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“That all sounds really good,” I say, and I think it’s the most honest thing I can say. Because it does sound good, but just because something is good doesn’t mean it’s right.
Being with Jade is good. It feels good. It feels comfortable. But we are mismatched in a million ways, so it’s not right.
“I’ll definitely think about it and let you know at the end of the semester, okay?”
Robert stops walking and turns to face me. I pivot so we’re not blocking the entire sidewalk but give him my full attention. Replacing his jolly smile is his most serious face—the one he uses after a particularly great show to let the cast and crew know we’ve made him proud. Truly proud.
“If you say you want it, the position is yours. My word carries a lot of weight on the board of directors, and I’m sure they’d want to bring you in to chat, see a portfolio. Though I’m confident the board would give you a ‘yes’ all around.”
My throat goes dry, and my words get stuck in the desert of my throat. I manage a nod and hope that I haven’t started sweating off the makeup around my bruise.
“Now, how about some lunch?” Robert asks with a cordial pat on the arm. He gestures for us to keep walking—this time in the direction of the cafeteria.
We change the subject, but the threat of the unknown and the pressure to be the decider cling to me like a bad odor.
It reminds me too much of my character, Ben, inThe Mercy Seat. Our choices are vastly different, but this is what I imagine he feels like in some sense: stuck between two decisions, with nearly equal pros and cons on each list. Overwhelmed by the need to make a decision. Maybe knowing in his gut what hereallywants to do, but not being brave enough to say it.
My sister closest in age to me has said more times than I can count that when she feels indecisive, she’s actually just being a coward. Deep down, she knows what she wants to do; she just isn’t brave enough to say it out loud. I think that’s true of my one-act character, but is it true of me too? Maybe it isn’t my decision-making skills that need sharpening, but my courage, my confidence.
This is why I stick to tech roles. I prefer the dark backstage or the cold lighting grid, lonely as they can be. These are the places I am most confident: behind the scenes. Being the main character of the story kind of sucks.
13
JADE
“Full often hath she gossiped by my side . . .”Act II, Scene I
On the list of things I thought might top my favorite college experiences, Sunday Night Bingo was not one of them. The Student Life Center hosts a bimonthly bingo night, and freshman year, Jessie and I went as a joke. And then we just kept going. Every bingo night now for three years and some change, Jessie and I have been there. Either we really like to drag a joke out or we actually like it. We don’t really talk about it—we just text each other “Bingo?” the day before and that’s that.
We sit where we always do: the third-row table at the far left end. Our board and sticker markers are ready to go, but we’re early. We’re always early. It’s tradition. Now that Jessie has a boyfriend, the time is even more precious to me, as I get less time with her without her counterpart. I love Mac, but Jessie was my girl first.
“So, I feel like we haven’t talked enough about you and Ian,” Jessie starts, shifting in her seat.
I swivel to face her, cracking open my drink. The hiss and pop of a fresh Diet Coke—music to my ears. “I’ve told you everything. The post-rehearsal kiss four days ago?—”
“Hot.”
“The ‘I’d punch a thousand Nicks for you.’”
“Romance.”
I roll my eyes at that one. “The way he always looks at me like I hung the fucking moon.”
“The puppy is in love,” Jessie says with a smirk.
“Oh my god, how dare you mention the ‘L’ word?”
“You were the one who mentioned the way he looks at you! I called it at bowling, so it must be getting worse if you’re noticing it.”
“I noticed it at bowling too.”
In fact, that’s when I noticed I was also feeling something. Just an inkling of something, but there was a feeling nonetheless.
“And you’re saying all of that and you don’t have feelings for him too? Not even, like, the teensiest tiniest bit?”
“I don’t know. I might have a crush, but it’s, like, so small and stupid.”
Jessie eyes me. She knows me too well to believe me. If I’m saying I have a crush, I have feelings. If I’m saying I have feelings, I probably havebigfeelings. But saying it out loud makes it real. Too real. And I’m not doing real again.
