Unconvinced, Bryn watched her. “Is something else wrong?”
The tears burned again, but Vivian Taylor had never cried once in her life. She held them at bay with sheer will. “These lashes are torture.”
Bryn wore her complete disbelief in the furrow of her brow. She was going to say something else when the lights flickered. Their ten-minute warning.
“Go to the bathroom,” Vivian said because Bryn, in her nervous state, had chugged three glasses of water and two iced teas. “You’ll thank me later,” she lied.
With a nod and uncharacteristic silence, Bryn heeded her advice and stood.
The Grammys of the voice acting industry was a thousand people packed into a theater gagging to congratulate themselves. Only one person deserved to win in Vivian’s estimation, but they still had to sit through twenty-nine categories before finally arriving at Audiobook of the Year.
Bryn paled when they started reading the shortlist of nominees. She hadn’t practiced the art of concealing her hope. Vivian should have told her to make her face a mask, but she never wanted to see less of Bryn.
So what if she showed the cameras floating around for the livestream that she wanted to win? Pretending not to care seemed so stupid now. Vivian couldn’t bring herself to reach for apathy, so she took Bryn’s hand in hers instead.
Bryn’s trembling fingers clamped over Vivian’s like she was debating taking off in a sprint. Like she hadn’t actually imagined what this moment would be like. Or if she had envisioned it, she’d grossly misjudged the feeling.
Vivian smiled at her and graciously accepted losing all blood flow to her hand.
“And the award goes to…”
The presenter spoke, and the audience roared, and Vivian was on her feet. Clapping so hard it hurt, she funneled all of her tangled emotions into sheer joy over Bryn’s win.
But Bryn wasn’t moving. Stunned and overwhelmed by the sound of a thousand people looking only at her and cheering had apparently triggered a complete freeze response.
Before they could start playing the come-get-your-damn-award music again, Vivian held out her hand and waited for Bryn to take it.
“I don’t know what to say,” Bryn mouthed with abject terror on her face.
Vivian smiled and gestured toward the stage with the tip of her head. “I’ve got you,” she vowed.
Mercifully, the walk to the stage was short, because Bryn moved as if her legs had gone numb. The more struck she appeared, the more the audience blasted her with cheers. Just like that, a thousand people saw Bryn and loved her. Vivian couldn’t blame them.
On stage and facing everyone who mattered in their industry, Vivian had to resist the urge to shield Bryn with her own body. No one would read it as protection, and she wouldn’t tarnish Bryn’s win by fueling her diva rumors.
Never letting go of Bryn’s shaking hand, Vivian opened her mouth without knowing what would come out.
“There was a time, not that long ago, when a book likeMagpieswouldn’t have existed.” Vivian took a deep breath, surprised by her own emotions. “When queer love stories were expressly prohibited unless they were cautionary tales, unless they presented fatalistic endings for the women who dared choose love. Choose each other. And we must never forget how easily those days can return. We must never let go of the love that defines our identity.”
She cleared her throat but the knot lodged there was immovable.
“For every queer kid who will stumble across this audiobook someday…” Vivian’s voice trembled when she looked down at the glass award in her hand. “Our love stories matter. They deserve to be beautifully told, and they deserve to win awards.”
She made the mistake of looking at Bryn, vision blurring and her hold on herself slipping.
“Bryn, this award truly belongs to you alone. It was your magic that elevated every syllable in that book. Your vulnerability. Your artistic integrity. Your light.” She laughed and stupid tears burned her cheeks. “You reminded me why I fell in love with this work, and I can’t wait to listen to what you create next.” Her breath hitched and all she had left was a weak and insufficient, “Thank you.”
Following a thunderous standing ovation, photographers quickly removed them from the stage for photos in front of a stand and repeat. The moment Harvey ushered Bryn toward a group of suits eager to talk to her, Vivian slipped away.
The complete silence in the back of a rideshare after hours of deafening noise was jarring. Ears ringing, all she could do was take deep breaths. She would not break down in a stranger’s car. She would not make a fool of herself. At least not in public.
She focused on solving problems. First she texted Harvey, insisting that he take care of Bryn at the afterparty where everyone would clamor to meet her. Then, she changed her flight to a red-eye leaving in a couple of hours. Finally, she texted Bryn.
Vivian: Enjoy the evening. You deserve it. I’ve run out of social battery and it’s time to go home. I meant what I said, Bryn. Thank you. For everything.
Her thumbs hovered over the screen. There were probably half a million words in the English language and none of them conveyed the deep pain and wild joy warring in Vivian’s body. She didn’t know how to say more, how to convey a gratitude so intense it had altered her DNA, so she didn’t.
Instead, she slipped her phone into her clutch and held it together until she was back at the hotel. Until she’d torn off her clothes and shoved everything into her suitcases because she was a coward and she needed to run.
