Nate squeezes my hand. “You can do this.”
And I hope, for all of our sakes, that he’s right.
When I’m ushered out onto the stage, I try not to look as off-kilter as I feel, but I doubt I’m succeeding. Preston is still sitting there with Swiss, and I have no idea how they introduced me, because I was backstage with the page at the time.
“Welcome, Becca!” Swiss motions for me to join Preston on the settee among the scattered rose petals from Madison’s floral attack. I sit almost as far away from him as she did, and I imagine I look even more uncomfortable.
“Preston,” Swiss says. “You were telling me you have some things you’d like to ask Becca.”
My palms sweat. I imagine he does have a lot of questions, and from the way the audience is sitting on the edge of their seats, I think they’re in agreement.
I take a deep breath, glad that Nate’s close by, even if not on stage with me yet. Before we left my apartment—in separate cars, with him sneaking out the courtyard exit so as not to be spotted leaving my place—he told me one more time what a badass he thinks I am.
I want to be that person tonight. For him, for my girls, and for me.
“Yes,” Preston says. “What I don’t understand is how you could do this to me.”
My first utterance on the stage is to stutter a bit as I take in that question. Not exactly badass, but definitely deserved. “How I could do this to you?” I ask finally.
“Yes. I was taking this seriously, looking for love, andyouwere carrying on with some producer the entire time.”
“Not theentiretime,” I hedge, though that probably isn’t making me seem any more sympathetic.
“Really,” Preston says. “When exactly did this thing with the producer begin?”
“First of all, his name is Nate,” I say, finding my footing. “And yes, Preston, I’m sorry for the way that my actions affected you. I don’t regret being with Nate—”
“So you’re still together?” Swiss interjects, and I smile.
Talking about being with Nate always makes me smile.
“Yes, we’re together,” I say. “We’re very happy.”
There’s an uncertain rumble from the audience, but I think I heard a few “awwws” interspersed in there, which give me the courage to keep going. “I don’t regret being with Nate, but I do regret that I hurt you.”
“You don’t regret being with the guy youcheatedon me with?” Preston says, and I stare at him. Where is the dude who can’t speak except in platitudes now?
“I didn’t mean to disrespect the process,” I say, more loudly than is necessary given that I’m wearing a mic. “But I definitely didn’t appreciate the way you reacted when I turned down your proposal.”
Preston’s mouth falls open, like he can’t believe I’m bringingthatup, even though it should have been obvious. “I just couldn’t believe you’d stoop so low.”
“As to turn you down?” I ask. “You threw ashoeat me.”
“You didn’t know that then,” Preston scoffs. “And who among us hasn’t had a shoe thrown at them?”
I do imagine this is something that’s happened to Preston several times in his life. Wonder why. “It was a glass object. You assaulted me, and I could have been hurt.”
“But you weren’t,” Preston insists. “And it wasn’t assault! Did you hear what she said?” He seems to be asking this of the audience generally and not of Swiss, who, for all that it’s his job to peddle in drama, is looking more than a little uncomfortable himself. “She’s delegitimizing real abuse victims everywhere.”
My mouth falls open. So do many mouths in the audience.
“I’mdelegitimizingabuse victims?” I say. I wait for the irony in Preston’s statement to sink in, but it doesn’t appear to.
“Oh my god!” he says, this time to Swiss. “She’s acting likeshe’sthe victim!”
This earns a chuckle out of the audience, along with a soft hiss and at least one full-on “Boooo.” I will probably feel satisfaction about this later, but right now all I can feel is shock that Preston is actually saying these things.
He’s doing you a favor, Nate would say.
