Wait. No. That was a bad thought. It wasn’tembarrassingor stupid to like Olivia so much. Even if she didn’t feel the same way.
Then she blinked. “Wait—you’re not adding anything else?”
“What?” NowIwas confused.
“You’re not saying, ‘You’re my best friend,but... butyou really don’t know how to dance,butyou should tell your mom to stop making you dance,butyou’re spending too much timethinking about where Jackson’s going to school and you should go wherever you want’?”
“No, I—I just wanted to tell you you’re my best friend.”
“Shira!” She hugged me. “You’re so sweet! You’re my best friend, too.”
“No, I mean—” This conversation had not gone how I expected. I didn’t want her to return an empty platitude; I wanted her to know how sincerely I meant it. “Not just here on Nantucket, but everywhere. You’re really my best, best friend.”
“Are you okay?” She looked worried. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” I shook my head quickly. “Um. I hadn’t said it before. So I wanted to say it, because I want to be better about—I don’t know—having friends at all. I feel like I keep most people at arm’s length. But not you.”
“Hey. Shira.” She cupped my face in her hands. “You’re my best friend, too.”
My chest felt like it was full of so much air, like the whole world was air. “Really?”
“Really! Of course! You’ve always been my best friend. I love you.”
“Oh.” My voice came out higher than usual and I blinked rapidly, emotions I’d kept inside bubbling to the surface and bursting and dissipating—fear of rejection and anxiety and tension—leaving relief behind. “I love you, too.”
“Oh my god, are you going to cry? Don’t cry.” She hugged meagain, longer this time. “I mean, you can cry, but your makeup is so good right now, and your mascara isn’t waterproof.”
I started laughing and pressed the heels of my hands beneath my watery eyes. “True.”
She rubbed her hands up and down my arms. “Also, you’ll make me cry, and I’m about to dance, and everyone’s going to stare at me.”
I grinned at her. At my best friend. “Okay. You’re going to be great.”
“Hello, everyone!” Olivia’s mom clinked a spoon against her glass from the foyer stairs. “Thank you for coming!”
The crowd quieted. I looked around and saw my family, saw Tyler looking right at me again, and joy filled me, so bright and real it hurt.
“It’s so wonderful to have so many of our friends and family here on New Year’s Eve, especially since we know this is a bit farther than a commute to the South End.” There was a gentle ripple of laughter. “But we’re thrilled to get to spend time with all of you, and to get to share Nantucket, one of our favorite places on earth, with so many people who haven’t been here before.” She thanked several people in particular, adding a few light jokes before finishing: “And so to wrap up our year, we’d like to treat you to a performance of ‘The March of the Nutcracker’ fromThe Nutcracker, performed by my daughters, Olivia and Kaitlyn, and accompanied by their friend Shira on the piano.”
She gestured, and the lights dimmed for most of the room. Only a few stayed on at the base of the stairs where Olivia and Kaitlyn would dance, along with my little light to read and play music by.
And the tree grew.
Okay, it didn’t really grow. But it must have been on a small platform, like a standing desk, which rose several feet. From somewhere, a projector cast larger green branches against the existing tree and walls. Everyone laughed and applauded. Mrs. Phan nodded to me, and I took a deep breath and started to play.
Olivia was wonderful.
I didn’t see much of the performance as it happened because I was looking at the piano, but I could feel the energy in the room, hear the applause—and immediately afterward, I saw the video Olivia’s mom had taken, which confirmed said greatness.
I couldn’t get over how muchfunI’d had, playing “The March” fromThe Nutcracker. I’d never thought about a live performance as being a good thing for either piano or skating; I’d thought of them more as a ring of judgment—or literal judges—there to tell me I hadn’t done as well as I’d hoped. But this audience hadn’t been here for me, so they felt easier to confront. It wasniceto be part of this. It felt less like pushing myself hard and morelike... floating. Relaxing. And happening to be part of something beautiful.
After the performance and the immediate review of the performance, when Olivia and her sister had been enveloped in well-wishers, I looked up, and Tyler stood before me.
“You were great,” he said.
“I was decent,” I corrected, but a small smile escaped me. “Thanks.”
“How’d it feel?”
