in my personal life.
Even Reagan gave her a look of surprise.
Joanna shrugged. “What? I can’t be curious? My love life is boring—at least I can be entertained by Allie’s.” At my look she paused. “My apologies for your loss.”
Reagan led me over to the front row of seats and indicated for me to sit down. There didn’t seem to be any getting out of telling them, so I sat.
“It was
just supposed to be casual,” I started, and Joanna snorted.
“Yeah, that never works,” she told me. “But continue.”
I shot her a glare. “Well, that might have been good advice to get a few weeks ago.”
“Were you asking for my advice on your love life a few weeks ago?” Joanna wanted to know. When I didn’t answer, she lifted her chin. “That’s what I thought.”
“It didn’t stay casual, did it?” Reagan prodded gently. “You fell for him.”
I nodded.
“I don’t blame you,” said Joanna. “He’s nowhere near as terrible as most men out there.”
Coming from Joanna, that was high praise.
“So what happened?” Reagan asked.
I explained going home after talking to my brother, being drunk and not remembering the conversation we had supposedly had about our arrangement. And then I told them about the next morning and the fight about the apartment.
Both of them were silent when I finished.
“But you never really told him how you felt,” Reagan pointed out.
“How could I?” I asked. “He had already made it clear that he wasn’t interested in anything more than what we already had.”
“Are you sure about that?” Reagan sounded unconvinced. “Because it kind of seems like he wanted you to stay.”
I stared at her. “In what universe?”
“He did tell a landlord not to rent to you,” Joanna reminded me. “A little underhanded, but I like the effort.”
“But then he called them back. He wanted to get rid of me.”
“Are you sure you guys actually talked about your relationship the night you came back drunk?” Reagan asked. “What if you didn’t? What if you’re both making assumptions—the same assumption and the wrong assumption—about each other?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. I wanted to believe Reagan.
But then again, would it even matter? I was still leaving. Wasn’t I?
Reagan and Joanna left me alone with my thoughts. Thoughts that were becoming increasingly contradictory and confusing. Did I want the new job? Did I want to leave New York?
Josh claimed that I already knew what I wanted, but I didn’t. I had no idea. So I did what I always did when I had a problem. I made a list. A long one.
Chapter 32
ALLIE
Closing night was always bittersweet for me, but this one felt more bitter than sweet. Even after days of list-making and planning, I wasn’t any closer to knowing what I should do. Every time I walked into the Hole in the Wall, I felt a sense of peace and belonging. But I couldn’t shake that little twinge of failure when I thought about coming so close to my dream and giving it up on account of some warm and fuzzy feelings.
I was getting ready to leave for the theatre when my parents called. We’d spoken briefly during and after Josh and Emily’s trip here, but those conversations had been tense. I knew they had been hoping that I would walk off the plane with my brother and niece, and I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I had thought about it. That a part of me wanted to go home. But I saw what it was doing to Josh—saw how miserable he was—and I was afraid that if I went back, I’d get stuck there just like him.
I wasn’t going to give up on him, though.
Everything else, on the other hand . . .
“Josh told us tonight is the last night of the show,” my mom was saying.
“Uh-huh,” I told her, my phone held to my ear with my shoulder as I put my favorite black flats on. “Closing night.”
“He also said the show is really popular,” my dad added.
Popular wasn’t quite the word I would have used to describe Reagan’s version of The Iceman Cometh. It had sold well and had gotten rave reviews, but it wasn’t popular like Cats or Wicked or my mother’s favorite, The Phantoms of the Operas.
Regardless, I was proud of it, and as I stood there, looking at myself in the mirror, I realized that there was a sense of ownership in there as well. I hadn’t just stage managed the show. I had helped make it happen.
“You know we asked Josh to talk to you about coming home,” my mom said tentatively.
I sighed. I really wasn’t in the mood for this conversation.
“I know, Mom,” I told her. “We talked about it, and—”
“He told us that we were wrong,” my mom interrupted.
I gawked at the phone. “What?” That was the last thing I had expected to hear from her.
“He told us that we weren’t being supportive of what you wanted,” my dad added. “That we weren’t seeing what you did in New York. How hard you worked. And how important it is to you. He said we needed to listen to you.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Your brother is really proud of you,” my mom said, and I could hear the tears in her voice. “And he told us that we needed to trust you. That you knew what you were doing.”
“Josh is a good brother,” I choked out, feeling a little overcome myself.
“We’re proud of you too, honey,” my dad told me. “I’m sorry if we don’t tell you that enough.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered.
“We just worry about you,” my mom said. “But your brother is right. We need to trust you. Because you’ve always been the one who knew what she wanted. The little girl who went after it, no matter how impossible it seemed.”
It had been a long time since I felt like that little girl. That I had felt the confidence to go after what I wanted. Because I had lost sight of what I wanted. I had assigned a value to something—to the idea of working on Broadway—and I had allowed that to become more important than friendship. And love.
Because that’s what I wanted. And it had been in front of me for months, and I hadn’t seen it, because I had been looking so far past it. I felt like a fool. But hopefully not a fool who was too late.
“Mom, Dad, I love you guys so much, but I have to go,” I told them, my heart completely full. Finally, they seemed to understand me. And I understood me, too.
“Break a leg tonight, honey,” my dad said.
I got a lump in my throat. “Thanks.”
“And take care of your brother,” my mom added quickly before I could hang up the phone.
“Wait, what?” I asked.
“He’s moving to New York,” my dad told me. “Didn’t he tell you? He said it was all your idea.” He paused. “Good for you. It’s what he needs.”
I smiled to myself. “I only gave a push,” I told them. “He’s going to have to do the rest.”
But I had no doubt that he would.
Saying my last goodbyes, I grabbed my things and headed for the subway. I crossed my fingers that I’d get a seat, because I had an email that I had to write. One that would politely turn down the job offer that might have taken me to Broadway. Because I already had the job of my dreams.
The cast stood on stage, taking their final curtain call. Each was presented with a bouquet of flowers, and then Joanna and Reagan came up and joined them on stage. The two women stood there, Reagan crying while smiling and Joanna looking supremely satisfied. Their arms were full of roses. Joanna raised a hand and the room grew silent, the applause fading away.
“Thank you so much,” Joanna said. “We are so very proud of this play—the very first, and definitely not the last, production you’ll be seeing on this stage. I wanted to take a chance to thank the cast and our incredible director.” Joanna turned to Reagan. “You are truly the only person in the world who could have imagined this production into existence.”
Reagan laughed and cried a little bit more as Joanna gave her a real hug. Clutching the bouquet of roses in her arms, she took a deep breath, barely managing to compose herself before speaking.
“Thank you so much, Joanna,” she said. “Your faith in me—from the very beginning—allowed this show to be as weird as is could be.” The audience laughed, and Joanna rolled her eyes affectionately. Reagan took another breath and continued.
&
nbsp; “Most of you who are here tonight know that this production was a labor of love for all the people standing up here. But you might not know about all the work that has been done behind the scenes. Our amazing crew, our designers, our box-office staff, everyone that makes sure everything runs smoothly.”
Then Reagan’s eyes met mine—somehow finding me in the dark.
“But there is one person that really deserves special recognition. When Joanna and I hired her, we said that I was the soul, Joanna was the brain, and she was the muscle. But I think we can all agree that our amazing stage manager, Allie, is truly the heart of this production—and this theatre.”
I was speechless.
“Allie.” Reagan gestured from the stage. “Come on up here.”
The light operator gave me a nudge, and I stood, shakily. As I made my way down to the stage, all around me people started clapping. When I reached Reagan, she handed me a bouquet of flowers and gave me a long, tight hug.
“I’m so grateful for you,” she said to me, covering the mic with her free hand. She managed a watery smile. “And even getting you for one production was an honor.”
I stared at her. “You knew about the other job?”
She nodded. “And I understand. You’re a great stage manager. You deserve a great production and a great team.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” I told her. “Because I’m not going anywhere. I’ve already found my team.”
Reagan let out a squeal and then hugged me so tight I could barely breathe.
“She’s staying!” she told Joanna with a shriek.
Joanna rubbed her ear. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, but with a real smile. “We’ll talk about your contract later.”
I nodded, grinning. Once a producer, always a producer. God, I loved this place.
Afterwards, once the theatre was empty and most of the cast and crew had headed out to celebrate at a nearby bar, I did my last walk-through. Tomorrow we’d be striking the set, starting once again from a blank slate. And I couldn’t wait.
Gathering my flowers, I headed out into the lobby and found that I wasn’t alone. Standing there, his hands in his pockets, was Shane.
