TWELVE
NEW ROLES
Present Day
New York City
By the time Holt and I return to our table after our bathroom encounter, there’s a jazz combo playing in the corner. The plaintive sound of the sax wafts over to us as the smoky-voiced singer launches into the first verse of Nature Boy.
“There was a boy … a very strange, enchanted boy … “
I tune her out.
Don’t really need to add any more emotional layers to my night.
Holt’s looking at me, and by the prickle of nervousness that runs up my spine, I know he’s about to say something that’s going to make me uncomfortable.
“Dance with me,” he says quietly.
It’s not a question.
“Uh … why?”
He smiles and glances over at the few couples on the dance floor before looking back at me
“Because I have things I need to say to you, but I don’t want us separated by this damn table.” He takes a sip of wine and looks at his fingers. “I want to be close to you.”
Just the thought of it makes me angry. Not because I don’t want to dance with him, but because I want it so badly it hurts.
I take a swig of wine. A big one. It’s pointless. There’s not enough wine in the world for this.
I watch in slow-motion horror as he stands and walks around to my side of the table.
“I don’t think we should,” I say.
He holds out his hand. “Please, Cassie.”
I look at his hand. His perfect, warm, Ethan hand. Then I look at his face. There’s such fragile hope in his eyes, I find it impossible to say no.
I press my palm against his, and our fingers curl around one another. They fit back together more perfectly than they have any right to.
He leads me to the dance floor and pulls me into his arms. I sigh without meaning to.
“Do you remember the first time we danced together?” he asks, his mouth near my ear.
“No,” I say, because I want to hear his version of events.
“It was the night we shot that commercial for the supper club on West 46th Street, remember? You, me, Lucas, and Zoe were cast. We were all supposed to be young, hip, and in love.”
“Yeah, but I was partnered with Lucas, and you were with Slut Barbie. She was all over you like a rash.”
“You were jealous as hell.”
“Says the man who spent the night acting like he wanted to tear Lucas’s arms off.”
“He touched your ass.”
“He was your friend.”
His gaze drops to our clasped hands. “I used to think that anyone who touched you like that wasn’t my friend.”
“You tried to punch him out.”
He pauses for a few seconds before saying, “I’m not proud of how I acted that night. It made me realize you deserved so much better than an insecure, jealous asshole.”
I remember his jealousy well. At first I thought his possessiveness was sexy. By the end, it was just one more nail in our coffin.
“That night,” he says. “I wanted so much to be different. More than anything, I wanted to be different. But I wasn’t.”
He twirls me around and pulls me back, arm strong around my waist.
“So you destroyed us.”
He tightens his arm around my waist. “I thought I was cutting the cancer that was me out of your life.”
“I never saw you like that.”
“I know, and that was the problem. You couldn’t see the damage I was doing even while it was happening.”
We dance for a while, lost in our own thoughts.
After a few minutes, he pulls back and looks down at me. “You know, when I begged Marco for this show, I hadn’t even read the script. I didn’t care what the role was, as long as it was you and me onstage together. Then I saw you for the first time in too many years, and … our whole past came rushing back. How it felt to be near you. How you could drive me insane with a single look. I was hoping that when you saw me, you’d remember we had good times, too. That you’d missed me as much as I’d missed you. But you were so angry—”
“I had reason to be.”
“I know,” he says, still swaying with me even though the music has stopped. “I expected it.”
“And deserved it.”
“But when we rehearsed the kiss, I—”
He stops and brushes my hair away from my neck, grazing my skin. “I guess there was part of me that hoped kissing you would wash away all the bullshit I’d put you through. That I could tell you without words how I felt, and you’d just magically forgive me.”
“It’s not that easy.” I fist my hands in his shirt, because I want to push him away and hold him closer at the same time.
“I realize that. But you know what kills me?” Frustration is sharp in his voice. “What slays me every day I come to rehearsals? Is that I can be there, in bed with you, kissing you and pretending to make love and … I still miss you. Because it isn’t real. And I want it to be. So fucking badly.”
I try to swallow and can’t. I want to look away, but it’s impossible.
A kaleidoscope of regret fills his eyes. “Cassie, I felt like a ghost while I was away from you. I was. Now, I want to feel real again.”
He searches my face, but I can’t look at him anymore. All the fault lines inside me are flaring to life.
My throat is too full of emotion to speak. He nods in understanding before pulling me back into his arms.
We start to sway again. We’re not actually dancing, just rocking side to side. Not moving forward or backward. Just moving.
Like most of our time together, we’re treading water.
Trying not to drown.
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
Opening night—Romeo and Juliet
There are times in every actor’s life when the enormous mess of possibility and make-believe is distilled into a crystal-clear point of clarity. When the line between imagination and invention blurs, and talent and conviction converge for a brief, shining moment.
Tonight is one of those nights.
The moment I stepped onstage, my transformation was complete. Juliet inhabited me completely.
Now, I’m living her reality, and as the play wears on, my voice says her words, my body feels her emotions, and my brain struggles to understand that the man I’m looking at is real, perfect, and mine.
He’s under my balcony, drawn here by his need to be with me. I’m embarrassed he’s just overhead me lamenting about how much I love him, but I wouldn’t have him unhear it for all the world.
He climbs the trellis, his face dark and determined.
“How camest thou hither?” I whisper down at him. He’s being so reckless. “Tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art. If any of my kinsmen find thee here—”
He jumps onto the balcony with a thump and smiles while I look around nervously.
“With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls,” he says as he walks forward. “For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt. Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.”
He touches my face, then leans forward to brush his lips against mine. Featherlight but heavy with desire.
“If they do see thee,” I say, breathless against his mouth, “they will murder thee.”
“Alack,” he says as he runs his thumb across my cheek, “there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity.”
There’s a drunken roar from inside my house and I push him back against the wall, into the shadows.
“I would not for the world they saw thee here,” I whisper. My hands are on his chest, caressing him. He’s watching them in awe.
“I have night’s cloak to hide me from their sight,” he says as he places his hand over mine and presses it more firmly over his heart. “And but thou love me, let them find me here. My life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.”
He’s looking at me, torn and passionate, and I don’t know how I thought I was truly alive before I met him.
This is what love feels like. To no longer belong to yourself. To be pulled from what you know into what you feel.
No wonder people live and die for this feeling.
Time passes in a blur, and over the course of the next couple of hours, my world is altered. Completely upended. Everything I’ve known is now rewritten by my need for him.
We ignore everything and everyone to be together, and just when I think we’ve outwitted our disapproving parents and friends, I wake up to find him gone.
Dead.
Just as quickly as he gave my life new meaning, my life without him instantly amounts to nothing.
So I choose to die. To swallow down my hurt like poison, take his dagger, and join him.
It’s only as I sink down onto his still-warm body that I feel the peace being a part of him brings. I close my eyes and inhale. His scent is the last thing that registers as I become still and silent.
I float in semi-consciousness, but a huge percussive cacophony makes me stir. For a moment I’m confused.
I open my eyes and see Holt’s neck, his pulse beating strong and fast. The roar of the crowd bombards me, and it’s then I know for sure we’ve been amazing.
I feel amazing.
Bulletproof.
High as a kite and dizzy from it all.
The curtain falls. Holt folds his arms around me and sits up while urging me to my feet.
“Come on,” he whispers as he drags me offstage. “Bows.”
He holds my hand in the wings. My heart pounds fast and loud as our castmates file onstage to take their applause. The audience whoops and whistles. When the main characters appear, they get louder and more appreciative.
Holt and I walk out together. My feet move confidently, even though the enormous cheer that greets us is completely surreal. I present Holt, and he bows, beaming. I’m so proud of him, I feel like crying.
Then it’s my turn to bow. My body is tingling all over, electrified by the adrenaline of my performance and being with him. The audience screams their approval, and I’m so full of happiness, I feel like my skin is going to burst right off my body.
Holt takes my hand, and as we bow together, the audience explodes out of their seats. Their cheering and whistling is almost deafening.
I look at Holt in disbelief. He smiles, radiant and stunning.
The applause seems to go on forever, but eventually the stage manager lowers the curtain, and the entire cast gives a huge cheer of self-congratulation. Everything’s a blur of embraces, kisses, and excited chatter, and I don’t want this feeling to ever end.
I turn around and see Holt, happy and laughing. He’s hugging guys, kissing girls, and slapping people on the back. So normal and unguarded.
A warmth blooms in my chest as I watch him, then he turns to face me. Without a moment’s hesitation, he strides over and wraps his arms around me.
“You were fucking astonishing out there tonight,” he whispers against my ear. “Astonishing.”
I wind my arms around his neck. “So were you. Just incredible.”
We pull back to look at each other, and it’s like everything around us fades to black. It’s just his face, his eyes, the feel of our bodies pressed together, the magnetic pull of his lips, so close.
“Hey, guys! You were average tonight. Must suck to be so talentless. Coming to the party?”
We both receive claps to our backs and turn to see Jack’s smiling face. Holt scowls at him, and Jack’s smile only grows wider.
“We’ll be there,” I say.
“You driving?” Jack asks Holt. “Or do you want to ride with me and Connor?”
Holt looks at me. “Uh … Taylor, do you need a ride? I don’t have my car.”
“Because you jogged in today.”
“Yeah.”
“I remember.” The image of him in his jogging outfit is burned into a very horny part of my brain. “No problem. I told Ruby I’d go with her and your sister.”
“Great!” Jack says and claps us on the shoulders again. “We’re going to have a blast. Woohoo!”
Jack heads off to harass other partygoers.
“Miss Taylor! Mr. Holt!”
I turn to see Erika walking toward us, accompanied by a man I’ve never seen before. He’s wearing a dark red velour jacket and a purple cravat. He could have stepped right off the set of Pygmalion.
“Cassie, Ethan,” Erika says as she stops in front of us. “I’d like you to meet Marco Fiori. Marco’s a very dear friend of mine and one of Broadway’s finest directors. His recent production of Death of a Salesman just won the Critic’s Circle Award for Best Revival.”
The man holds his hand out to me, and I shake it with trembling fingers.
A real Broadway director. This is surreal.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Taylor,” he says warmly as he covers my hand in both of his. “That performance tonight was … well, let me say that if I need a Juliet in the near future, I know who I’ll be calling. You were remarkable, my dear. Truly.”
A blast of heat hits my cheeks, and I don’t think my smile could be wider without surgical assistance.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Fiori,” I say, trying to talk around the huge lump in my throat. “I’m … wow … I’m honored.”
“And Mr. Holt,” he says as he releases my hand and turns to Ethan. “You’ve managed to do the impossible. To portray a Romeo I didn’t want to beat with my umbrella. Bravo. You’re a very talented young man.”
Apparently Holt isn’t above blushing, either, because the tops of his ears go bright red as he shakes the older man’s hand.
“Uh … thanks,” he says with a self-conscious smile. “I’m glad you don’t want to beat me. Now if you could only convince Taylor not to, that’d be great.”
Marco turns to me and raises his eyebrows. “You beat your leading man, Miss Taylor?”
I shrug. “Only when he deserves it.”
Marco laughs and claps. “Oh, you two have some interesting chemistry, don’t you? Directing them must have been delightful, Erika.”
Erika shakes her head and smiles. “That’s one word for it. The experience was certainly never boring. Still, the results speak for themselves.”
Erika smiles at us proudly. I feel like my chest is going to explode from happiness.
Marco points to Holt and me. “Yes, I have to say, you two onstage together is a rare and special phenomenon. Quite remarkable. I haven’t witnessed chemistry this powerful since I saw Liza Minnelli cradling a triple Scotch at the opening night of The Boy from Oz. I predict big futures for the both of you. Especially if you continue working together. I’d certainly love to direct you one day.”
Holt and I glance at each other. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Judging from his expression, neither can he.
“Well, you two had better go get changed,” Erika says as she takes Marco’s arm. “I believe you have a party to attend, and you’ve certainly earned a night of celebration.”
Holt and I say our good-byes before we head toward our dressing rooms. He walks beside me on the stairs and grazes his hand down the small of my back. We’re silent, but I can tell his head is reeling just as much as mine.
“That was a Broadway director,” he says in awe.
“Yep.”
“He complimented our performances.”
“Yes, he did.”
“He actually implied he’d hire us. You and me. For a Broadway show.”
“So I didn’t just imagine that part, then?”
“No.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.”
When we reach his dressing room, he takes my hand and pulls me inside. The room’s empty, and he shuts the door behind us. He turns to face me, his expression intense as he moves forward, urging me back against the door.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he leans down, “but what just happened has officially blown my mind. I need to do this.”
He presses against me and kisses me. It’s long, slow, and deep, and although I’ve kissed him a lot onstage tonight, this is different. We may be still wearing our costumes, but this has nothing to do with our characters.
When he pulls back, his breathing is fast, his face flushed, and his eyes are bright with lust.
“Come and meet my parents.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Uh … okay.”
“I feel like you’re my good luck charm tonight. Maybe being with you will make talking to my old man bearable.”
I smile. “I don’t mean to freak you out, but you just said something nice to me. On purpose.”
“Yeah, I did,” he says and screws up his face. “It felt weird.”
“It sounded weird.”
“But nice?”
I stand on my toes and kiss him softly. Although he tenses, he lets me. He even kisses me back.
I pull back and sigh. “Very nice. Thank you.”
He wraps his arms around me and grazes his nose along my neck.
I shiver as his lips brush against my throat when he whispers, “You’re welcome.”
Ten minutes and one more knee-buckling kiss later, we reach the stage, dressed for the party. Elissa is there, waiting.
When she sees us, she stops in her tracks and looks between us.
“Oh my God. Did you two just have sex?”
“Jesus, Elissa, no,” Holt says, frowning at his sister.
“Well, it looks like you have,” Elissa says as she wipes some lipstick off Holt’s neck and smoothes down my hair. “Now let’s move it. You guys are the last ones out. Mom and Dad will think we’ve forgotten about them.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Holt mumbles as we head toward the door.
We push through into the foyer, and it’s packed with friends, family, and fellow students. I have another pang that my parents couldn’t be here.
There’s a slight rumble of recognition and a smattering of applause as Holt and I emerge, and people say nice things as we pass. Holt seems to take it in stride, but he’s more experienced with this kind of thing. Still, I acknowledge as many people as I can and try to smile.
We push through the crowd until Elissa yells, “Mom! Dad!” before dashing toward an attractive middle-aged couple. The man is almost as tall as Holt but with sandy brown hair, and the lady is short like Elissa, and nearly as blond. I can definitely see shades of Elissa in her mom, but I struggle to see Ethan in either of his parents.
Elissa hugs her mother first, then her father wraps his arms around her. Ethan leans in to give his mother a kiss. He looks at his father and shuffles nervously. There are several awkward seconds before his father reaches his hand out, and Ethan shakes it.
Elissa ushers me forward. “Mom, Dad, this is Cassie Taylor, our amazing Juliet. Cassie, our parents, Charles and Maggie Holt.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Holt,” I say as I nervously shake their hands. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Pleaselikeme, pleaselikeme, pleaselikeme.
“Cassie, you were a wonderful Juliet,” Maggie says, smiling. “So much better than the girl who played her in the Shakespeare Festival last year. What was her name, Ethan?”
“Uh … Olivia,” he says, looking uncomfortable.
Oh. Now her crack about me being his new Juliet makes more sense.
“Yes, Olivia,” says Maggie. “Nice girl, but she couldn’t hold a candle to your performance tonight. But I’m not surprised. You were playing opposite my amazing son.”
She pulls Holt down so she can kiss him on the cheek. He blushes. Hard.
“Well, Ethan made the whole process very easy,” I say, and shoot him a knowing look.
Holt leans over and whispers, “Such a liar,” and I have to laugh.
“I loved Ethan as Mercutio,” Maggie says. “But this? Oh … this was something special. You two have so much chemistry.”
I catch Maggie giving her son a pointed look.
Holt sighs and shakes his head, and I have a feeling he’s used to his mother giving him a hard time. It makes me smile.
“Cassie,” his father whispers as he leans over. “I believe what my wife is implying is that they think Ethan should ask you out on a date.”
“Jesus!” Holt says as he runs his hand through his hair. “Can everyone in this family please stop talking now?”
Everyone is silent for a moment, then Charles whispers a little softer. “I also think he should date you. You seem nice, and it’s been a while since he’s let us meet one of his many—”
“Dad!” Holt says firmly, frustration and embarrassment creeping into his voice. “Stop. Please.”
Charles laughs and holds up his hands in resignation. I wonder why Holt has such an issue with the man. So far, he seems kind of cool.
Elissa turns to her father. “So, Dad, did you enjoy the show?”
Charles rubs the back of his neck and glances at his son. “‘Well, Shakespeare isn’t really my thing, but … it was well done, I suppose. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing. And Cassie, I agree with my wife. You were very good.”
He gives Ethan a tight smile before turning to pull Elissa into a hug. “And of course,” he whispers, then kisses her cheek, “the lighting was genius.”
I feel Holt tense beside me, and when I look around, his jaw is tight. Obviously I’m not the only one who thinks it’s strange his dad didn’t say anything nice about his performance.
Is the man deaf, dumb, and blind? Did he not see what everyone else saw?
“And Ethan was also amazing, right?” Elissa says, as her brother exhales and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wasn’t this the best thing you’ve ever seen him in?”
Mr. Holt sighs. “Elissa, your brother is always very competent in his acting. He doesn’t need my approval to validate him.”
Ethan lets out a short laugh. “Just as well.”
Competent? What the hell? He was freaking spectacular.
“But Dad,” Elissa says, holding his hand, “can’t you at least appreciate that the performances Ethan and Cassie gave tonight were remarkable? I mean, you just don’t see stuff like that every day.”
Mr. Holt looks at her patiently. “Sweetheart, I appreciate that acting takes a certain amount of dedication, but I’d hardly call it remarkable. Curing cancer? That’s remarkable.”
“Here we go,” Holt mutters.
“Healing broken bones? That’s remarkable. Saving someone’s life on a daily basis? That’s remarkable. Actors may think that what they’re doing is important, but really, what difference would it make if we didn’t have them? Suddenly there are no gossip magazines and the rehab centers are empty? No great loss as far as I can tell.”
Holt scowls, and his mother puts a hand on her husband’s arm.
“Charles, please.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Holt says. “As if I care what he thinks anyway.”
“Ethan,” she says in an admonishing tone.
“You think actors aren’t important?” he says. “What about artists, Dad? Musicians? Might as well lump us all together in a useless pile, huh? Do you really want to live in a world with no color? No music? No entertainment? You realize the human race would implode if that happened, right? Every culture on earth has art. Every … single … one. Without it, humans would be a bunch of primitive psychos whose only compulsions would be eating, fucking, and killing. But art’s not important, right?”
Mr. Holt looks at his son sternly, and I get the feeling his father is holding back because I’m here.
“As usual, son,” Charles says, “you misunderstand me. I’m merely comparing the importance of acting to other essential roles within our society. I hardly think you can place actors in the same category as doctors, for example.”
“Okay, you two,” Maggie warns. “That’s enough.”
Mr. Holt ignores her. “Ethan, with your intellect, you have the opportunity to do something truly great with your life. Instead you choose to do something that has very little chance of being anything more than a frivolous hobby. I just don’t understand how you can have no ambition—”
“I do have ambition,” Holt says. “I’ve worked my ass off for three years to get into this place. I came back time and again, even when they kept telling me no, because I want to be the best that I can be, doing something I love to do. That’s ambition, Dad. It’s just different from yours. What a fucking crime, huh? Oh, and thanks for shitting on my chosen profession. And Cassie’s, too. Way to be an unsupportive prick.”
Before his mother can admonish him again, he turns to her. “Sorry, Mom. I can’t deal with him tonight. I’ll talk to you later.”
He pushes roughly through the crowd as we all watch him in awkward silence. My face is hot with anger and embarrassment. How dare Mr. Holt speak to his son like that?
Charles drops his head as his wife whispers, “When are you going to stop? This is what he’s chosen to do. Accept it.”
He looks over at me and winces. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Cassie. I just…” He shakes his head. “For the past few years, Ethan and I haven’t exactly seen eye-to-eye. It’s hard to witness your brilliant son choose a career that’s so…”
“Frivolous?” I offer sarcastically.
He gives me a guilty look. “I was going to say different from what I’d expected. I think every parent wants their child to change the world. I’m no different. I didn’t mean to put down your chosen profession.”
“But if your child finds something they’re truly passionate about,” I say, “who are you to tell them that they’re wrong?”
He studies me for a second. “So, your parents are happy you chose acting as your career?”
That stops me dead in my tracks. “Well, not exactly happy. But I can guarantee that if they were here tonight, they would have told me I did well and were proud of me. I know that much for sure.”
I watch Mr. Holt’s expression carefully, knowing I probably just offended him, but he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he seems sad.
“I guess I saw a different path for Ethan. Ever since he was eight years old, all he ever talked about was being a doctor. Then in his junior year of high school, someone convinced him to join the drama club, and suddenly medicine took a backseat to plays and student films. I honestly thought he’d grow out of it.”
“The thing is, Mr. Holt,” I say, “people never outgrow their passion.”
On one hand, I can totally understand why Holt has so much animosity toward his father. But on the other, I know that it’s hard for parents to let go of their expectations and trust their children to find their own way, no matter how much they love them.
“You’d better go after him,” Elissa says, gesturing toward the doors. “He won’t talk to any of us when he gets like this, but you might stand a chance.”
Ethan’s parents look at me expectantly. “Well, it was nice meeting you both,” I say and quickly head off to find Holt.
I push through the doors and run as fast as my shoes will allow, click-clacking on the pavement stones. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see his familiar frame striding toward the Hub
“Ethan! Wait up!”
He turns and looks as me, and for a moment he lets me see how tired he is. How completely beaten down by whatever it is that makes him act the way he does.
“That bastard,” he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “He couldn’t say it, could he? Couldn’t just fucking pat me on the back for once and say, ‘Well done, son, I’m proud of you.’ Asshole.”
I touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“That theater was full of people who thought I was good. Who fucking loved me. Complete strangers who have more faith in me than my so-called father.”
“It’s not that he doesn’t have faith in you, it’s just that he—”
The words die in my throat when I see the look on his face. “Are you actually defending him?”
“No, I just think that … God, he’s a parent. The uncertainty of a career in acting is scary for someone who doesn’t understand that’s it’s something we’re compelled to do, even if the pay is lousy.”
He stares at me for a moment before dropping his head and shoving his hands in his pockets.
“He didn’t offer me one kind word about my performance, Cassie,” he says, lowering his voice to a bitter whisper. “Not. Fucking. One. He complimented Elissa, and even you. But me? I get the lecture on how I’m wasting my life.”
The hurt in his voice makes my throat tight. I take his hand, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.
“Do you know the last time he said he loved me?” he says to the pavement. “September seventh, two years ago. I remember it clearly, because it doesn’t happen that often. He was drunk. Nice to know that he needs liquid courage to tell his son how he feels.”
“Ethan…”
I move forward and try to hug him, but he takes a breath and steps back.
“I gotta go.”
“What? Where?”
“I need to get out of here for a while.” He starts to walk away.
“Ethan, wait.”
He stops but doesn’t turn around.
I walk around him and put my hands on his chest. He looks at me then, but his eyes are cold.
“Don’t do that,” I say. “Just … don’t.”
“What?”
“Shut down.”
He stares at me, and for a moment I think he’s going to slip into his usual mode of deflect and deny, but the fatigue I saw earlier lingers behind his eyes.
He sighs. “Taylor, you don’t understand. The way I am…” He shakes his head. “I don’t mean to shut down. It just happens.”
“Yeah, well, don’t let it,” I say as I rub his chest and feel the muscles relax a little. “Did you even consider that you might actually benefit from having someone who’s there for you? Who’s willing to listen?”
“You really don’t want that job.”
I sigh in frustration. “Dammit, Ethan, can’t you just trust that I like you? That I want to be there for you. Support you or whatever. But you have to let me.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me like I’ve requested he jump out of a plane without a parachute.
“Please don’t freak out,” I say.
“I’m not,” he says, but his body is rigid and tense.
“Such a liar.”
“Look,” he says. “Needing things … being needed … only ever leads to disappointment.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
“But it usually does.”
I stroke his frown lines. His expression softens, but only a little.
“I just need some time to cool off,” he says. “I’ll see you at the party.”
He steps around me and walks away.
Just when I thought we were making progress.