“Because I think the most embarrassing thing would be to love something and not go after it.”
A small sigh dies in Renee’s throat. “A little easier for you to say.”
“Financially? Sure. But so many people don’t feel that sort of passion about anything in the first place. And then there are people like you.” My gaze slices sideways, a prickle of heat in my throat.“People who have this remarkable talentanda love for it and instead of pursuing it, you go and get an office job. And that’s fine. It’s important. It’s wonderful, even—to be comfortable, and we have to survive. But if you never even tried to sing or act or perform again…that’s the most embarrassing shit I can think of. That’s a waste.”
The silence cuts sharper with each passing second. As I turn down Renee’s block, I pull back from the gas, buying us a little more time.
“You’ve got a lot to say about my talent for someone who fell asleep while I was onstage,” she finally says.
“Nowthat.” I slap the steering wheel and shift the truck into park. “Thatis embarrassing. Don’t tell me that it’s embarrassing to chase after what you want when there are people out there, people like me, who are snoring in the audience while someone is on stage actually doing what they set out to do.”
The flash of surprise on Renee’s face fades into something more gracious. She considers me for a moment, then lays her hand over mine on the gear shift. Electricity zips up my fingers and stalls in my chest, the best and most remarkable feeling. I’m frozen in her cool blue stare but sweating beneath the heat of her palm. Opposites. Multitudes. If I could trap this feeling in a bottle, if I could take it like a pill, I’d be hooked on Renee Roberts till the bitter end.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice thick and sweet as honey. “And for what it’s worth, you work really hard. You’re not snoring in the audience anymore.”
“Not until you’re in a show again.”
I wink, then immediately worry I shouldn’t have, but Renee squeezes my hand, and I am one giant, beating heart beneath hertouch, one breath away from closing the space between us. Renee’s voice plays on a loop in my head.I like you. A lot. You’ve become such a good friend.But knowing it and feeling it are two different things entirely, and what I feel toward Renee isn’t friendly. It’s fierce and fiery and increasingly difficult to ignore, especially in moments like this, when it’s just us and she touches me like that. In a way that likely means nothing to her. It meanseverythingto me.
Hey Dad,
I didn’t realize it until this weekend, but it’s been over a month since the K*rt incident, and I still haven’t spoken to Mom. Or you! Sorry! Hi! Be proud that I’ve been too wrapped up in the wedding and Renee to talk to my dead dad! (NOT wrapped up in Renee like that, you sicko! Don’t make it weird!)
Anyway, Mom has texted me a lot, but I don’t know what to say. Figuring it out would mean thinking about her and Kurt, and I would rather think about almost anything else. There’s so much going on that I haven’t had the time to sort through my feelings anyway, but I know I’m still…mad. Mad at Mom. Mad at Kurt. And mad at you. Because none of this would be happening if you were still around. If you had figured out a way to feel the hard shit without liquor, then this particular hard shit never would’ve happened to me! So actually, this is your fault! Ha!
I don’t want to feel angry, Dad, and I guess that’s why I’m choosing to ignore it and just feel what I’m feeling with Renee instead. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. It’s likediscovering a new color. I can hardly wrap my brain around it or the fact that I went without it for so long. She said that we’re friends, and maybe that’s true for her, but not for me. You’re the only person I’ve admitted that to. I’ve barely admitted it to myself, and I may never admit it to Renee. I’m just so happy to have friends again, no matter how temporary. I’m scared to ruin it. I’m worried I’ll break it and—well, you and I both know that fixing things isn’t all that simple.
What would you do? I wish you were here to tell me.
Love,
Your Dallas Alice
Eighteen
Renee does not get the job at the theater in the suburbs.
The news hits her inbox on a Friday morning at Grounds Crew, and she lets me read the email over her shoulder. It’s terse and impersonal; they don’t even bother to wish her the best.
She’s kept a level head and a stiff upper lip since her rejection from the Philharmonic three weeks ago, but I know this one stings. We’ve spent dozens of hours at this very table prepping for all four rounds of interviews they put her through—ludicrous for an administrative position. She was sosureshe’d get it. And now? A single email, and she’s back to square one. Renee stares blankly down at her laptop track pad like she’s praying it might move on its own and take her straight to a website with the perfect job, the perfect opportunity, the perfect next step. I can’t sit and watch her sulk like this.
I close my notebook on a failed draft of a wedding speech. “Come on. We’re taking a break.”
Renee doesn’t budge. “We haven’t earned a break,” she mumbles, not looking up.
“I didn’t say that we earned it. I said we’re taking it. We’re not going to get any work done if we’re in a bad mood.”
“We’re not going to get any work done if we stop working either.” Renee lifts her gaze, but only to shoot me a look. “Not getting a job is not a great reason to take a break from applying for jobs.”
“But what if we took a break and felt better and more motivated on the other side?”
“Or the break could suddenly become the rest of the day.” Renee arches a brow. “Like Monday night?”
Right. Monday night, when Renee was applying for a fundraising role at a culinary institute, I swore that watching an episode ofMasterChef Juniorwould help her dial in her cover letter. Maybe it did but only after we fell gracelessly into an all-night marathon. Renee lay in my lap while I played with her hair, fingertips buzzing each time they raked through her soft blond strands. I’m still struggling to convince myself it was the sort of thing Renee does with all her friends.
“That was my fault,” I admit, shaking off the memory. Nevertheless, I persist in my efforts to…get us to stop persisting. At least for the afternoon or until some of the pain leaves her eyes. My attention wanders to the pastry case, an evergreen distraction. “Should we grab those last two chocolate croissants to go?”
Renee frowns, skeptical, but she accepts my credit card when I slide it to her. “Only because I’m hungry,” she insists. “This is not an endorsement of your proposed break.”
