Off Book

25. Jade

25

JADE

“It is not night when I do see your face . . .” Act II, Scene I

“Hey, Jade, it’s me. It’s Ian. I didn’t think you’d pick up. I actually sort of hoped you wouldn’t. I wanted to be able to tell you this and make sure you had all the space you needed to think or whatever. I . . . I still have really strong feelings for you. Maybe there’s another word for it—I don’t know. What I do know is that I’ve never felt anything for anyone close to the way I feel about you. And you might be ready to give up on that, but I’m not. So I’m going to wait for you. We only have a semester left of school, but I want to spend it with you. I want you to be my girlfriend, and maybe that word scares you, so we don’t have to use it. We can use whatever word you want. As long as it means that you’re mine. You asked me once what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I have a new answer: yours. I want to be yours, Jade. So . . . yeah. The ball is in your court. Sorry for the sports metaphor. What about . . . ‘it’s your line now’? I said my monologue, and now it’s your turn? Anyway . . . I hope your Thanksgiving break is okay. You know where to find me when we get back to school.”

By the time my Thanksgiving break is over, I have Ian’s voicemail memorized.

When he called, I watched his name pop up on my screen. I almost threw my phone across the room, but instead I held it and stared at it while it vibrated in my hand, until the call went to voicemail. I thought I was in the clear until the voicemail notification popped up. I didn’t listen to it for a whole day for fear of what he had to say. He wouldn’t have called if it was just a casual chat. Whatever was in that voicemail was going to make it very difficult for me to keep away from Ian. My resolve when I walked away from him two weeks ago was exactly enough to help me walk away. Staying away has been much harder.

I was right about the voicemail. Once I started listening to it, I couldn’t stop.

Every night before I fall asleep, I listen to it. I wake up and listen to it. I listen to it if I get bored; when I go for a walk. I’ve listened so much I could recite it from memory.

Which I do . . . to Jessie and Mac at our first Roommate Night back from break. After Mac drove me to pick up my car from the shop, we picked up our favorite sushi from a local place. It was Mac’s night to plan, and he’s treated us to a feast.

“So it sounds like you listened to the voicemail a very normal number of times,” Jessie says with her eyebrows raised.

“Very normal.” I nod.

“Listen, I know a grand gesture when I hear one,” says Mac. “That man is grand-gesturing you.”

“Do you hate it?” Jessie asks.

I want to. I want to hate it so bad. I want to tell him, “Nice try, but I’m not falling for that.” Except I am definitely falling for it. It knocked something loose in me that’s been rattling around like a penny in a jar inside of me since.

“You know what’s really annoying?” I say, filling my plate with another round of sushi rolls and trying to fight a smile.

“You don’t hate it?” Jessie says, squealing and literally kicking her feet. She stuffs a roll in her mouth and does a little dance. I can’t tell if it’s from food happiness or her excitement over my feelings.

“It’s probably, like, the top three most romantic things that’s ever happened to me. And I’m pretty sure the other two were also things Ian did.”

“So what does this mean?” Mac asks, looking back and forth between me and Jessie. “Are you and Ian together now? Did I miss something?”

“No, no,” I say. “I haven’t talked to him since the night of the performance, but I plan to?—”

“Because she lov—she has feelings for him!” Jessie practically screams.

“Inside voices, Jessie,” I say.

“NO!” she says even louder. “JADE! I never thought I would see this day! You’re going to go grand-gesture him back, aren’t you? AREN’T YOU?” Jessie launches herself from her seat and tackles me in a hug.

“What are you still doing here?” Mac asks. “Go gets your mans.”

“It’s Roommate Night! I’ll go find him in the theater tonight. He’s probably prepping for Midsummer . Plus, I have a meeting to go to in an hour.”

“A meeting?” Jessie tilts her head to the side, furrowing her brow as she reclaims her seat and loads her plate with another round of sushi.

“AA,” I say simply.

The day after the Muscles incident, I looked up AA groups near the school. After realizing that my instinct was to get drunk when I was sad or upset, I decided to go to an AA meeting. Not for my mom, but for me. I meant it when I said I don’t want to end up like her. As soon as I recognized the pattern I was falling into, one that was too familiar for comfort, I decided to nip that in the bud real quick. I found a group that’s held right here on campus, but I wasn’t quite brave enough to go before the break. I talked to my grandmother and my mom about going to a meeting while I was home, and my grandmother went with me to my first meeting last week. It was weird and hard, and I have never been so sure I was doing the right thing.

My mom didn’t go with us, and it annoys me, because I know she needs this. But I also know that I need to live my life. Something I’m saying but not fully believing, which is why, in addition to AA meetings, I’ll also be joining a virtual Adult Children of Alcoholics group I found online and maybe even trying to find a therapist.

“Jade, that’s awesome,” Mac says.

“Let me know if you want me to go with you,” Jessie says.

My heart swells. The gratitude I have for the two of them presses against the backs of my eyes.

I don’t know why I was ever worried about losing them. No matter how far they go, this feeling—the one swimming in my chest and warming me—it can’t be taken. No distance can diminish the love I have for these two, nor the love they have for me.

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s really Ian I have to thank for all this.”

“Oh yeah?” Jessie raises an eyebrow, encouraging me to explain.

“If he hadn’t just walked in that day I went back to my mom’s and sort of . . . forced me to accept help . . . I don’t think I would have ever understood the weight I’ve been carrying alone and how much better it is to get support.”

“Thank god for the audacity of men,” Jessie says.

“Let’s not go that far,” I say.

Mac holds up his can of sparkling water. “To men who think they know better than women,” he says with a dumb smile.

I steal the sparkling water from his hand and set it next to me, too far for him to reach. He feigns shock and uses his long arms to steal back his drink.

“How about . . . to men who love well?” Jessie suggests, holding up her sparkling water.

“I’ll toast to that,” I say with a cheers of my Diet Coke.

I was not expecting there to be a full rehearsal going for Midsummer Night’s Dream .

The show opens next week, so this is tech week. This is the week the actors are doing rehearsals with lights and mics and costumes and makeup. Tonight is lights and mics and tomorrow is costumes. I know this because I’m scheduled to come in and help.

But somehow all of this slipped my mind because I had a one-track mind for getting to Ian. For talking to Ian. For telling him I’m sorry and I . . . well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

But the bridge I have to cross is a full rehearsal. Do I interrupt? Is Ian even here?

I loiter in the wings, watching the rehearsal, and try to stand at just the right angle to see up into the stage manager’s booth. The tinted glass does its job, though; I see multiple shapes, but I can’t tell who it is.

I’m not going to go up there if someone else is in the booth. The stage manager is unlikely to stop the show just so I can have a quick word with Ian.

I guess I could wait until a break . . .

“Jade?” A whispered voice from behind me says my name. Dallas.

“Heyyyyyy,” I say as casually as possible.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow?” They hug me and I wonder if they can feel my racing heart.

“I am. I’m actually . . . I’m not here for the rehearsal.”

Their eyebrows raise, their head tilting down as if to say, “You better spill that damn tea.”

“Do you happen to know if Ian is here?” I ask, sounding so shy I barely recognize myself.

A slow smile spreads over Dallas’s face. Their eyes flicker to the stage, probably half-listening for their cue to go on.

“I do think I saw him, but why not check with them?” They point to the assistant stage manager seated deep in the wings on headset with the rest of the crew. They would definitely know, as Ian would be in their ear.

“You’re a doll,” I say and blow Dallas a kiss. They catch it and stuff it into their pocket with a wink, giving their attention back to the stage.

The assistant stage manager sees me, giving me a friendly wave. I realize as I approach that it’s Madison.

Fates be praised.

“Hey Madison,” I whisper. She covers the mouth of her microphone and leans toward me. “Is Ian on there?”

“Ian?” she asks, and my heart sinks. I nod. She nods back and gives me a thumbs-up. “Why?”

“No reason,” I say, gesturing that she shouldn’t worry about it.

My heart hammers in my chest. Ian is definitely here. Ian is definitely in the booth. And that means I definitely need to ruin this rehearsal to get his attention. I drop my purse behind Madison’s chair and, before I can talk myself out of it, I stride right onto the stage.

I am not a shy person. I am bold as fuck, and I would say on a scale of one to one hundred that I give absolutely zero shits.

But I know the sanctity of rehearsal and I respect the hell out of it. I’m being an asshole right now and, for once, I care. I care because I would be annoyed if I was in rehearsal and some girl strode onto stage in the middle of it.

I am also acutely aware of what I’m about to say and do and there’s a layer of sweat along my hairline already.

The stage lights are bright and blinding and I hold my hand up to see past them. Around me, protests and shocked noises rise.

“Hey, what the fuck!”

“Jade, what are you doing?”

“Jade?”

“Excuse me, you can’t?—”

“Is she?—”

“Jade McKinn?—”

“Ian?” I say, projecting my voice over everyone else’s.

The theater goes silent. Not even the director interrupts me. I may have shocked everyone into a momentary silence, but it isn’t going to last. I have to capitalize on it, and quickly.

“Ian, if you’re up in the booth, I hope you’re listening because I have something I have to tell you.”

“So important that you interrupted rehearsal?” the actor playing Lysander asks, clearly annoyed.

“Yes, fuck off,” I snap at him, my voice low enough so only he and the people in the immediate area can hear. Someone inhales sharply. Someone else snorts.

Ian hasn’t said anything yet and now I’m worried Madison was wrong. Maybe he isn’t here. Or maybe he’s just waiting for me. I’m running out of time to act, though, so it’s now or never.

“Ian, I’m sorry. Everything you said about me after the one-acts was right. I . . . I was scared. I AM scared. I like you. A lot. Like . . . more than I’ve ever liked anyone. And maybe it’s love?—”

A few people gasp around me. I hear at least three people “Awww.” The stage manager, positioned in the audience with director Adam Litsey, starts to stand, probably to protest, but Adam sets his hand on the stage manager’s arm and they sit back down.

“Maybe it’s not, I don’t know,” I continue. “I probably should know—this is a fucking grand gesture, after all, and I know in movies it’s always ‘I love you’ and ‘I need you’ and ‘I can’t live without you’ and I don’t know if it’s love, and I could probably live without you, but I sure as hell don’t want to.”

The audience lights come up and I drop my hand, able to see past the bright stage lights. There’s still no sign of Ian, unless the lights coming up are the sign. No one is pushing me off the stage yet, so I press on.

“So um, now that I’ve interrupted rehearsal, if you’re there and you want to talk, I’ll be in the lobby.”

I turn to go, avoiding eye contact with everyone. I feel a little like throwing up and a lot like getting the hell out of here. I’m only in the wings when I hear the actors on stage start to gasp. I turn and see a few people pointing into the audience.

“Jade,” Dallas says, stopping me in my tracks. I turn back, walking out onto the stage again, and see Ian descending the steps, coming down from the booth.

“All right everyone, let’s take five,” the director says, but the only person moving is Ian, walking closer to the stage, closer to me.

My heart hammers in my chest. My palms start to sweat.

“I said let’s take five,” the director says again and claps a couple of times. There’s a chorus of “Thank you, Five” from everyone and this time people scatter, leaving me alone on stage until Ian joins me.

“Hi,” I say. He’s arm’s length away from me, but I wish he’d stand closer. It’s one of those moments where a little bit of physical contact could go a long way.

“Hi,” he says. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Your lights look good,” I say.

“Didn’t know you were a fan of my work,” he says.

“Huge fan.”

“That’s what you came for? To see my lights?” He’s got a knowing smirk on his face.

“Did you miss my grand declaration? Where I admitted in front of the whole cast and crew of Midsummer that I have feelings for you?”

“You know, I think I did. I was in the bathroom at the time, and came back in to all this commotion. Some girl interrupting rehearsal. Maybe you could give me the summary?”

He heard every word and there still isn’t a world in which I get away with not saying it again. And he deserves to hear it. He deserves so much.

More than I have to give.

But I’ll try anyway.

“You were right. I was running from my feelings. They scared the shit out of me. When you told me you loved me, I felt it . . . here.” I touch all my fingers to my chest. “It was like the words were mine, but you were the only one who was brave enough to say them out loud.”

He nods, encouraging me to continue. There’s mischief in his eyes; he’s making me grovel a little, but I don’t mind because there’s something else written all over his face: relief. He left me that voicemail, put the ball in my court. We both know how he feels about me, and now it’s my turn.

“I tried so hard to run from those feelings, because I thought that being in love would get me hurt like my mom. And all I’ve ever wanted was to not be like her. And it turns out, I wasn’t different from her at all.

“Drinking is how she runs away from her feelings. It’s how she runs from herself because she’s scared to feel it all. And I was too. I am still scared to feel it all, but it turns out the best way to not be like my mom is to not run away from my feelings.”

I twist my hands together, just to give them something to do. Saying this in my head is one thing; saying it all out loud right to his face is a whole ’nother thing. The vulnerability it takes to look someone in the eye and confess that you were wrong is exactly as hard as I thought it would be. But Ian takes a half a step closer to me and it gives me the courage to go on.

“So in an effort to be the person I want to be . . . here they are. Here are all of my feelings: I am glad that I met you. Amazed that the god of theater himself brought us together.

“I was mad at you for coming in my house when I told you not to, and then mad at myself for being mad at you for that, and ultimately, ‘grateful’ is not a strong enough word for the way you stepped in and supported me. I am humbled by what you did for me, the way you took care of me while I was taking care of my mom.

“I am annoyed that it took me so fucking long to see what was right in front of me and grateful that you saw it and fought for it. I’m in awe of who you are as a person. How dedicated and loyal, how smart and funny, and how mature you are, especially for our age. I’m scared of what the future looks like without you in it, and I?—”

Ian’s hands cup my face and his lips are on mine before I can finish my sentence. His lips are soft but his kiss is insistent. It’s I missed you, I love you, I want you . And I say all of it back, kissing him like it’s the only thing in the world I want to be doing right now. Because it is.

Behind us, people clap. We break the kiss and behind me, half the cast of Midsummer is standing and watching us. Some people are clearly pissed. Some are clearly swooning. But I give my attention back to Ian, because I’m not quite done.

“I don’t know how to do the whole relationship thing,” I say before he can say anything. I can tell he wants to. “But I want to. With you.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“No,” I say, and we both laugh nervously.

His hands find their way to my waist as a silence stretches between us. I rest my hands on his chest, solid like him.

“One more thing,” I say.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For running. For . . . I don’t know, I feel like I accidentally gaslit you. You were sure that the feelings weren’t one-sided and they weren’t. And I think I might have made you feel like they were. And I never wanted to do that. Okay, you’re shaking your head, but I still feel like I owe you an apology.”

“I think that you were doing the best you could given . . . everything. And I don’t begrudge you.”

Relief rolls through me.

“That’s a big word. You been reading the dictionary?”

“Yeah, in all my spare time,” he says, sarcasm thick.

“You don’t have spare time? How are you gonna have a girlfriend without spare time?”

“Fortunately, my girlfriend and I share a hobby.” Ian gestures to the space around us. My stomach turns at the word “girlfriend.” I can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but it will take some getting used to.

People have started to trickle back into the theater, hanging in the wings, giving Ian and me the last few seconds of this break.

“Will you still wait in the lobby for me?” he asks.

“No,” I say, and his face falls, confusion knitting over his expression. “I’m going to come sit with you in the stage manager’s booth.”

He smiles, delighted he isn’t being rejected and maybe remembering the last time we were in the stage manager’s booth together.

“You know there are other people in there tonight. You have to behave yourself,” he says, his voice low.

“Damn. And after rehearsal? Do I have to behave myself then?”

“Nope. Not even a little bit.”