“Saturday?” I echoed. “After opening night?”
“Yes. With Stacey and Ava. I already made reservations at Donahue’s Tea Room.”
A cold dread slid down my spine. Donahue’s. The fanciest, stiffest restaurant in town. The place with tiny cucumber sandwiches and scones that tasted like sawdust.
“I’ll have to see how Ava’s feeling after the performance,” I said gently. “She might not be up for it.”
“She’ll be fine,” Mom answered crisply. “This is important.”
I swallowed. “Okay, Mom.”
She nodded approvingly and drifted away down the hall like a particularly judgmental ghost. As soon as she was out of sight, my heart began thudding for a different reason entirely.
Does she know?Did she overhear Belle and me talking about the book offers? About leaving? About . . . anything?
No. She couldn’t have. She would’ve been far colder, far more passive-aggressive if she had.
Still, the dread crawled under my skin like a chill I couldn’t shake.
I forced myself to breathe and sat back at my desk. Work would help. Focus would help.
I reread the offers, weighed pros and cons, and tried desperately to ignore the whispering worry that Mom felt me slipping away . . . and didn’t intend to let me go.
Finally, I shut my laptop and grabbed my keys.
Time to pick Ava up from school.
Things went on asnormal in the house until the next day.
I’d spent most of the day trying to stay out of the house, running errands, grabbing coffee, walking around the park, anything to avoid the frostbite-inducing presence of my mother and the added emotional hazard of Stacey.
But now? Now, I was exactly where I wanted to be.
The backstage hallway hummed with the frantic, joyful chaos of opening night. Kids darted around in half-costumes, volunteers pinned and zipped and fluffed, and someone in the orchestra pit played the same four bars of music over and over like they were trying to hypnotize us.
I checked my costume rack for the fifteenth time, making sure every ribbon was tied, every hem straight, every accessory accounted for. The theater buzzed with that electric energy, nerves and joy, fear and excitement blending into something sparkling.
I looked across the stage toward the prop table, automatically searching for Alex . . . but instead, there was a familiar blonde bob.
Becca.
She glanced up, spotted me, and immediately brightened.
“Eleanor!” she said, waving as she walked over, clipboard in hand.
I swallowed my brief, ridiculous disappointment and smiled. “Hey!”
She leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m on props tonight. Alex wanted to be out in the audience to actuallywatchthe show for the first time, so we’re switching tomorrow.”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound too eager or too relieved. “That’s . . . nice.”
“He’s so excited,” she said warmly. “Leo’s been bouncing off the walls since breakfast.”
I laughed. “That sounds about right.”
Becca tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re doing great with the costumes, by the way. Everything looks amazing. You’ve really helped bring this whole show to life.”
A flush of pride warmed my cheeks. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
