"I can't imagine going on tour with a preschooler, and I can't imagine leaving her behind."
Even the thought of that makes my heart clench. A different feeling than thinking of a post-Henderson life, but that's as it should be.
"Um, Gloria, can you show me that thing in the costume room?" Leslie asks.
Gloria looks at Leslie, confused. Then her eyes grow wide. "Sure. That thing I was telling you about is right over here."
I have no idea what they're talking about until I hear the low clearing of his throat. I inhale deeply, slowly letting it out before I turn to face Henderson.
I wait for him to start.
He looks nervously at his feet. "I could have handled that better."
I still don't say anything. He deserves to squirm. Payback's always a bit fun.
"Tabitha, you know I'm not comfortable with this. I knew it would create a mess. ThatIwould create a mess of everything. I don't know how to put the two together without making a … mess." He shrugs, obviously unable to find a better word.
But now I'm angry with him. Once again, he's pushed me away only to immediately pull me back. I'm sick of the yo-yo.
"I don't know what you want from me, Henderson. You go through life thinking that it won't be messy. Guess what? Life is messy. That mess is good."
He shrugs. "Mess hurts. It's chaotic and painful. I grew up in a mess."
"So did I, and yes, sometimes it hurts, but sometimes it's the most beautiful thing ever created. But you don't get to it by keeping everything neat and orderly. You can't create purple unless you mix your blue and red. You can't paint a sunset without all those colors swirling together on the brush." I'm not sure where all these deep metaphors are coming from.
Henderson looks at me, his hands in his pockets. He's wearing a new shirt, but I can still see a trace of chocolate on his muscular forearm. "But I know red and I know blue. I don't like all purples. Some purples don't work for me."
And suddenly, it's clear to me that I can't fix this. He has to want it. To want me. He has towantto grow. "No, but you won't know until you try. You're still the scared little boy you've always been. You're just older, but you're still the same. You just want someone to love you."
His eyes grow wide, hurt filling them. "But no one ever has. No one ever will. So why bother trying? It just makes a mess."
"Love is messy. People are messy. You have to accept their mess if you want to let them in. And no one will ever love you if you don't let them in. I'm trying to love you, but you have to let me in, mess and all."
"I want to, but I … I can't handle the mess."
He's not saying this to hurt me. He's being honest. He's not ready. I should have realized I couldn't push him. But I have to be honest. "Then you can't handle me. Because I'm a whole lot of mess. But I'm a whole lot of just what you need too."
I turn to walk out. "Did you ever stop to think about how much you've missed out on in your life because you were afraid? Did it ever occur to you that maybe there were people along the way ready to love you, but you weren't ready to be loved? You've been alone all this time not because you weren't worthy of love, but because you rejected it?"
I swish out, ready to head to the stage. The show must go on.
Chapter 40: Henderson
The audience loves her. What's not to love? It takes us about ninety minutes to disperse the crowd following the show.
And this is show one.
It was … not our best performance, but the cast'll pull it together tomorrow. The potential producers won't be coming until next week, but I'm sure they'll have their ear to the ground for early feedback.
But none of it matters.
The Edison doesn't even matter.
All that matters is that Tabitha won't even speak to me. She won't look at me. It wouldn't surprise me if she blocks my calls and texts.
I would too.
I'm not worth it.
