"Yeah. I went to the library during lunch, and Ms. Raymond helped me Google some monologues, and I found the perfect one."
"Do tell."
"Yes, do tell," Sarah says. "I'm dying to hear what you found."
Hazel jumps down from the stool and breaks into the "I completely blacked out" monologue fromChicago. You know—the musical where the women kill their spouses or significant others because "they had it coming."
"That…well. Oh. Um. That was amazing." It actually was amazing.
I look back at Sarah, and her shoulders are shaking, and moisture is glinting from under her eyes. It's hysterical, silent laughter, and it's contagious. I try to hold back. I don't want Hazel to think we are laughing at her, but in what life does a six-year-old choose that monologue? It feels very on brand for a studio executive's daughter, I suppose, especially one living in La La Land.
"Why are you laughing? Did I mess it up?"
"Oh, no, sweetheart, you were incredible. So good that I'm not sure if you even need my help."
"I definitely need your help. I need to bring the emotion out in the scene."
This causes the sound to escape from Sarah's silent hysterics.
"Stop laughing at me!"
I place my hands on Hazel's face. "We are definitely not laughing at you. It's just a shock to see someone so young perform a part meant for a grown-up."
"Oh." She stops to think about that for a moment. "But it was good, yeah?"
"Fantastic."
Sarah finally regains her composure and reassures Hazel that she did a fantastic interpretation of one of her favorite musicals, but she holds firm on not letting her watchit. The scary part of this whole thing is that Hazel nailed the reading without ever seeing how it's been performed.
We spend the next hour trying on costumes and rehearsing the scene around two dozen more times before we end up ordering takeout and crashing on the couch.
I offer to keep an eye on Hazel so Sarah can head out early, and once she leaves, we decide to watchBeauty and the Beastbecause it really does have a great monologue moment.
Hazel is lying in my lap as my fingers rake through her hair, and I can tell she's just about ready to fall asleep.
"My dad was like Beast. He was kind of cranky and alone and never let anyone come over until you. You've changed him. You made him happy."
I still as I take in what she's just said. I don't know how to respond to that. I'm not sure she's asking me to.
"Maybe he'll build you a library, and you'll live happily ever after."
The sound of the front door opening makes me glance up, and there he is—Grant—stepping inside, looking tired but still entirely too good. Hazel and I are curled up on the couch, with the evidence of our evening of rehearsing scattered across the coffee table, along with a half-empty bowl of popcorn and a couple of juice boxes.
"Dad! You're home!" Hazel scrambles off the couch, practically vibrating with excitement. "Watch this!"
Grant barely has time to set down his keys before Hazel launches into her performance, standing tall, her shoulders back, her voice steady as she recites her monologue. She throws in dramatic pauses like a pro, and her confidence is unwavering. I steal a glance at Grant, who watchesher with that mix of pride and amusement I've come to recognize. His attention flicks to me for just a second, and something in his expression makes my stomach dip.
When Hazel finishes, she throws her arms out with a flourish. "What do you think?"
Grant claps and lets out a low whistle. "That was incredible, nugget. You're going to crush that audition."
I stretch my arms over my head and smile. "Nailed it."
Hazel beams as she hops back onto the couch beside me. "Sophia helped me so much. She's the best."
Laughing, I brush a strand of hair behind my ear. "You did all the work, Hazel."
Grant's eyes meet mine, and for a second, I can't breathe. "Thank you," he says, his voice low.
