“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
From there, they’d tackle the book of the play. Noah never reminded AJ more of Eudora than when he was directing. There was a brightness in his eyes, a purpose in his movements that imitated the fire of her old mentor. He made it so safe to try things. He loved to ask, “What if?”
“What if you tried to make it funny?” he’d say. “It might actually be sadder that way.”
“What if you say it from here? Make them lean forward in their chairs to hear you.”
“What if you get really big here? Yes, as big as you can.”
It was the difference between talking to someone face-to-face and talking to them side by side. Noah directed AJ side by side, and in return, she gave him everything she had.
The afternoons were devoted to improvisation.
It was very like running again after a long hiatus. As they began to play together, AJ could feel ancient pathways in her brain starting to reinvigorate, but it wasn’t instant. Their early attempts at reentering the Black Room felt stilted and slow as the humid August air.
But each day, they’d play a little harder, sink a little deeper. The more they gave, the further they delved, until at last they submerged into that infinite sea of intuitiveness and trust.
“Hello.”
“Hello?”
“Hello?”
“Helloi?”
While their roles inFire & Wateralternated each day, their roles in life had decisively flipped. By scripting the end of their relationship, Noah had relieved his own anxiety and left AJ in dread.
He knew this as well as she did. Their connection was open all the time now. They had never been more transparent to each other, but, in the end, AJ found it mattered very little.
Empathy was not predictive. Being able to feel or even influence a person’s emotions was not the same as being able to influence their actions. Noah’s love for AJ was absolute, his desire to leave her nonexistent, but their future didn’t hinge on Noah’s heart so much as his capacity for uncertainty. For that was the true cost of happiness: never knowing when it might be lost.
In that sense, they were like any other couple.
“Helloi?”
“Hell oy?”
“Hell oy?”
“Hell loy?”
As the weeks wore on, their life became indistinguishable from the premise ofFire & Water.The world they were constructing inside the Black Room was a sanctuary, with devastation lurking just beyond.
Still, there were times when it really did feel like nothing could touch them.
When AJ was tempted to hope that maybe, just maybe, she could change his mind.
SNLreconvened at thebeginning of September, so they planned for AJ to head back into the city after Labor Day. Noah would follow the week after, when his fancy sublet opened up.
AJ understood the logic of them each having their own space, but she hated what it represented. She refused to ask Noah any questions about his rental, even though she knew it had a kitchen that had once been featured inArchitectural Digesthe was eager to discuss.
The night before she was scheduled to depart, AJ stalwartly packed her duffel. Well, mostly. She tucked the items Noah had bought her that summer into his drawers and hid Libby’s black dress in the back of his closet. If all went well, she would be back for them.
And if it didn’t, she never wanted to see any of that stuff again.
