Always Never Yours(61)



“It’s not on the props table.”

I sigh. Of course it isn’t. “Try the guys’ dressing room. Tyler keeps forgetting to return it to props.” Andrew rushes off, and I find Owen near the door. He’s frantically fiddling with his collar, and I have to laugh.

“Need a hand?” I gently tease, coming up beside him and wrapping my fingers in the tie he’s mangled into nothing resembling a proper knot.

He won’t meet my eyes. “Uh, thanks.” He fidgets with his cuffs like he can hardly stand still while I undo the damage.

“You’re going to be great,” I reassure him, knowing stage fright when I see it. I begin the knot and find Owen’s now looking down at me—I guess I never noticed he’s about six feet tall, much taller than I am—a distracted, unconvincing smile on his face.

“We will be, the whole cast. You’ve done an incredible job pulling this together.”

I feel warmth spread through me, but I focus on evening out the ends of the tie. “Hey, have you seen Will?”

He looks away again. “He said he might be a little late.”

“What?” I pause in mid-knot. Will didn’t tell me he’d be late. Once more I hear the vicious voice in my head telling me to be the cool girlfriend, but this isn’t just a trip to Verona. “This is the showcase. This is, like, important . . .”

Owen reaches up to his collar and places a hand on mine. Gently, he squeezes my fingers. His wrist is dotted with familiar blue ink, and even though he’s in costume I know his notebook and pen aren’t far away. The observation relaxes me somehow. When I look up, his eyes have returned to me. “He knows. Don’t worry about him,” he says delicately. “The show will go perfectly.”

His hand is still on mine, and I should pull away, but I’m having a hard time remembering why I like Will and not Owen. I rub the stain on his wrist. “Did no one teach you how to use a pen?”

He blinks once, then his eyes find my finger wiping ineffectually at the blue spot. “I press down on them too hard,” he says, his voice a controlled murmur. He doesn’t remove his hand. “I can wash it off if you want.”

“No, I like it,” I say, but I don’t stop kneading my thumb across his wrist. Distantly, the applause for the previous scene sounds through the wall. I drop my hand. “That’s our cue.”

Owen’s eyes flicker, like he’s just remembered where he is. “Right.”

I usher him in the direction of the stage right stairs, then sweep my eyes over the green room for inattentive cast members. Finding no one, I make my own way backstage, noticing faint blue smudges now coloring my fingertips. I smile even as my chest constricts with the mixture of excitement and nerves that begin every performance.

My actors have lined up in the wings, and I watch them file on, Tyler with his briefcase. Peering around the curtain, I look into the audience. But the stage lights are on, and I can only make out the first couple rows. I search the faces of drama underclassmen, proud grandparents, and the occasional teacher.

Nowhere do I find Will.

Fighting disappointment, I turn my attention back to my scene. “Call out the name Willy Loman and see what happens! Big shot!” Tyler proclaims with desperate bravado.

“All right, Pop,” Owen replies, placating.

Somebody sneezes in one of the front rows, and I whip my head back to the audience to find a mortified-looking, allergy-stricken freshman sitting next to—Rose?

She’s by herself, Erin nowhere in sight, and she’s put herself together annoyingly perfectly for a woman eight months pregnant. Her hair’s done up in a neat bun, and she’s wearing the dangly earrings she can’t around Erin and a long-sleeve dress that highlights just how little weight she’s gained.

Dad’s in New York, doing something house-related. I guess Rose would have had to drop Erin off at Aunt Charlotte’s, and she came without Dad bringing her. I want to be grateful—she was kind to even look up when the showcase was, let alone make arrangements to come. Yet instead, what I feel is guilty, even a little bitter.

If not for the divorce, it would’ve been my mom in the front row. She was the one to drag my dad and me to SOTI performances, and she even brought me to the occasional Stillmont High School production when I was younger. She would have loved to be here. Somehow Rose showing up tonight feels like she’s encroaching on my mom’s and my relationship in a way Rose living under our roof doesn’t.

“Don’t yell at her, Pop, will ya?” Owen’s incensed voice pulls my focus back to the stage. In the moment, because of the way I’ve blocked the scene and the way Owen’s squaring his shoulders, he actually looks bigger than Tyler on the stage. He’s bringing an intensity to the final lines that he hadn’t in rehearsals, and I’m impressed.

Tyler hunches over and drops his voice to deliver Willy’s final line. “Give my best to Bill Oliver—he may remember me.” A couple of people in the audience covertly try to wipe their eyes in the heavy pause that follows.

The lights come back on, and the audience applauds as my actors take their bows. Feeling the heady rush of a perfect performance, I begin to step back from the curtain—but then I catch Tyler beckoning me on stage, wearing the ridiculous grin he gets every time he’s in front of an adoring audience.

Emily Wibberley & Au's Books