She shrugs.
“I do love you, Jackson. Even when I want to kill you.”
I snort.
“I love you too.”
And for the first time in a long while, my sister smiles at me. It’s small and uncertain but it’s a start.
Maybe we’ll be all right after all.
47
Friday afternoon, after another Theatre IV spent hiding in the corner while the class works—they’ve moved on from Tennessee Williams to Neil LaBute, from dialogues to small scenes—Dr. L flags me down before I can leave.
Is she finally going to kick me out of the class? It’s not like I’m contributing anything. I’m just making it awkward for everyone.
“You have a moment, Jackson?”
She’s the one with places to be. Today’s the last run-through before techs this weekend.
“Okay.”
“Let’s talk in my office.”
I grab my things and march after her. The last time I was in her office is when she fired me. I never noticed before how it always smells faintly of tater tots.
She goes to sit behind her desk, but shakes her head and heads to the couch. She scoops off a pile of script books, takes a seat, and pats the other cushion for me.
I shrug off my backpack and sit.
“So...” I say.
“I’d like to apologize to you, Jackson.”
“I... huh?”
She unwinds her scarf and rolls her neck. “I like to think I’m a big enough person to admit when I’ve made a mistake. Though sometimes I do need Denise to give me a kick in the pants.”
She chuckles to herself.
“Anyway. I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t care about you. Or that I prioritized everyone ahead of you.”
My cheeks heat up.
“It’s fine,” I say, but she holds up her hand.
“I’m saying this not as an excuse, but as an explanation: There are fifty-odd students in this department, and twice as many I see in class every day. And if I don’t listen as well as I should, or appreciate how much you do, or check in when you’re not okay, it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I’m constantly in triage mode, and out of all my students, you’re the one that always seems like you’re going to be fine. But that’s not fair to you. I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what to say. Except “Thanks.”
“And one more thing.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve spoken to Cameron. Let him know his behavior wasn’t acceptable.”
“Which behavior?” I mutter, but she hears me and laughs.
