Over the course of several titillating scenes, he came onto her, then backed off. He did it again and again, to the point where AJ could no longer hide how upset she actually was.
“I don’t understand,” she said in shame and humiliation.
“This just isn’t who I am anymore,” Noah informed her.
“Then let’s stop the medication,” she said, tears in her eyes.
“It’s not the medication,” he revealed. Noah looked directly at her as he spoke his next line. “This is a side effect of the disease.”
The set ended with a defeated W leaving F to live in the house on his own.
The next day, they found out that Em Tyner had attended the performance. They hadn’t heard him knock on the dressing room door. They’d been too busy Heathcliffian Death Fucking on the green leather couch.
Four shows left.
Thursday night, AJ wanted to make Noah hurt. She took center stage in the white shirt and announced that there had been a miracle.
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
Noah’s eyes flashed at her. “Are you sure?” he said, the energy inside of him rupturing.
AJ swallowed hard. “Yes,” she said and handed him an imaginary object she informed the audience was a red Hot Wheels.
It was a medical marvel. The formerly sterile F had somehow inseminated W, and now a baby was coming. AJ made it everything she knew he would want: the building of the crib, the selection of the perfect car seat. They both cried holding the imaginary baby for the first time.
The child grew quickly. F couldn’t leave the house, but it didn’t matter. They were all together, and they were happy. Then miracle of miracles, a sister. Now they had two children—Halloweens and Christmases and summers under the stars.
“Dad, tell me a story,” said AJ, clasping his hand.
For a second, Noah couldn’t seem to catch his breath.
After, he rounded on her in the wings, eyes swimming. “You,” he heaved, “are acruelbitch.”
He didn’t go home with her that night. He took Bud from the dressing room and left without changing clothes. AJ waited for him for an hour, but he didn’t return. She walked home after midnight and waited still. Finally, at threea.m., she took two Benadryl and passed out.
Three shows left.
AJ had never been so scared to go on as she was for their second Friday performance. She hadn’t seen or heard from Noah all day. He didn’t appear in the dressing room beforehand. AJ sat watching the clock and quaking. She was dangerously close to making a break for the lobby bar when the stage manager told her to get in position. Alone, she trembled in the wing.
Then the lights came up, and there he was. He didn’t look as if he’d slept at all. They made their way through the scripted portion of the play mainly on muscle memory. When the audience laughed at their first joke, AJ wanted to ask themWhy?As they arrived at the improvised section, AJ became increasingly aware of her pulse in her ears.
She met Noah’s eyes searchingly; his energy was ashen, unnervingly still. He indicated that AJ should sit, so she sat. He straightened out his white shirt and took the chair across from hers.
“Will you hand me that glue?” he asked.
AJ’s heart sank. “Sure,” she said. “What are you making?”
Noah bent forward over the imaginary table. “A model plane.”
It started with a tremor in his right hand, so slight it was barely noticeable. They were going about their ordinary domestic activities and everything was fine, except for small moments when his hand would seize. He’d laugh it off, tell her not to worry.
But then it wasn’t just his hand. He started raising his eyebrows in a way that was disturbing. Now they thought he might have cancer, too. They were looking into it with F’s doctors.
“Is this normal for cancer?” asked AJ.
“This isn’t cancer,” Noah informed her.
Back at the house, W was tripping and dropping things. And now his legs and arms were starting to move uncontrollably, in large windmill motions. They could barely hold a conversation for the rocking, and yet they pressed on.
