I love you. Your father wants to know whether this changes the Christmas sleeping arrangements. I told him to calm down.
I laughed hard enough that Dani had to stop applying eyeliner.
“What happened?” she asked.
“My family is processing.”
“Supportively?”
“With logistics.”
The arena vibrated around us.
Crew members moved through corridors. Equipment cases rolled across concrete. Somewhere beyond the walls, the audience had begun chanting my name.
Rachel stood in the dressing-room doorway.
“How are you?”
The question did not feel like a trap.
“Terrified.”
“Good.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It means you have stopped pretending.”
Sophie entered with her phone pressed against her chest.
“Richard has called nine times.”
“Is that a record?”
“No. The record remains the awards-show seating dispute.”
“Luke Harper?”
“Luke Harper.”
I looked toward the stage entrance.
“Will any of this affect tonight?”
“The show is sold out,” Sophie said. “No one has organized a mass departure during the last forty minutes.”
“Reassuring.”
“There are supportive signs outside. There are also people arguing near the west entrance.”
“About me?”
“One argument concerns parking.”
“Normalcy survives.”
The band gathered in the corridor five minutes before the opening cue.
