I call Wes and explain the situation. While the dentist gives me full clearance to be back on stage tomorrow night, Wes insists they can get along without me for one more day, which is a sucker punch on top of the kick to the teeth I already got.
An hour and a half later when I return to the waiting room, a proud survivor of my first root canal, a drowsy-eyed Chelsea waits patiently.
"Let's see?"
I give her a toothless grin.
She cringes. "Where's your new tooth?"
"We figured it wasn't worth the time to build a temporary one when I'll be getting the crown in the morning anyway."
"They can do it that fast?"
"Call it the magic of show business. When money's involved, anything can happen."
The subway is quiet this time of night, mostly shuttling people on their way home from working the late shift. We ride in silence but get off a stop early to hit the all night pharmacy and fill a prescription for painkillers. The moment we're home, Chelsea insists I take a one.
"It's not bad," I say through a numb upper lip.
"And we're going to keep it that way. You need to sleep." She fetches a glass of water.
"But I've gotta get up in the morning to prepare for a meeting."
“Under the circumstances don’t you think you should cancel it?”
“If I can I will, but this is a very important…meeting.”
She sighs and holds out a pill and the glass of water. “Here.”
The next morning Sean calls to say he couldn't change my call back, so I prep for it while on my way to the dentist. By the time I arrive at the audition three hours later, my upper lip is tingling as the medication wears off.
I knock out the audition, try to say all the right things to the assembled team, and hope I'm what they're looking for. Whipped, I catch the subway home. If there were frequent flier miles for subway rides, I'd have earned myself a trip around the world by now.
* * *
Monday afternoon Tom walks in as I’m sliding a roast in the oven. Despite losing his tooth after a kick to the mouth, he went right back to the show and was out all day. His shoulders sag as he slumps down on the couch. “You’re cooking. It smells good.”
“It’s the garlic and onions. Long day?”
He nods. “I’m winning the battle, barely, but losing the war.”
When he’s not at the theatre, he’s constantly preparing for or at another audition, but I’m learning not to ask about it. His non-stop schedule is insane and having me around probably makes it worse. I join him on the sofa. “Tell me about it.”
He kicks off his shoes and stretches onto his back with his head in my lap. “Eight shows a week for a year is kicking my ass. My throat is killing me and I feel a cold coming on. I bet Paige gave it to me. She was sick last week.”
I cringe. If he’s catching a cold from stage kisses with Paige, then will I get it? “Do you want some pain killers?” I run my fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead.
“I just took some an hour ago.”
I know how worried he gets about his voice. If it gives out, he can’t perform. His brow is creased. I massage my thumb and forefinger along his brow line.
“God, that feels good.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “I don’t know how much longer my body can hold up.”
“Can’t you call in sick tomorrow?”
“No.” His eyes pop open. “My name is on the marquee. People pay a lot of money expecting to see me, not my understudy. It’s one thing when a kick to the teeth forced me out, but the audience always feels let down when they don’t get the headliner.”
“Yeah, I suppose. But I hate watching you run yourself into the ground.”
He sighs. “The only way I know how to perform is to give everything I have. And I will keep showing up and putting my heart and soul on that stage until I physically can’t.”
His eyes connect with mine and his dedication is admirable and frustrating. He continues. “But that’s also why I can’t keep doing this show. I love it, but it’s killing me. At least I’ll have Christmas week off, and then I only have a few more weeks until I can take a real break for a bit. Then I can finally give you all my attention.”
“But you have all these auditions.”
“True, because I also need another job.”
I shake my head. It’s an impossible situation. I resume playing with his hair, lightly running my fingernails against his scalp.
He gazes up at me with a grateful smile, his eyelids growing heavy, and mumbles, “What should we do tonight?”
“You’re kidding, right? You can barely keep your eyes open.”
“No. I miss you, and I don’t want you to get bored with me gone all the time. Any luck with the job search?”
“Nah. The investment firm turned me down. I didn’t really like it anyway. Turns out it’s hard to find a job right before the holidays. Now how about you relax for a while? Just close your eyes and let everything else drift away.”
His eyes open wider revealing flecks of gray along with the clear blue. “You’re bewitching me, aren’t you?”
I laugh and resume grazing my fingertips over his forehead, cheeks, and lips. “Trying to. Would you please stop talking and close your eyes.”
He kisses my hand and closes his eyes. “Promise you won’t go anywhere?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Within minutes, his breathing shifts to slow and steady. His face relaxes in slumber and he looks younger, peaceful, the burdens he carries are released for now. I admire his strong cheekbones, his straight narrow nose and solid jaw. How did I get so lucky? “I love you, Tom,” I whisper, and he sleeps on.
When he shifts to roll over, I slip out from under him, placing a pillow under his head and a blanket over his lanky form.
Two hours later, he appears in the kitchen yawning and rubbing his head. “Something smells delicious.”
I’m elbows deep whisking a flour mixture into juices from a roast. “Good. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m famished. What are you making?”
“Gravy.” I glance at him quick for his reaction, then back to my bubbling sauce. “I know you don’t usually eat anything with fat, but tough. You’re exhausted and working yourself to death. You need comfort food and calories.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says in way too agreeable tone.
I glance at him. “No argument?”
He sneaks his arms around my waist and says into my ear, “When a beautiful woman wants to make me a dinner that smells this good, I’m not about to argue.” He kisses my neck.
“Good.”
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” he asks carrying the platter of roast beef, potatoes, and carrots to the table.
“My mom. She made a roast every Sunday in the fall and winter.” I set a lettuce salad next to it. “When I was little, she’d push a stool up to the stove and have me stir the juices from the roast while she poured in the flour mixture. By the time she got sick, I was a pro.”
We take a seat and he looks ready to devour the whole thing. “I had no idea you could cook.”
“You’ve been obsessed with eating skinless chicken and spinach smoothies, so I haven’t had much chance,” I say pointing my fork at him. “Mom taught me a few recipes before she died. I make a mean meatloaf too. I have her recipe box. People don’t use them anymore, but I love it because it’s got her handwriting on the recipes. Some are even written by my grandmother.”
“She’s gone too?” He lifts his fork to take a bite.
“Yeah, the same cancer as my mom.”
Tom lowers his fork. “Are you worried you might get it?”
It’s obvious it worries him. “I was for a while, but then I had genetic testing done in college. By some miracle I don’t carry the same gene. It’s the one good thing my dad ever gave me, healthy DNA."
27
London
Saying goodbye to Chelsea, even for a week
, was like ripping out my soul, but she said she has loads of plans with friends to keep her busy.
We held our own Christmas celebration last night after my show complete with candlelight and holiday music. She brought oyster stew, a disgusting tradition her mother passed down to her, and I brought fruitcake, an equally awful family habit I blame on Gran.
Chelsea was floored when I handed her the light blue Tiffany’s box and seemed delighted by the silver unicorn necklace inside.
“How did you know?” she dangled the delicate piece from her fingers.
“You like unicorns?”
“Since I was little. I was obsessed with them. Here.” She handed me the necklace and brushed her hair aside.
“Well, this one is because you are beautiful, smart and feisty; a rare find, like the magical unicorn.” I clasped the delicate chain around her neck, thinking of Max’s comment of how difficult it is to hold onto a unicorn.
“I love it,” she said after admiring it in the mirror.
Chelsea presented me with a beautifully wrapped box with a gold bow, biting her lip nervously. I couldn’t imagine what it was. When I tore off the foil wrapping, I discovered a brown leather messenger bag.
“For your auditions... sorry, I mean meetings,” she teased.
The soft leather held my monogram. Inside she’d included a folder containing a dozen of my head shots.
“I put everything in there that I thought you’d need. That way you won’t have to be stressed when you’re trying to get out the door.”
“That’s for your scripts and music,” she explained of another folder. “And I put in those special candies that help your throat, a water bottle, tissues, a toothbrush, and a mirror to make sure you don’t have any spinach stuck in your teeth from your smoothie.”
Each pocket contained every possible item I’ve wished for when out on an audition. She thought of everything, and the leather bag is exactly what I would have picked had I thought about it.
And now she’s across the pond, and I’m wheels down at Heathrow, reverting into a giddy boy peeking out the window. When I spot my mum, she’s a tad grayer and Dad’s a bit heavier than when I saw them on the opening night of Crossing Lines. With a grin and a wave, I’m swept into Mum’s arms and pounded heavily on the back by Dad.
The moment we reach home, Mum stuffs me with homemade biscuits. The tree is in the same spot in front of the picture window as when I was a kid, filling the room with the lovely scent of pine. While the ornaments are mostly new, I detect a few old ones from my childhood tucked within the boughs. My eyes are heavy and I yawn from more than twenty-four hours without sleep.
“Tom, you’re dead on your feet. Go lie down. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up later,” Mum says.
With one more hug, I stumble happily to my old room. It’s been transformed into a craft room where Mum’s latest craze appears to be beadwork. There are stacks of clear trays with every size and color of bead imaginable. There are racks of finished necklaces, bracelets and earrings, making the room look more like my sister’s instead of mine.
My bed’s still here albeit covered with a floral bedspread and flouncy pillow shams, which I toss in the corner. I kick off my shoes, pull the blinds, and climb under the comforter to crash until the rest of the family invades.
Much later, I wake to a tiny hand slapping my face. The hand then grabs a fistful of hair and yanks.
“Ow!” I open my eyes and stare into round blue eyes. “Who’s this?” I smile, lean on my elbow, and take my niece’s little hand in mine. She grips my index finger and gahs. Her dark hair sticks straight up like a kewpie doll.
My sister, Hannah pops up from the side of the bed along with my three-year-old nephew, Jasper. His eyes are nearly as round as his sisters. He sizes me up.
“Bella, meet your Uncle Tom.” Bella bats her baby blues and gurgles, revealing two tiny teeth.
“Hello, Bella, aren’t you the little beauty.” She smells of baby powder and innocence. I shift my attention to my nephew. “Hello, mate. Do you remember me?”
He nods eagerly. I try to Skype with my sister to catch up and see how the kids are growing, and selfishly so they’ll know who I am. Jasper was only a year and a half last time I was home.
“Well, get on up here.” I slide over to give him room.
Hannah lifts him and he scrambles onto the bed smelling of apple juice and fudge. “You’ve grown so big.” He smiles, still too shy to speak. “Oh my gosh. I’ve got something in my pocket. What is it?”
Jasper watches, fascinated, as I dig deep into my pocket.
“Oh no! It’s a tickle bug!” I proceed to tickle Jasper and he squeals with innocent laughter.
Hannah scoops Bella out of the way as Jasper and I roll on the bed and I toss him in the air.
“I can see you’re the last person I’ll ask to put him to bed,” she complains with a joyful smile.
In the kitchen, with Jasper under my arm like a squirming sack of potatoes, I find Hannah’s husband, George, my brother Ben, and his wife Katie have all arrived. She’s pleasantly pregnant with their first.
“Look what the cat dragged in. About time you showed your ugly mug around here,” Ben says with a slap on my back. There are jovial hugs all around.
“Mum says you have a girlfriend,” Hannah says with Bella perched on her hip, chewing on her tiny fist.
“No way,” the over educated Ben says. “Tom fancies a girl? It must be a joke.”
I help myself to a beer from the fridge. “Just because I’ve never mentioned any women before, doesn’t mean they haven’t existed.”
“Yeah. In your dreams,” he grins, stealing my beer.
“Just ask Mum.” Hannah wipes drool from Bella’s chin.
“Yes, and she sounds lovely.”
Ben takes a swig of my beer. “Mum’s just covering for you. She can’t bare that you’re gay.”
I fetch another beer, twist the top off, and toss it into the corner trash.
“Come on Tom, give us the dirt,” my brother-in-law says.
And so I pull out my phone and bring up pictures of Chelsea. Looking at her thick mane of hair and the curve of her lips showing off her smile drives home how far apart we are.
Hannah elbows me in the ribs. “Wow, Tommy. Look at you, all gooey-faced over a picture. Never seen that before.”
“Let’s see.” Ben gives a low whistle. “What’s a looker like her doing with a mutt like you?”
“Excellent question,” I grin proudly, passing my phone around to show off Chelsea.
After a casual dinner, we hang out around the tree with the lights twinkling and music playing, catching up on everyone’s lives. Jasper has conked out and lays limp in his father’s arms.
“You have a beautiful family,” I tell Hannah, walking with her out to the car as she and George strap the kids into their car seats.
“Jasper adores you.” She kisses his pudgy cheek.
“He’s terrific.” I hate that I’m not here to watch him grow up, but then think of Chelsea and how much I miss being away from her.
After everyone’s gone home, I call her. With the time difference it’s early evening, but she doesn’t pick up. After spending the last month together, being apart is hell.
“Hey, Gran.” I give her a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek when we arrive Christmas Eve. She’s shorter, shrinking with age, but still smells of rose petals and tea.
“Look at you, Tom. So grown up and handsome.” She pats my face as if making sure I’m real, then leads me into her sitting room, ignoring the houseful of guests.
“Sorry I haven’t come home sooner,” I say realizing how fast she’s aging.
“Nonsense. You’ve been following your dreams, what could be more important than that?”
“There is family,” I say feeling guilty for neglecting mine, but Gran was the one who never questioned my desperate need to act. While Mum and Dad fretted I’d be an uneducated, unemployed flop, Gran always encoura
ged me to follow my dreams.
“Very true, and you’re here. What’s this I hear about a young lady?”
I smile. “Yes. Chelsea. She’s wonderful.”
Gran listens with apt attention as I tell her about how Chelsea and I met, that she’s spunky, always happy and sees the good in everything. Gran coos when I show her pictures.
“And you love her?” Her wizened old eyes settle on me.
“With all my heart.”
Gran’s eyes twinkle. “How is she in the sack?”
“Gran!” I feign shock. “A gentleman never tells.”
Satisfied, she pats my hand. “It’s certainly taken you long enough.”
“Trust me, she’s worth the wait.”
“In that case, I expect you’ll be wanting a certain trinket to take back to New York with you.”
“Yes, but only if you’re sure you want to part with it.”
She gets up and goes to her top dresser drawer. “I’m honored for you to have it. Your grandfather would be pleased.” She digs around a bit. “Ah, here it is.”
28
Iowa City
I’m drinking hot chocolate from my UI Hawkeyes mug thinking about Tom. I touch the beautiful necklace he gave me and smile as I look at a stuffed unicorn on my shelf that I’ve kept since childhood. He is incredibly thoughtful, but being apart for the past two days has been torture and reignited all my self-doubt about he and I. Now that he’s literally across the world, it would be so easy for him to move on. That whole out-of-sight, out-of-mind saying seems particularly meaningful right now, and after a week apart will he even want me to come back to New York?
My phone pings a message. I check the screen.
Are you there?
It’s Tom and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I text back. Yes!
I turn down The Santa Clause movie, my all time favorite, and stare at my phone waiting for it to ring. A few seconds later I jump when it does.
If Ever Page 24
