Willow
Saturday seemed to rush up to me. Marty added a performance of A Doll’s House on Thursday night at the last minute to give myself, Len, and Lorraine—who played my best friend, Christine in the play—an extra night. It sold out within hours of the announcement. Friday night was packed too, and as the standing ovation washed over us, I tried to savor it and hold on. Only one performance left.
At noon, I went to The Scoop to meet Angie. My heart pounded in my chest and happiness bubbled out of me in a small burst of laughter as I locked my bike outside the restaurant. We’d been talking and texting, but between her packed schedule at Stanford and my father’s constant relocations, we hadn’t been face-to-face in three years.
I opened the diner door, and saw her sitting at a booth for two facing the door. I noticed she wore glasses now, and her curled hair was a little bit shorter, her skin a little paler from long hours of study.
Then I burst into tears.
She was a blur as she scrambled out of the booth. She threw her arms around me and I held her tight, crying against her shoulder as years of missing her overwhelmed me, so that I could hardly stand.
I pulled back long enough to wipe my eyes and get a good look at her. Her T-shirt read, I will seduce you with my awkwardness. I laughed, then collapsed in tears all over again.
We stood smack in the middle of the restaurant, holding onto each other until we heard a little girl in another booth ask, “Mommy, what’s wrong with those two ladies?”
“Did you hear that, Holloway?” Angie said, finally pulling away and wiping her eyes. “The first and last time someone will ever call me a lady.”
I laughed again but it threatened to turn into more tears. We quickly slid into the booth, grabbing for napkins, laughing and clutching hands across the table, then needing more napkins.
I shook my head staring at her. “Holy shit, Angie, I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, girl. It’s so good to see you. To really see you. You look great.”
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s been a long road just to get to presentable.”
“How are you really? How are things with your parents?” she asked, bracing for the answer.
“Weird,” I said. “My dad’s in ass-kissing mode. I think once we’d been in Canada for a few months, his eyes opened and he saw what a mess I was. He finally grasped the damage that he’d done. He expected my pain would wear off. It never did. I never outgrew my feelings for Isaac.” I shrugged, glanced down at my hands. “I’m twenty years old and I’m still in love with him.”
“Oh, honey.” Angie reached across the table and took my hand.
“Not that it matters, I suppose.”
Her dark eyes flared with anger. “Isaac had to know you were being forced to break up with him, right?”
“I think so. I never told him what my father actually threatened. It was too horrible—so obscenely wrong… I was afraid it would make Isaac stay in Harmony. Stay and fight for us and end up losing everything. His future. I couldn’t let that happen and have him resent me later.” I sighed. “I’m glad he went, I just…didn’t expect him not to reach out at some point. I guess it was too hard for him. He’d already lost so much.”
“What about what you lost?” Angie burst out. She saw me through the dark months after my father moved us out of Harmony, and I knew she’d been biting her tongue about Isaac the entire time. “So that’s it?” she asked, struggling for calm. “You forgive him? Just like that?”
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “It’s not yes or no, it’s…all tangled up. Yes, I’m hurt and angry with him. But we were both forced to do things we didn’t want to do. Now we’re coping. He’s coping the only way he knows how and so am I. Finally. I made it back here. I’m away from my parents and I can start over.”
Angie shook her head. “Three years, Willow.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m not denying it hurts. It does. I’m getting stronger every day, but pretending like I don’t love him or don’t miss him isn’t going to get me anywhere.”
“Sounds like someone’s been talking to my mother.”
I laughed a little and looked around. “Where is Bonnie? I thought she was going to join us?”
“She wanted to give us some alone time. But she’ll be at your show tonight. Wouldn’t miss it. I hear you’re slaying some Ibsen.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’m enjoying it. It’s helped too. But Christ, enough with my shit already. How’s Stanford? How’s Nash?”
We ordered burgers and shakes and ate while Angie filled me in on the details. Nash was at school in Pennsylvania. He and Angie were somehow making a long-distance relationship work while she was double majoring in robotics and pre-med at Stanford.
“I’ll basically be in college until I’m eighty,” she said. “I’ll have one year to actually practice medicine until I croak.”
“But it’ll be a solid year.”
“Oh, for sure. Like…golden.”
As we talked and laughed the hours away, I felt another piece of myself, once broken and scattered across North America, were put back into place.
Out on the sidewalk, we hugged again.
“Bye, love,” she said. “See you tonight, after you knock’em dead.”
She started to go, but I grabbed her hand, blinking back yet more tears.
“Before I met Isaac, before I auditioned for Hamlet, before I had anything else that was good here, I had you. You were the first person to break through the walls I’d built up around myself from all that shit with Xavier, and I just want to thank you for that.”
“Dammit, Holloway,” Angie said, swiping her fingertips under her eyes.
“You’re a life saver, McKenzie, okay?” I said. “You’re a fucking life saver.”
Angie pulled me close again. “Do me a favor?” she asked, sniffling.
“Anything.”
“Tell Stanford that? Because it would save me a shit-ton in med-school tuition.”
I met my parents in the lobby of the HCT at quarter after six. It felt uncomfortable to have them over to my little cottage. Now that I was no longer depending on them for anything, their iron-clad grip on me was slippery at best. As was my grip on forgiveness.
They greeted me in the theater lobby with too-wide smiles and loud talk.
“I’m so pleased that you’re letting us throw the cast party after the performance,” my father said.
“It’s a thoughtful gesture,” I said.
“Yes, it’ll be quite nice, I think,” my mother said. “The hotel—the Renaissance—is very nice. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Funny how everything in Harmony was nice now, as opposed to when everything Midwest was beneath her. All at once, I felt incredibly sorry for them both.
“It’ll be great,” I said. “Thanks for being here. I have to go get ready now. I hope you enjoy the show.”
God, I sounded like a pre-show recording.
“Willow,” my father said. He looked about to take my hand. “I just wanted you to know I’m proud of you,” he said, stuffing his fist in his pocket. “Your reviews have been quite complimentary. And the work you and Mr. Ford are doing to keep the theater as a living piece of history in this town is quite commendable.”
He glanced down and then forced his eyes to meet mine. “I feel it’s important you know I recognize your accomplishments. And to that end, we’ll have something for you at the party. A little bit of a surprise.”
My mother’s face wore a strange look, and she nudged my father with a nervous laugh. “Let’s not ruin it now or make her nervous.”
“Yes, quite,” my father said. “After the show. Break a leg.”
They hustled into the theater before I could tell them I wanted no surprises. The party was too much already. The only reason I’d agreed to it was because my cast mates deserved a better sendoff than burgers and fries from The Scoop.
I went backstage to prepare for the show—makeup, hair, and costume. The cast assembled onstage for warm-ups, led by Martin, who was playing Krogstad. On the other side of the closed curtain, we could hear the crowd beginning to file in.
“Standing room only,” Marty said to me. “Break a leg tonight.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He started to walk away, then stopped and looked at me closer. “Everything okay?”
“Sure, fine,” I said forcing a smile.
“Closing night jitters?”
“This party my parents insists on having is kind of throwing me, I guess. Or… I don’t know what. The energy feels strange tonight. You know how the air feels right before lightning strikes? Kind of tight and humming?” I gave my head a shake. “I’ll get over it. It’s been a wonderful experience, Marty. Thank you so much. I won’t let you down.”
“Thank you for your incredible Nora, my dear,” he said. “And for seeking me out when you came back. For being such an amazing part of this theater.”
“Marty,” I said warily. “That sounded ominous. Did you get more news from the city council? Bad news?”
He chuckled. “As if I’d tell you something like that twenty minutes to curtain. No, I merely—”
Frank, the stage manager ran up to Marty looking pale. He whispered something in his ear, his eyes on me.
Martin’s eyes widened and then darted to me as well.
“What?” I said. “What is it?’
Marty’s face smoothed out and he said to Frank in a calm tone, “I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks, Frank.” He turned to me and patted my shoulder. “A theater manager’s job is never done, even on opening night. I’ll be right back.”
“Marty,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Tell me.”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about. I promise.”
I would’ve believed him. He was a fantastic actor. But Frank was not, and Frank looked as if he’d seen a ghost.