Holly
“Holly, we have a problem.”
I'm double-checking vendor contracts when my sister calls.
“How bad?”
“The Johnsons have food poisoning, both of them.”
It takes me a second to process. “Wait—the party scene parents?”
“For tomorrow's show,” Emma says. “We need two adults who can walk on a stage and not trip over their own feet. By tomorrow afternoon.”
Oh no.
“What about the Davises? Or the Williamses?”
“Already ushers. The Sullivans are running the bake sale booth, the Bennetts are backstage crew—wait, our Bennetts, I mean Mom and Dad. Holly, everyone who could do it is already assigned. It's like a small-town parade where everyone is in the parade so there’s no one left to watch.”
I'm pacing now, running through every person I know. Anyone with a pulse, a decent outfit, and basic stage presence.
“What if we?—”
“I've been calling people for an hour. No one's available this close to the holidays. You know December.”
I do know December. Everyone's booked.
“Okay.” I press my fingers to my temple. “Okay, what if I just do it myself? The first single-mom in a party scene, but that's fine, right? People will think it's charming.”
“Holly—”
Evan walks in with two takeout bags. We are working through lunch.
“Marie won't care, she'll just be excited to perform. It'll be fine.”
“Holly, you’d still need someone to play opposite you. It's supposed to be couples arriving at the party.”
Right. The choreography is built around pairs.
“I'll figure something out. Maybe Mrs. Kowalski can shuffle some of the older students around, or?—”
“Mrs. Kowalski is already stressed about the staging. We can't ask her to re-choreograph the opening twenty-four hours before the show.”
She's right. I know she's right.
“Emma. It's fine. I promise.” I'm already pulling up my contacts, scrolling through names. There has to be someone. “Let me make some calls. Maybe I can find someone who?—”
“Okay. Call me back if you find someone.”
“I will. Love you.”
Evan slides open the doors to his kitchenette, revealing mini high-end appliances tucked behind sleek cabinetry. He starts unpacking the bags. “Taylor assures me she got the order right this time, but it's always a fun surprise to see what we actually get.”
I'm barely paying attention because I'm firing off texts instead.
Evan joins me at the table with two glasses of sparkling water—raspberry lime, the kind I ordered once three weeks ago and his fridge is now stocked with.
“Everything alright?” he asks.
