Not Today, But Someday(49)

Emi takes a deep breath before she answers. Her eyes meet mine, keeping them there as she speaks. “I’m going to try to forgive my dad.” She exhales quickly with relief. It’s as if she needed my strength to even say the words. I smile at her encouragingly, as does my mother.

“A win-win,” Mom says, letting go and walking to the freezer. “So, Emily, I like to add shrimp to my pasta. Would you like some in yours?”

“No, thanks,” she answers. “I’ll stick with the Nate diet for today at least. I don’t want to hear what they do to shrimp.”

“Our house is a safe place,” she jokes. “Nathan learned at a young age that he could have his own beliefs. He also learned that trying to impose those beliefs on his father and me would only get him sent to bed without dessert.”

“That was when I cared about dessert,” I pipe up. “It’s no fun anymore. She’s heard all the facts and still continues to eat the fl–”

“Nathaniel James Wilson!” Mom speaks over my statement. I smile, noticing that Emi’s covering her ears. I wasn’t going to actually say anything.

“Just kidding,” I say as I hold my hands up defensively. “We’re going to go rehearse,” I tell my mother.

“In the theater?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll bring up some snacks,” Mom says. “No chocolate,” she adds.

“Thank you,” Emi says with a slight blush in her cheeks. She follows me upstairs to the third floor. “Can I see what you’ve been up to?” she asks.

“Later,” I assure her. “We’ll take a break and go over there... but we’re here for serious business.”

“I’m here to hang out with you,” she says. “Do you really need to rehearse this?”

“Uhhh...” I stutter, having not realized this was more social than scholarly to her. “A little?”

“Okay,” she shrugs as she reaches the entrance to the theater. I stand behind her when she stops, staring at the room in front of her. “This is an actual movie theater,” she says.

“A small one,” I admit. “It only seats twenty-four.”

“What in the... who has a theater in their house?”

“We do,” I laugh as I slip past her and descend the steps to the front of the room. “My dad loved films. And he had a lot of friends and associates, so this was his guilty pleasure.”

“Incredible,” she says, finally following me to the floor up front. Dad actually had a small stage built under the screen, but as far as I knew, no one had ever used it for a performance. Emi unzips her bag and pulls out her copy of the Canterbury Tales. I grab mine from the bar in the corner where I had left it this morning with my sword. “So, let’s talk characters,” Emi says, taking control. “Who... is... the squire?”

“You didn’t read the whole thing?” I ask her.

“Was I supposed to?” she asks, shocked.

“I don’t guess so, no.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” she says quickly.

“I know you have,” I laugh. “The squire is, as you already know, the knight’s young son,” I start.

“He’s lusty and lively,” Emi says dramatically.

“So you’ve read that much.”

“It seems fitting. And I think it’s funny our English teacher thinks this role suits you.”

“You don’t think it does?” I challenge her playfully.

“No, I definitely think it does. It just seems weird for a teacher to think a student is ‘lusty.’”

“Passionate,” I correct her. “She’s friends with our art teacher. I can’t hide my passion all the time, you know.”

“I know,” she says. “No apologies needed here. I like that about you.”

“Good.”

“Good,” she repeats.

“Anyway, so I’m lusty and lively and virile, apparently–”

“And you’re in love with some lady we don’t know.”

“Right. So in love that I can’t sleep, apparently. And I write songs and draw, as well as joust and dance.”

“Do a dance.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on!” she urges me.

“I’ll play a song on my guitar, but I will not dance.”

“Fine,” she says, clapping giddily. “Go ahead!”

“What, now?”

“Of course. We’re rehearsing. When else?”

“Wait, I’m not going to sing on Friday,” I tell her warily. “Not in front of your class.”

“You should!”

“I, uh... I don’t think I can.”

“Go get your guitar,” she encourages me. “That would be awesome.”

“You’ve never heard me.”

“And I never will if you don’t go get your guitar...”

“Alright, alright,” I tell her, going back down the stairs to retrieve my acoustic from my bedroom. It occurs to me that I’ve never played for anyone other than my mother, and even then, she’s really only overheard me in my bedroom. My stomach falls, nerves getting the best of me. Am I really going to perform for this English class on Friday?