The People We Keep(88)

“It’s what I do,” I say, smiling as he pulls a small wad of bills from his back pocket and hands it to me. When you have happy accidents, it’s best to own them. They don’t happen often enough.





— Chapter 45 —


The bar the next night is fine. Nothing to write home about. But on Saturday night at the restaurant, the wine couple is back. They’ve brought friends and the bottles of wine come and go more often than I can keep track.

The following week when I play at the restaurant, there’s a huge crowd. People stand and listen while they wait for tables. Robert rushes around. Every time he catches my eye he smiles. Ethan sits at a double by himself, holding a cup of coffee in both hands, mouthing all the words along with me. He’s been listening to me practice.



* * *



Monday morning, I wake up and there’s light streaming in through the lacy curtains in my room at Ethan’s house and I know I’ve slept in way longer than I ever let myself.

“Hey, sunshine,” Ethan says when I stumble into the kitchen. He has a mess of papers and pamphlets all over the table.

“What are you doing?”

“Filling out applications,” he says, handing me one of the pamphlets. “Help me!”

It’s for Emerson College in Boston.

“Are you going back to school?”

“Looking for a new job.” Ethan points to the coffeepot. I pour a cup for myself and give him a warm-up.

I sit at the table and spread out his pamphlets so I can see them.

“Looks like I’ll be moving to cold weather,” he says. “All the good theatre schools seem to be up north.”

“It’s not so bad,” I tell him, holding up a Middlebury brochure. “I did a gig at a bar near Middlebury last year. It’s nice.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah. Gorgeous hills. Snowed like a motherfucker and I didn’t have snow tires, so I got stuck there for a whole week longer than I meant to, but you know… if you don’t need to get anywhere because you live there to begin with, it’s probably nice. Stay in. Eat waffles. The maple syrup’s real.”

Ethan buries his head in his hands.

“Or get snow tires,” I say. “Trade in your Saab for a Jeep?”

“Thin blood,” Ethan says into his hands and shakes his head from side to side. “I have thin southern blood. I’m going to freeze to death.” He hugs his arms around his chest and chatters his teeth. “I’m cold just thinking about it.”

There’s a reason he works in theatre. I wonder why he’s a behind the scenes person instead of an on the stage one.

“Why aren’t you staying here?” I ask, trying to keep my disappointment hidden. It’s not like I thought I could live in Asheville forever, with a regular gig, and a comfy bed, and Ethan refusing to let me pay rent, but I’m not ready for it to end either.

“Oh, you know,” he says. “Bad breakup. Time for a change. Tomorrow was supposed to be our anniversary. You waste three years of your life on someone, it seems like a good idea to get out of town when you wake up.”

I drink my coffee and push pamphlets around the table. So many weird names I don’t recognize. Carnegie Mellon. Brandeis. Sarah Lawrence. And then there’s one I do: Ithaca College.

“Here.” I tap the Ithaca brochure with my finger. “Go here.”

“Ithaca?” Ethan says. “That’s a great program. Cold, but good.”

“It’s warmer than where I grew up,” I say. “And snow feels nicer in Ithaca. I don’t know why. Everything is nicer there.”

“Do you play in Ithaca a lot?” Ethan asks.

“I lived there for a bit.” The air catches in my throat. “It’s a hard place to leave.” I stare into my coffee cup and will my eyes to stay dry. “And,” I say, taking a deep breath, pulling myself back together, “it’s a super gay place. You’d love it.”

“Super gay?” Ethan says. “Would I have to get a cape?”

“No,” I tell him. “But tights aren’t frowned on.”





— Chapter 46 —


I decide to make Ethan an anti-anniversary dinner to celebrate that we got all of his applications in the mail. I check my wallet so many times before I get up to the checkout. My heart thuds in my throat until I make it out of the store, like groceries are the beginning of the end, even though I know they aren’t. Some things get written into your body and your mind can’t reason them away.

I walk home with my bag full of food. Pasta and sauce from a jar. Some onions and peppers to dress it up. It’s the most I really know how to cook, but it’s something. I’m hoping the thought counts more than the end result.

There are tulips blooming in front yard flowerbeds and the air smells full and mossy. It’s not quite dark when I get home. The door to the sun porch is open wide and the door to the living room isn’t closed all the way. I hear Ethan say, “That wasn’t what I meant,” and his voice is full of tears.

I stand on the sun porch and peek through the open door. There’s a man in the living room holding Ethan against the wall. Ethan’s nose is bleeding down his neck. I hold my breath and push the living room door open slowly.