That’s not in the script either.
I swallow and look him in the eyes. “You’re not the fool. I am. And I’m sorry.”
He blinks at me. This isn’t iambic pentameter. This isn’t Shakespeare.
But it’s the truth.
“I was afraid. Afraid of hurting my sister. Afraid of hurting you. Afraid of being hurt myself. But I love you so much. I love your smile and your laugh. I love your patience and caring. I love the way you tuck in my tags when they stick up. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I messed everything up. But I will never, ever be sorry for loving you. That’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”
The audience is silent. Or maybe it’s just me: Maybe I can’t hear anything except for the beating of my own heart as I look into Liam’s eyes and wait.
Whatever happens, I said what I needed to say. I might’ve just ruined the show, but there will be other shows. There’s only one Liam.
Liam looks down at me. The stage lights glow like stars in his eyes. And gently, ever so gently, he gives my hands a squeeze.
His smile is a sunrise, slow, and subtle, until finally it crests the horizon and blinds me with its brightness. He brings my hands to his chest, which pulls me closer to him. I stumble a bit in my shoes; I’m not used to a chunky heel.
“I love you too. That’s why it hurt so much.” He lets go of one hand so he can use a thumb to wipe away my tears. “I never stopped loving you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
For some reason that makes me cry harder.
He never stopped loving me.
Liam brings his other hand to my face and leans in.
And then he kisses me. In front of everyone. And I kiss him back. I want to stay in this moment forever.
Someone whoops in the audience. I’m almost certain it was Bowie. We break apart, smiling.
Liam drops his hands, signs close so only I can see: “Let’s do the scene?”
I nod. Step back to my mark. Brush my hands across the front of my dress, as if I’m swiping away wrinkles, even though the whole thing is pleats. I clear my throat and pick up the scene.
“Cesario, by the roses of the spring, by maidhood, honor, truth, and everything, I love thee so...”
***
Have I polished my shoes? Yes, I’ve polished my shoes,I say in my head. My hand is in Paige’s for our tandem bow as Olivia and Sebastian.
Paige and I break apart, her going stage right, me stage left, leaving room for Jamilah to come through for a solo bow as Orsino. The crowd whistles and claps, and then comes Liam, back in his Viola dress. He bows, reaches for Jamilah for their couple’s bow, then gestures to all of us for the full cast bow.
Have I polished my shoes? Yes, I’ve polished my shoes.
We break apart, making for the stage doors, high on adrenaline and applause and the sheer joy that comes from a play well-played. The buzzing in my belly is so strong I feel like I’ve been zapped again.
Backstage, people pat each other on the back, laugh, and hug. I hang back, because even though I’m here I’m not really one of them. Not just because I got kicked out, and not just because of the lists, but because even when I was stage managing I was always apart.
Until Darcy grabs my hand, yanking me into the pack. I can’t make out a thing anyone says, but I feel the sheer euphoria of a (mostly) successful show. No one seems mad at me and Liam for our little bit of improv.
Not even Dr. Lochley, who is hovering by Denise near the catwalk door. She mutters something, then hands a twenty-dollar bill to her wife, who laughs and kisses her on the nose.
I eventually excuse myself to the prop room to get out of this dress, because I’m pretty sure it’s been smooshed by the press of bodies all around me, and it’s getting uncomfortable. After I pull my shirt back on, a hand brushes my back to fix my tag.
I spin around and he’s there. Right in front of me, smiling. He’s still in his costume and makeup, and the fluorescent light of the prop room makes him look slightly ghoulish, but he’s still perfect.
