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I step out into the chilly late November air with little concern for my decorum. Baker & Park employees mix with pedestrians on the street as I emerge from the building, hailing a cab, not caring where I’m going.
I’ll figure it out when I get there.
THIRTY-ONE
HANNAH
The smell of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon wafts through the air as I wander down the sidewalk. The snow lightly dusts everything in sight, and the twinkling lights draped over every storefront create a merry ambiance. I watch as children run around with their parents, squealing with delight at the decorations and holiday window displays. To my surprise, even with Thanksgiving festivities being last week, this winter wonderland has wiped away the anxiety that New York City usually brings me.
Coming back to New York to audition was something I went back and forth on. While a lot of shows do hold auditions in Atlanta and Chicago, some only do a day or two in New York City. The city that never sleeps may be a necessary evil when it comes to the industry I chose, but coming back has only secured in my mind that I have no interest in living here unless it’s specifically for a show.
“Hey, Blondie, would ya move?!” A white-haired man in a checkered brown suit, leaning heavily on a walking cane, pauses beside me on the sidewalk. He glances at me beforethrusting his cane forward to jab me in the leg. His watery blue eyes twinkle with something like amusement as he limps away, resting most of his weight on the cane in his hand. I can hear him chuckling softly, even as I rub my bruised thigh and wonder why he chose to make a spectacle of me.
As I run my fingers over the tender area of my thigh that he just jabbed, my eyes linger on a group of women in black leotards and tights warming up only a few feet down the sidewalk. The studio isn’t far from the theater district, so it’s unsurprising that I would come across familiar faces. One figure stands out instantly. Luna is standing with the group of women, dressed in her rehearsal blacks. Her tanned olive skin and dark hair pulled up in a tight knot are easy to make out against the all-black ensemble. Our eyes meet, and I know she has seen me. She quickly excuses herself from the group and rushes over to me.
“Oh my God, Hannah! What are you doing here?” Her short arms wrap around my neck as she pulls me into a tight hug. The soft scent of lilacs flows from the top of her head, consuming my senses and lulling me into a calmed state. A friendly face in the chaos of New York City is a welcome reprieve to my anxiety after attempting to hail a cab during the busiest time of the evening.
“There are a few auditions in the city over the next few days, so I decided to come back for a bit.” I smile at her, but the pleasant expression dies nearly instantly as another familiar face comes into my view. She’s facing away as she talks to a petite brunette that I’ve never seen before. Our eyes lock, and I’m immediately transfixed by her piercing azure gaze. She pushes her fiery red hair over one shoulder, but her eyes don’t leave mine. Her glance feels almost electrifying, and I am left wordless as my heart pounds in my chest. Themixture of intrigue and despair consumes me as she starts to walk toward us, abandoning her previous conversation with little regard.
Esme Eaton.
While I’ve embarrassingly kept up with her life via social media, I’ve found myself checking in less and less these days. There once was a time that she consumed my mind, whether it be because I was focused on our breakup—if you could even call it that—or, in moments of weakness, missing her. Esme and I spent a tumultuous four months together, and at no point did she ever want to label it. We discussed it at length, but she always said labels were restrictive and that I should know where her heart was at.
When she pretty much cheated on me, but then claimed we weren’t in a committed relationship despite my thinking we were monogamous, I quickly learned why she was so set on not labeling it.
The heart-wrenching memory of the moment I found out about Sarah—the girl she’d been hooking up with—used to bring me to my knees. Now, as she approaches me on a crowded New York street, I don’t feel the pain I once felt, but my stomach still twists as my eyes meet hers. Six months have passed since the awful night I found out about her betrayal. The sound of their laughter, the sight of them walking hand-in-hand; all these memories swim through my mind in an angry sea of emotion, but longing isn’t one of them. Despite having no lingering affections, Esme’s presence still causes me discomfort.
If anything, I feel like I haven’t done enough. Esme just booked quite possibly a career-defining role. She’s not just in the show, but one of the two leads, and I’ve yet to book a single production. I’ve been offered smallerprojects over the years, but they were often unpaid and, given my situation with my parents, I needed something that would pay.
Esme’s mile-wide smile is illuminated by the festive Christmas lights, and her eyes twinkle with glee. Just as she reaches us, I feel a hand run gently down my back. I jump in surprise; this is New York, after all, and sudden contact on a street corner could only mean one thing. Luna watches me intently as I shift away from the stranger’s grip, only for me to feel their lips graze my temple.
“Shhh, princess. It’s me.” Liam’s voice washes over me, the anxiety I’d been bathing in only moments ago instantly replaced with something new: safety.
“Oh, uh…hi.” The surprise in my voice doesn’t go unnoticed as Luna steps forward.
Esme stands to her side, arms crossed over her chest, but it’s clear that it’s not an expression of concern. “Who are you?” she asks, her arms not loosening even a millimeter from her body as she holds her ground.
“I apologize, that was rude of me,” Liam says as he grins from ear to ear, his gleaming million-watt smile nearly knocking me over. He extends a hand to the redhead. “I’m Liam, Hannah’s boyfriend. And you are?”
This causes her to shift on her feet and accept his pleasantry, taking his hand in hers. “Esme.”
“Esme,” he repeats, appearing to think through the Rolodex in his mind. I don’t remember mentioning her to him, at least not by name. “I don’t believe she’s ever mentioned you, my apologies. It’s great to meet you.” The forced kindness in his voice crawls up my spine, and I wonder if he means it genuinely or wants to remind her of her place by telling her she’s irrelevant.
This doesn’t sit well with Esme.
“I find that hard to believe,” she scoffs as she walks away, rejoining the group of castmates farther up the walk.
“What’s the story there?” Luna’s brows nearly reach her hairline as she stares at me.
My history with Esme is hardly a secret, but due to the nature of how she insisted on us keeping our relationship, it’s unsurprising that people don’t know.
“We, uh…used to date.”
“Dude, that sucks,” Luna says as she glances over her shoulder at Esme. “I can barely deal with her as a castmate, let alone being involved with her. You have the patience of a saint.”
I nearly forget Liam is at my side until the hand he was resting on my lower back snakes around to squeeze my hip, pulling me flush to his side.
“It is what it is.” I shrug before turning to Liam, whose eyes are already on me. “What are you doing here?”
