Always Never Yours(86)

“Where we are doesn’t matter,” he says with half a laugh, as if he’s surprised I could imagine otherwise. “Wherever we are, we’re family.”

His words dissolve the weight on my chest, the weight I hadn’t fully realized had lain there for years. He stands up and walks across the room, placing his hands on my shoulders and looking down at me.

“Nothing could ever change how much I love you,” he says, and I collapse into a hug against his chest. I’m crying into his shoulder without even realizing it, his hands stroking soothing circles on my back. We remain that way until I’m out of tears.

Finally, I pull back, noticing the ugly snot stain I’ve left on his shirt. He doesn’t seem to mind. “So,” I say, casting around for something to defuse the heavy emotion in the room, “how pissed did Jody seem on the phone?”

He laughs. “Pissed. Not pissed enough she wouldn’t talk to you about the role, though.”

“I’m fine with just being Lady Montague. I only need the acting credit for SOTI,” I say, stepping away and picking up my new costume. “It doesn’t matter what part I play.”

“I don’t believe that,” Dad replies sharply, and I whip to face him, surprised at his sudden conviction. “For months, I’ve heard nothing but Romeo and Juliet. This role is yours. You earned it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I protest. “They found a new Juliet.”

“So what if there’s a new Juliet?” he asks, throwing the thought away with a wave of his hand. “I want to know that if you don’t go on stage to do what you’ve worked for, you won’t regret it tomorrow.”

Still clutching the Lady Montague costume, I picture walking on stage in the Angus Bowmer Theatre just to say two lines. I could do it, but it’d hurt. I’ve put hours and hours into this play, I’ve made Juliet my own, and to just walk away . . . Then I picture standing on Juliet’s balcony, delivering lines to Tyler Douchebag Dunning—and it doesn’t feel impossible.

I thought I wasn’t meant to be a main character, on stage or anywhere else. But I also thought Madeleine was perfect and she and Tyler were meant to be, that my dad didn’t care about my mom and my place in our family was disappearing, and that Owen could never want someone like me. I thought I couldn’t fall for someone absolutely and completely. I’ve been wrong before.

I look back up at Dad, and I know he sees the resolve in my eyes, because he’s smiling. “Jody’s in the lobby. I saw her returning when I got here,” he says, taking the costume out of my hands. “Go.”

In one step I’ve reached the door. But before I pull it open, I double back and throw my arms around him. “Thanks, Dad.”



* * *





I enter the lobby, and I’m momentarily overwhelmed by the pre-performance chaos. The noblewomen of Verona have gathered in full costume around the brunch buffet and are chattering excitedly. Nearby, one of the prop masters explains to Anthony for the hundredth time how to use the blood squib for his death scene. The stage crew, Will included, have chosen the center of the room to go over the set changes one final time.

I pick out Jody by the front doors talking to a couple of parent chaperones, none of whom looks happy. Threading in between the costumed girls, I catch snippets of their conversation.

“Heard he was . . .”

“She just called . . .”

“. . . Italian girlfriend.”

Wait. I stop so abruptly that Jeremy crashes into my back. He mutters an apology and darts around me. I know there’s only one person Italian girlfriend could refer to, but I have to be certain. I come up beside Courtney, ignoring the indignant looks I get from everyone I just cut in the buffet line.

“Megan! You’re here!” Courtney doesn’t bother hiding the curiosity in her voice.

“Uh, yeah. I wasn’t feeling well,” I lie, eager to dodge this conversation. I match their gossipy tone. “Hey, did I hear you talking about Cosima?”

Jenna cranes her head past Courtney. “Yeah, I think she might be real.” She giggles.

“What—uh—makes you say?”

“Owen’s roommate was telling everyone that Owen and Cosima were on the phone this morning,” Courtney rushes to say. “They were talking for, like, an hour. Apparently it was . . . intense.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively.

“Intense how?” I force myself to ask.

“We heard he was doing a lot of apologizing and reassuring. Whatever Owen did . . . he regrets something.” Courtney sounds obviously pleased with herself.

I don’t know why I asked. I knew what I would hear. “Still doesn’t prove she’s real.” I fake a laugh as my heart is ripped from my chest. “I’ll see you guys later,” I say while they’re laughing.

Leaving the line, I pause by the stairs to catch my breath, my chest tight. I don’t want to be the kind of person who jumps to conclusions based on gossip, but with my romantic history, it’s pretty much impossible not to. When Owen left my room this morning, he probably realized he wants to be with Cosima and regrets being with me. He called her to apologize.

I thought I’d done something different when I fell for Owen. He said I’d repeatedly chosen the wrong guys—I thought he was the right one. Instead, I’ve done exactly what I did every time before. It’s like I can’t escape putting myself in a position to be discarded and replaced.