He opens the door, introducing Slim Jim, and then begins to tell my dad about the first phase of the renovation.
The door closes behind them, and when I look at my mom, I find she's already staring at me.
Tears well in her eyes. "Darling girl, I'm thrilled for you. You're glowing, from the inside out. Happiness, contentment, they'll do that to you." She takes a tissue from her purse, dabs at her lower lash line. A smear of concealer comes off on the tissue, revealing a swath of dark color under her eyes.
I take her hand. I wish I had a chair for her. "How are you feeling today?"
She chuckles. "I'll be honest with you. I'm high right now."
I choke on a mixture of shock and laughter. I really wasn't expecting her to say that. "Adela's special brownie?"
She nods, eyes mischievous. "I only had a couple bites. Just enough to take the edge off."
"Good, Mom. You should. There's no reason for you to walk around in pain." She'll take the heavy painkillers later, when she's home.
"Let's go inside," she says, vining her arm through mine. Her open palm finds my hand, and she intertwines our fingers. "I want to hear all about how you're going to make this house a home."
Chapter 59
Penn
The whole fuckingtown is here, and I wish I were exaggerating. There's Margaret, front and center like she said she'd be. I look out into the crowd and spot Vivi with her two children, Hugo beside her. Daisy sits with her mom and dad, and Bonnie. Even Sal and Adela from Sweet Nothings are here, selling cupcakes and brownies and promising fifty percent of the proceeds go to the youth theatre.
I catch Daisy's eye, and she offers me a thumbs up. She's been reading the script with me all week, helping to make sure I've memorized my lines. Despite this, I am one hundred percent certain I'm going to flub my lines multiple times.
Tenley appears beside me, pulling back the curtain to peek with me. "There's my husband," she says, a smile in her voice as she points to a man in the front row. He wears Wranglers, ostrich boots, and a sage green collared button-up.
"Who's that beside him?" I ask, my attention on a cowboy in nearly the same outfit, except he wears a frown like it's part of his ensemble.
Tenley waves her hand. "That's my brother-in-law, Wes. He always looks like that. His wife is sitting beside him, she's my best friend."
All three are now looking our way, waving at Tenley. The husband looks friendly, but his brother has his eyes narrowed at me. Right now I'm feeling pretty happy the twelve-year-old tyrant did not include a kiss in her play. Not that I would have anyway, now that I'm with Daisy. There isn't a chance in hell I'll be locking lips with anybody but her, acting or not.
As I watch, the frowning brother clocks my arm, and the tattoo there. He must recognize it for what it is, because his frown turns a little less frown-y.
"Aww," Tenley says, "look at that. Wes is almost smiling at you. Must be a military thing."
"Must be," I echo, but now I'm more nervous than I was before.
Ten minutes to showtime, Noelle corners me. "Don't forget your lines," she warns me.
"Tenley knows all of them, so even if I forget them, we'll be good."
Noelle has no time or patience for my backtalk. "This entire night is for the children. The only way the youth theatre exists is if people come to the play, enjoy it, and enroll their children or grandchildren in the program. Do you get that?"
"Yes, Noelle."
"I'm perfectly aware you can act,Peter, so go out there and act."
There's a pretty big difference between acting and performing, but I would really like to keep all my baby-making parts intact, so I keep that comment to myself.
"Noelle," I say dramatically, clutching at my chest. "Nobody is a bigger supporter of thethea-tahthan I."
She stares at me for a long minute, then walks away grumbling something that sounds likeI don't know how Daisy puts up with you.
Tenley and I take our places. The stagehands, the techies, the producer, they are all children. Only the actors are the adults, and it's actually really cool to be a part of something put together by younger minds. One of the props breaks before the scene in which it needs to be used, and the kids work together to fix it. The youngest on the crew stumbles, making his way into a sword fighting scene. Instead of getting flustered and running off stage, he leans into it and pretends it's a schtick. The audience laughs, and when he lops off, Lincoln scolds him with a cutthroat coldness I admire (but only because it's not directed at me).
I forget my lines no fewer than seven times, but Tenley is there, whispering them to me, sometimes even preemptively knowing when I will go blank. In the end, it all works out.
