“Yeah… we did.”
“So. Tomorrow. Say yes.”
I hold his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
?He holds my neck, lighter than the last time we stood in this doorway. And he kisses my nose.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
seventeen
dinner @ benny’s.
Frankie.
“Look at this.”
I liftthe book off the display set up in the middle of Smith’s. “Special edition.”
Za barely glances over. “We’ve already read it.”
“Yeah,” I say easily, “but that was on my Kindle. I need the physical copy as a reward.”
She snorts. “Sounds like empty capitalism to me.”
“Yeah,” I agree, turning the book over in my hands to look at the sprayed edges, “but it’s pretty.”
She shakes her head, already drifting toward another shelf as I add the new found to my already stacked pile.
I love our shopping dates and today feels especially good because Za loves book shopping. Or at least I thought she did.
I’m not so sure anymore, not after I notice the way her shoulders are a little too tense. The way she pauses like she’s debating whether to say something as she scans smut. I just flip through the pages of the next book as I wait for her to spit it out.
“Oh—by the way,” she says eventually. “Mum wants me to help her with something at church in the morning before the award ceremony. Is that cool?”
I look up. “Should be. I’ve got some things to take care of anyway. Just be home by six so we can start getting ready together.”
“Okay.” She nods.
Her voice is wrong.
I know that voice. I’ve known it since we were teenagers sneaking snacks into her room and whispering about people we’d never admit to liking. ??That voice means something’s eating at her.
I close the book. “What’s wrong?”
She exhales, long and tired. “My mother thinks it’s time I quit theatre and start taking up a bigger role in the church.”
I stare at her. She hasn’t really talked to me about her career these past few weeks. I’ve been busy myself with the awards coming up. Still, I want to make sure she’s good.
“You’re not gonna, are you?”
She doesn’t answer straight away, and my chest tightens.
“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I really wanted Newsies. This is my third rejection on the West End. Maybe it’s time I get serious about other things.”
“Chinaza,” I coo softly, “your mum already had her life. She already made her choices. This is yours.”
She shrugs, but it’s weak and defensive. “At some point, wanting things doesn’t make them happen.”
