Off Book

7. Ian

7

IAN

“I shall desire of you more acquaintance . . .” Act III, Scene I

“It’s ‘I’d work in a lumberyard,’ not ‘I’d be a lumberjack,’” Jade says, correcting the line I got wrong.

It’s a crisp fall day and the whole world is some shade of red, orange, or brown. The blue of the sky only accentuates the leaves, making them almost shiny. It’s the kind of day that makes you want to eat pumpkin-flavored everything. Jade found us a table by the fountain right outside the cafeteria, and we’ve been parked here for the day to run lines and hang out.

“‘In a fucking lumberyard,’ that’s right.” I tap my forehead as if I’m slapping it into remembering what it needs to remember. “I don’t know why I always forget that one.”

“You’re doing a lot better. I don’t want to inflate your ego too much, but I’m impressed with you,” Jade says, leaning back in her chair to stretch.

Jade and I have spent the past five days together, running lines for anywhere between one and three hours. It’s been more helpful than I expected it to be, and now, two days from our next rehearsal, I have my lines almost completely memorized. I’m proud of myself for all the work I’ve done, but even more than that, I’m so thankful I have a scene partner willing to help me.

“Only took me three weeks to impress you? That’s a record for me,” I say, and Jade throws her head back laughing.

My stomach feels tight when I make her laugh like that. I don’t think I could call it a crush yet, but man, it makes me feel good to make Jade laugh. I’m pretty sure she didn’t even like me three weeks ago.

“Ready for a lunch break?” she asks. “I thought we could eat together, build chemistry. Your way.”

“Oh, so you mean use our mouths for conversation instead of kissing?”

“Ugh, so boring,” Jade says as we pack up our scripts and head into the caf “But if you change your mind, we could make out in the library.” She points to the library, just beyond the tables where we were just sitting. “I haven’t made out with anyone before in there, but Jessie is always telling me how great it is.”

I’m guessing Jade says this kind of thing to everyone. Considering our disaster of a hookup, I doubt very much she’d be interested in trying anything like that with me again.

Not that I want to either . . .

Jade and I grab food from the caf and meet back at the table outside where we left our bags.

“Salad, huh?” she says, eyeing my bowl. She’s got some kind of wrap and a bag of chips with a Diet Coke. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her without a Diet Coke.

“Yeah. I try to get a vegetable in me every once in a while, so when my dad asks, I don’t have to lie,” I say.

“You and your dad are pretty close,” Jade says—an observation rather than a question.

“We are. I know this sounds super cheesy, but he’s my role model.” I dig my fork into my salad, taking a big bite.

“Why?” she asks with equal amounts curiosity and skepticism.

I finish chewing and shrug. I’ve never had to explain it to anyone before. Usually, when I tell someone my dad is my role model, they say, “Aww,” and then we move on. I use the chewing as an opportunity to think it through.

“I don’t know. I’m the only boy, I have three older sisters, and so we were close because of that. He and my mom went through a rough couple of years. They separated, and for a while I lived with just him. It was a bonding experience, but also, I watched the way my dad found his way back into my mom’s life. I thought my parents were going to get divorced, and my dad kind of saved the day.”

I take another big bite and try to read Jade’s face. She and I haven’t really ventured into deep waters yet. I’ve tried a few times to ask her about her day or some things about her life, but she’s been pretty short with me, all business and trying to run lines. We’ve talked a little about TV shows and movies we both like, but she hasn’t opened up, so I haven’t either.

But she can’t ask about my dad without me getting at least a little personal.

Everything I believe about love and relationships I believe because of my parents. I’m a self-diagnosed hopeless romantic because I watched my mom fall in love with my dad all over again. I watched the way he thoughtfully doted on her, taking her on really special dates and hiring a cleaning service to come to the house once a month so she didn’t have to think about the cleaning as often.

“Interesting,” Jade says. I don’t think she’s judging me, but she certainly sounds skeptical.

“Why is that interesting?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation alive. I’m curious about Jade—about who she is and what makes her tick. I’m hoping if I open up, she will too.

“Was your dad the one who left?” She takes a bite of her wrap.

“It’s complicated. The short version is that my mom wanted a divorce and my dad didn’t, but he volunteered to move out while they figured it out. No one really left. My dad respected my mom’s wishes for a separation and got his own space. I asked to go with him, and my sisters stayed with my mom.”

She nods, taking a sip of her Diet Coke, digesting my story.

“My parents were never married,” Jade says, “just engaged, but when my biological father left, he left for good, so I understand complicated. All my friends’ parents were married, and mine were . . . not.”

“Do you have a relationship with your dad?” I ask.

“Hmm . . . define ‘relationship.’”

I chuckle, but she isn’t laughing.

“Do you talk to him?” I ask.

“Unfortunately. He pays for my college, which is why I’m a business major and a theater minor and not just a theater major. We talk at least once a month. Less if I can manage it.”

I can’t imagine only talking to my dad once a month and wanting to make it even less than that. My chest feels tight at the thought of it.

“And your mom? Do you have a good relationship with her?”

Jade snorts. A cynical smile lingers on her face even as she opens her bag of chips and pulls one out, placing it carefully into her mouth and dusting her fingers off. I’m about to ask more, but her phone dings with a text message, and she pulls it out of her pocket to see who it is.

“Speak of the devil,” Jade says.

“Your mom?”

She nods and goes silent as she reads a text message. Her smile fades as she types something back.

I pick at my salad and try not to watch as she sets her phone on the table and stares at it while cracking each of her fingers and then her wrists as she waits for a response. The sound of a text comes through, and Jade types furiously again. I don’t miss the eye roll that comes with it. She stuffs her phone back into her pocket.

“Sorry,” she says and goes for another chip, picking up a single one again and dusting off her fingers after she eats it. The whole ritual is quirky and kind of cute.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She pauses. “My mom is, um, in a new relationship.”

“Oh, nice!”

Jade squints, scrunching her nose up, and I realize I’ve said the wrong thing.

“I mean— Oh, that’s . . . not, um . . .” I try to backpedal, but I’ve lost my footing entirely.

“No, it’s fine,” Jade says, picking up her wrap and putting it back down again without taking a bite. “She just . . . she’s so fucking immature about relationships. She always thinks the guy she’s with is The One, and then, when he smashes her heart, I have to pick up the pieces. Hence my lack of respect. Like, for fuck’s sake, woman, lust is not the same thing as love. You don’t just fall in love with someone a minute after you fucking meet them.” She rolls her eyes again before taking a sip of her Diet Coke.

I stuff a forkful of salad into my mouth. I don’t want to say the wrong thing again, and I don’t want her to shut down the conversation. This is what I was hoping for when I said we could build chemistry “my way”—talking about our families, our hopes and dreams, all the good stuff that makes a friendship.

“I don’t even know if I believe in love, to be honest,” she says.

“Why not? Because of your mom?” I ask and take another bite.

“I guess. I’ve never seen love do anything but hurt people.”

I finish my bite slowly enough to process her words. We’re twenty-one years old and she’s already given up on love? How does she expect to have a long-term relationship? Does she even want to?

“And marriage? Do you believe in that?”

She shrugs, and my eyebrows climb up into my hairline. I’ve never met anyone who just didn’t believe in marriage.

Marriage is the one thing I’ve looked forward to my whole life. Maybe it’s that hopeless romantic in me, but I look forward to having a partner. Someone to share a home with and cook meals with and come home to. Watching my dad love my mom and seeing how happy it made her made me excited to make someone that happy too. It’s been my dream to find a love like theirs. The kind of love that can withstand anything. I was always hopeful I’d find it in college, but it’s my senior year and I’m still single, so it may not be in the cards for me here.

It’s so important to me that I’m not even sure the Red Barn Playhouse job is a good fit for me. My hometown is small, and the chances of me meeting someone who’s my age and single have got to be so statistically low that dating would be an uphill battle.

As for Jade, it’s not like I thought she and I would fall in love or get married, but it feels strange to acknowledge that the possibility doesn’t exist. Anytime you meet someone, that could be the moment that changes your lives forever. Friendships can turn into something more at any time. The possibility is always there. Unless it’s not.

And it’s clear from what Jade just said that the possibility isn’t there.

“Okay, to be fair . . . I believe in marriage for other people. Jessie and Mac, for instance. I believe in love for them. I have no doubt they’ll get married. I don’t know if I believe in marriage for me, though.”

“Kids?”

She shakes her head so violently I’m afraid she might hurt herself. To her credit, I’m not sure how I feel about kids either, but I’m still very much on the fence. She seems certain.

No kids. No marriage. No love. Just a life of . . . what, sex with strangers?

It’s a future I can’t wrap my head around, and one I certainly wouldn’t choose for myself. I shudder at the thought of it.

“You?” she asks.

“DO YOU BELIEVE IN?—”

“Yes, yes,” I say, cutting off her Cher impression You can never trust a theater kid to know when to stop singing. “I do believe in love. And I believe in marriage and definitely want to be married one day.”

She scrunches her nose. “Gross.”

“Hey, I didn’t say gross to you!”

“That was your choice,” she says with a shrug and a smirk.

I narrow my eyes at her. “And kids . . . I don’t know. Could be difficult with my career.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I love the way she asks this, like we aren’t already grown up and being asked to make big decisions about our futures.

“When I was five, I wanted to be a fire truck, so I’m gonna go with that,” I say.

“A fire truck ? Not a fireman?”

“Correct.”

“Okay, yeah. That checks out for you. You don’t quite have the physique to be a truck, but if you hit the gym three . . . hundred hours every week, you could get there for sure. Now, the hose situation . . . How long is it . . .? Because I think there are requirements.”

My face heats, and Jade cackles. I tried to beat her at her game and forgot it was her game to win. My mind blanks. I can’t even think of a clever response. I’m just trying to recover from her comments about my . . . hose.

“Okay, but for real, what do you want to do?” she asks, and the way she looks at me gives me pause. There’s genuine curiosity in her tone and it gives me hope that maybe she wants to get to know me as much as I’d like to get to know her.

“I’d like to be a light designer in theater in some form or fashion. Traveling around from show to show or Broadway—I’m open to whatever opportunities come my way.”

“That’s so . . . free-spirited of you,” Jade says with some surprise.

“I am in theater. It’s not like I chose to be an accountant.” I don’t tell her the idea of moving from place to place chasing lighting gigs scares me, despite the desire to do it.

“Fair point. Also, gross.”

“Agreed. Math is the worst,” I say. “And you? What do you want to do?”

We’ve both long finished our meals, and I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms. Jade is showing me a depth I wasn’t expecting. I like it. It makes me want to know more.

“I’d like to do something theater-related. Something with makeup. I don’t know about movie makeup, but that is one of the biggest crossovers of makeup and performance.”

“That didn’t really answer my question,” I press.

Jade is quiet for second, like she’s thinking about what she wants to say. Or how she wants to say it. If she wants to at all.

“If I could have it my way, I’d just . . . take whatever jobs I could find. Costume and makeup in Austin for the summer, Portland for the fall, Atlanta for the spring. I just think there’s something fun about all the possibilities.”

There isn’t a hint of sarcasm or a joke in her voice—something I’ve found to be rare even in the short time I’ve known Jade. It feels like maybe I’m getting a peek at a version of her she doesn’t share with a lot of people.

I try to read her face to see if I should respond with matched sincerity or if she’d rather I turn the tone light again.

“Your dad won’t try to make you be a CEO somewhere?”

I can tell by the way her mouth curves up in a cynical smirk that I made the right choice.

“You know, he might. Those rich white men love to tell you how to live your life.”

I snort, and the vulnerable moment dissipates as quickly as it arrived.

Jade checks her phone and then tucks it back into her pocket. “Hey, I’ve got another class in fifteen minutes, so I’m going to head that way. See you tomorrow, though?” She stands and gathers her trash and backpack.

I give her a nod, and she leaves with a smile and a wiggle of her fingers. I watch her go, a smirk plastered on my face.

Spending the past couple of days with Jade has been more fun than I anticipated. Every day, I’ve found myself leaving our time together wishing we had more of it and looking forward to the next time I’ll get to see her.

Even now, I wish she’d come back so we could run lines again or talk more about our mutual interests in an unconventional career. I want her to come back and tease me again; I want to watch her throw her head back in a laugh at something I said.

But she’s off to class, and I need to work on my light plot. It’s half-done, but John wants it in four days, on Monday.

I head to the theater, and on my way through the lobby, the wall of framed photos next to the ticket booth catches my eye. It’s a new display, showcasing photographs from past shows, with students I’ve never seen before and a few I know pretty well. The photo from The Taming of the Shrew —last year’s fall show—has my friend Owen Chao playing Petruchio, one of the male love interests in the play.

I realize as I stare at the photo that I haven’t talked to Owen in a few months. He graduated a little over a year ago, after my sophomore year. He was a tech theater major who did enjoy acting. He didn’t just go for unassuming acting opportunities but much bigger roles, like Petruchio. We were close my first two years of school, and we keep up now as often as we can, given how busy he is.

He moved to Philadelphia for an opportunity after graduation, but I have no idea if he’s still there or, if he is, if he’s working on any shows. Owen had only one interest postgrad: walking through open doors. He’d go for crew gigs but take acting ones if they came along. It seems like a sound strategy, but it’s not one I’ll employ.

At the very least, Owen’s got a temperature on the job market, and if I need to decide between the Red Barn job and lighting design opportunities, he might be just the person to talk to. Maybe a quick phone call wouldn’t hurt . . .

It only rings twice before Owen’s chipper voice fills my ear.

“Hey, Ian! You caught me at a good time. I’m just between shifts at work.”

“Oh, nice. Where do you work again? I can’t remember the last time we talked.”

“Which job do you want to hear about?” he says with a half-chuckle, but there’s no life in it. It’s a little concerning. A yellow flag, but I did catch him between work shifts—he’s probably just tired.

“Are you working on a show? ‘Shifts’ doesn’t sound like a show.”

I walk slowly toward the computer in the student office at the edge of the theater lobby. “Office” is a generous word, as it’s basically a closet with a computer and a printer. It’s mostly used to print flyers, but the screen is big, and the computer has Vectorworks on it—the software I need for my light plot. It’s a quiet space too, suitable for one person, with a door that closes. I close it behind me now and get comfortable in the chair, tucking my phone between my shoulder and my cheek so I can log in to the computer.

“Yeah, I’m on the crew for a show, but I also work as a waiter during the day, and at a twenty-four-hour gym some nights too.” Owen yawns as he finishes his sentence. “Gotta pay the bills.”

“You sound tired, bro.”

“I am,” he says with another half-chuckle. “But I’m living the dream.”

“Really?” I ask. I’m not convinced. “Still in Philadelphia?”

“Yeah, for now. I might be looking at some other cities soon, though . . . Columbus, Austin, Denver. I’ve got some things in the works. Opportunities everywhere.”

“Not very stable, though,” I mumble.

“Stability is overrated,” he says with a chuckle. “Enough about me—how’s MPC? What’s the fall production?”

“ A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’m light designing.”

“That’s awesome. Have you done your acting credit yet?”

“In it now, unfortunately. I’m doing a one-act.” I lower my voice even though the door is closed and it’s not likely anyone is listening from outside.

It’s not unfortunate to be paired with Jade—it’s the fact that I have to act at all that’s unfortunate. For me and everyone who has to deal with me. Especially Jade. I know she isn’t thrilled about working with me. It’s no secret she wishes she had a real acting partner. I know how it feels to get actors on my crew who don’t give a shit about lights or lighting since they’re just fulfilling a credit.

“That makes sense for you. Although a one-act means more focus on you, no hiding in a small role in Our Town .”

We did Our Town for our JanTerm show in January, which is usually the time of year when most kids choose to take an easy class for a month or do an educational sailboating trip or something, but not theater kids. Theater kids put on a whole production in one month. It’s madness, and Owen’s senior year, we did Our Town , which he tried to convince me to take a small role in, but I declined.

He makes a good point, and I definitely would have had fewer lines in Our Town . Now I’m mad I didn’t just take his advice. Woulda, coulda, shoulda, I guess.

“Who’s your scene partner for the one-act? Do I know them?” Owen asks.

“You might. She’s a senior, but she’s a theater minor. Does a lot of makeup and costumes for shows. Jade McKinney.”

Owen laughs a loud, startling guffaw. “I do know Jade. Mostly because of her reputation. She made quite the splash in the department her freshman year. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”

The muscles in my jaw tense and I grind my teeth, pressing my lips into a tight line. What is it with guys and Jade’s reputation?

“I don’t know anything about Jade’s reputation. She’s a great scene partner, though,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

It’s not entirely true, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Even as he mentions it, the vaguest memory comes back to me about freshman year and the name “Jade.” Something about a party and getting caught, but the details are fuzzy. It’s hard to escape gossip in a theater department.

“I’ll bet she is,” Owen says, heavy implication in his tone.

It rubs me the wrong way.

“Hey man, I gotta get going, but I hope you’re doing okay, and good luck with your next work shift. Let me know when your next show is so I can come see it.”

Owen promises to give me dates and comp tickets, and we say our goodbyes.

I shake off his comments about Jade easily enough as I sign in to Vectorworks, the lighting design program.

It’s not my job to defend Jade, but it’s hard to listen to guys talk about her the way they do. Maybe it’s because of who raised me, but I have a low tolerance for the other members of my gender being disrespectful of women. Maybe Seth and Owen aren’t being outright rude about Jade, but the implications—their laugh, the way they say “reputation”—all feel gross. Especially because Jade and I are . . . friends? Is that what we are now?

Owen’s job situation is harder for me to shake off. Two jobs, in addition to the show he’s working on, just to pay the bills so he can pursue the career he wants. Maybe it won’t always be like that, but he could spend years doing this. And moving? Already? He just got to Philadelphia barely fifteen months ago.

Maybe the idea of going where the opportunities are is only fun on paper. In theory, it sounds like an adventure. In practice, a small nightmare.

But the idea of just moving to my hometown for a job and living in the same part of town I grew up in doesn’t sound so appealing either.

Can’t I have both? Can’t I have a stable job with some excitement? Does such a thing even exist?

If it does, it isn’t one of my current options, and my conversation with Owen may have just scared me into applying for the Red Barn Playhouse job.