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“I see they forced you into the t-shirt,” she says with a wink.
“It wasn’t worth the fight.”
“Why are you staying with them, anyway? Do you want to stay with me tonight? Please? Come! It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t want to upset them.”
“Oh, believe me. I know. It’s your life motto.” I frown and she rolls her eyes, not pressing that issue. “Whatever, just think about my offer, yeah? I’ve got extra space. Well, kind of. You’d have to sleep with me on my twin bed.”
My dad catches wind of our conversation inside the diner and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. That commune isn’t even safe enough for you. I won’t have Whitney there as well.”
“It’s an actor’s co-op, not a commune.”
“Not now,” my mom reprimands my father as we slide into a booth near the window. The red upholstery is sticky with syrup from a previous customer. “Avery has enough stress already. I don’t want any arguing today. Now, Avery, tell us how your dress rehearsals went last night.”
And that’s that.
There’s not a single moment of the breakfast that doesn’t revolve around Avery. Oh, she tries hard to curve the conversation toward me, but my parents swivel the spotlight right back on her. I’m actually okay with it. This is comfortable, like slipping on a worn pair of shoes. I sit and listen and eat, content to be an understudy.
We don’t even have the check when Avery looks at her phone and curses.
“I’ve got to get going. Dave wants us all there extra early today. We have press.”
She leans over and kisses my cheek and when she leaves, she takes all the energy with her. After that, there’s an overwhelming feeling of What now? None of us makes eye contact. I rearrange the sugar packets. Fortunately, it doesn’t last long. My parents have to get to work, after all. I have a day to myself, and I make the most of it. Right after I yank off that bubblegum pink t-shirt.The next day, my parents and I spend a tense, awkward morning together in their crockpot of an apartment. We stew in each other’s space. I suggest we go out and sightsee, but my mom thinks it’s better if we stay in. We have a big night ahead of us, she reminds me. The musical starts at 7 PM and my mom wants to ensure we get there with plenty of time to find our seats. After, we have late dinner reservations at a restaurant my mom keeps describing as “very fancy” while giving me a pointed look.
It’s like she thinks I’m going to roll off my sofa bed, slide on some shoes, and proclaim myself ready to go.
A long walk outside by myself around the city at lunch time is the only thing that keeps me sane.
“Did you reserve a table for five at dinner?” I ask later, sitting at the window to use the natural light to apply my makeup.
“Yes. Avery might bring a guest.”
No. She won’t. I suggested she do that because I’m a wimp and haven’t told my parents about Derek. Even now, as we stand on the sidewalk, underneath the theater’s marquee, I still haven’t spilled the beans, and I realize this was slightly poor planning on my part right as Derek steps out of a car, stands to his full height, and straightens his suit jacket.
My heart leaps into my throat.
He really came.
He flew all the way to New York to be here for me tonight.
I glance over at my parents and they’ve noticed him as well. Everyone has. The carpet that leads from the street to the theater entrance has been roped off for arrivals. We, of course, came in off the sidewalk, ushered by a coordinator who immediately marked us as unworthy. Sort of. She did tug my arm as I passed.
“Who are you? A blogger? Do you act? If you want photos, you’ll need to enter from the street.”
I decided to take the compliment before setting her straight.
Some of the other guests arriving to the theater are milking that short walk up the carpet for everything it’s worth. Step. Pose. Smile. Smoldering glare. Flash, flash, flash. Derek ignores the photographers as they start snapping away frantically. He ducks his head down and keeps his eyes straight ahead.
I doubt the paparazzi know exactly who he is. After all, he’s not a fixture in New York society, but that doesn’t stop them from angling to get a good photo. Snap now, research later.
With quick strides, he moves past them, heading to the door of the theater, then he looks up and halts. A few feet from him, I stand with my parents.
He smiles. Flawlessly suited, hair freshly trimmed, features in perfect harmony. Warmth spreads through me, and for half a second on that busy sidewalk, there’s only the two of us, exchanging a silent greeting.
