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He’s laughing as he climbs to his feet. “Can I choose my execution? Like being smothered by kisses?”
I roll my eyes but reach up and grab the collar of his jacket. “Fine, Henry. I’ll smother you with kisses.”
And I do.
Epilogue
Paige, One Year Later
“Areyousureyouaren’t sick of seeing this play yet?” I ask Henry.
“Are you kidding me? Watching Evie as Tiny Tim is the greatest theater experience of my life.”
I’ve been helping as a backstage mom with the community theater production ofA Christmas Carolevery night this week. Tuesday was the absolute chaos of dress rehearsal, and Wednesday through last night, I helped with all the backstage wrangling, including keeping the youngest cast members entertained during the long stretches between their scenes.
Henry bought tickets to every performance and watched from the creaky seats in the small Albemarle High School theater.
Tonight, I get to watch as an audience member, front row center, along with the entire Winters crew. There’s still two weeks to go until Christmas, but they all insisted on coming into town to see Evie in her breakout role. I don’t know how good Evie is, but I can say with absolute confidence that no one has performed Tiny Tim with such relish in the history of theater.
We meet up with everyone else in the school parking lot, and I’m overcome again with gratitude for this family of mine. In the year that Henry and I have been dating, they’ve folded him in as easily as they have Evie and me, and sometimes—especially during extra-mushy times of the year like Christmas—my heart feels bigger than my body.
We file into our seats—Henry bought out the front row for tonight as soon as tickets went on sale—and settle in with a flurry of jackets and winter scarves. The only one missing is Lisa, who is taking my place backstage so I can be in the audience.
I imagine Evie all keyed up like she is every night, squirmy in her impatience to go onstage and deliver her lines. Lisa will have her hands full trying to keep Evie from sneaking into the wings the whole show to peek out at the audience.
We’ve arrived twenty minutes early, and I spend it with my hand tucked into Henry’s, listening more than I talk as Sawyer and Noah tease him about his new nickname—Dr. Hottie Hill. It turned up on Rate the Prof after he leaned into the wardrobe makeover I suggested in the spring. He’d tolerated it for about two weeks before he had such an influx of students—especially girls—coming to his office hours that he went back to V-neck sweaters in “self-defense.”
Tonight, he’s wearing my favorite look, a cream-colored handknit sweater that had been pricy even at the thrift store because of the designer label, jeans, and a truly homely blue and gray winter scarf Evie crocheted for him because he’s a “Ravenclaw, obviously.” She’s deep into a Harry Potter obsession, working her way through the books with Henry, who reads them with her. It’s his first time too, and he wears his Ravenclaw scarf unironically and pretty much everywhere.
She made one for me in the bumblebee colors of Hufflepuff, and I hope all her aunties and uncles know that they’ve got Hogwarts scarves in their future. Two weeks in their future, to be precise, when they come back for Christmas and open Evie’s present to each of them. And none of them had better argue with her about the house she sorts them into; she’s very confident she’s pegged them all correctly.
Grace leans around Noah to squeeze my knee. “The set looks amazing, Paige.”
I smile, a flush of pride creeping up my cheeks. I’d volunteered to work on them and ended up being the de facto set designer. I still love managing the store, but it had been fun to immerse myself in the creative challenge of bringing Victorian London to life on a tight budget. If I could do this a couple of times a year while keeping the steady income and the sense of community from working at Handy’s . . . man, that’s the good life.
I’ve given up wondering what I did to deserve all this. I would want this kind of happiness and fulfillment for everyone I love, and I spend my time appreciating that they all want it for me too.
Soon the house lights dim, and the stage lights come up. The buzz of audience chatter subsides to first a hum and then a rustling of coats and programs. As the actors appear on stage and the lines I know now by heart begin, I relax into my seat.
Henry does not. He leans slightly forward, his leg bouncing in a soft but very fast rhythm.
“Hey,” I say, whispering so not even the actors a few feet away can hear. “You’ve seen her every night. She’ll do great.”
He nods, but when his leg continues to bounce, I settle my hand on his thigh, a gentle reminder to take it easy. He does for minutes—even scenes—at a time, and I smile at how similar the play is to my own Scrooge’s story, even down to the memory of Henry’s Grandmother Marley who helped him find the first sparks of Christmas joy again.
However, by the time we’re in the final scene, I give up trying to keep Henry’s leg still. It doesn’t seem to bother anyone else on our row, all of them watching the stage raptly as they wait for Evie to deliver Tiny Tim’s famous words. Henry is sitting ramrod straight, leg bouncing like mad, his hands clasped tightly over the arms of his seat.
“She’ll nail it, Henry,” I whisper.
He looks over at me and nods, his face serious, then turns right back to the stage. Right on cue, Evie steps to the center of the stage and pronounces the final line of the play. “God bless us, every one!”
The audience bursts into applause and cheers. I know I’m not impartial, but it feels like Evie outdid herself tonight. Probably showing off for her Dubs and aunts and uncles.
“See,” I say, after giving an ear-splitting whistle, “she did great!”
Henry nods, but he doesn’t even look at me. “She did.”
The cast gets a standing ovation every night from the warm Creekville audiences, and normally, they’ll take a couple of encores. I watch as the curtain closes and the audience cheers louder until it opens again and the cast bows. After a minute or so, the curtain closes again, and I grin at Henry.
