“Sounds great,” I say, trying to be excited enough for the both of us. Covey has two more shows today, which means he needs all the sustenance he can get.
Everyone crowds around the dining room table for a non-traditional Christmas feast. Since Covey leaves in a few hours, his mom has loaded up the plates with pancakes, bacon, hash browns, and some quiche dish. There’s more than enough to keep everyone happy, at least until she breaks out what she’s calling “the real dinner” later this afternoon.
“Don’t forget, Covey,” Aunt Kerry says between bites, “we’ll all be in the audience tonight.”
He nods. “I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure we will, son. It’ll be good seeing you dance on that stage again,” his father says.
“You’re going to love it,” I butt in when the silence drags on too long. “He’s so good in all of it, but my favorite was watching him as a soldier in the fight scene. It’s so cool seeing all the battle choreography.”
“That sounds very exciting,” his mother says.
I look around the table and find Covey examining me closely. “What?” I mouth to him.
“Nothing. It’s—nothing.” He shakes his head and goes back to his pancakes.“I won’t be in the fight scene today.”
Did I get it wrong? My memory of the specifics might be a little off, but I remember him in that role so clearly. It was when I first took a look at all those muscles and the way they flexed beneath those ridiculously thin tights. That’s not something I’ll ever forget.
“Did something happen?” Edith asks.
“No, there are always slight adjustments to casting.”
Suddenly, my appetite is exchanged for nausea. Does he know that I came to the show by myself? Without the students?
Maybe he knows I was staring at him during that scene?
There’s no way. He wears similar things later in the show, during the Hot Chocolate dance.Covey can’t read your mind.I say it, but it doesn’t seem true. Multiple times in our lives, I’ve come to the opposite conclusion. He tends to know exactly what I’m thinking, sometimes even before I do.
Which would be helpful lately. If he knew how much I cared about him. That I don’t just love him; I’ve falleninlove with him.
And then a thought occurs to me. What if he does know? What if, despite all my efforts to conceal my true feelings and maintain our friendship, he’s seen through my facade?
That would explain why he’s acting the way he is, trying to devise a plan to let me down easy, to make our New Year’s Day breakup a real break.
If I thought my heart was breaking before, it’s now splintering into tiny pieces. Ones I’m pretty sure will never be put back together, no matter how hard I try.
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing away from the table. The tears burn behind my eyes, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to keep from crying. The best I can hope for is a little privacy while I fall apart.
Away from the group, I take the stairs two at a time, tears falling down my cheeks. Once safety in the upstairs bathroom, I let myself go, sobbing into my hands.
It takes several minutes before I’m able to pull myself together enough to reach for my phone.
“Silas,” I gasp when he picks up.
“What happened?”
I can’t even answer that question. “I—he?—”
“Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do. Make an excuse to leave. Tell them that I had a kitchen emergency and need help. You can be vague, but make it sound important. Lie as much as you need to. When you’re out, come straight over. I’ve got your favorite beer and plenty of food.”
“I can’t—” I said I would be here. It’s part of the deal I made as his fake boyfriend.
“You can and you will. Ten minutes. I’ll be waiting.”
I splash some cold water on my face, but it does very little to hide the fact that I’ve been crying. My blotchy face and swollen eyes will give it away in a heartbeat. If I’m quick, maybe no one will notice. That’s probably too much to hope for, but a quick getaway is my only option at this point.
“You okay?” Covey startles me when I open the door. He’s leaning against the wall in the hallway.
