“You’re welcome.”
She’s stopped acting now, and I can feel her growing more distant.
“I had a really good time tonight. I’m sorry if it was weird for you. I really didn’t expect that to be an all-night performance.”
“No, it’s fine. I had a good time too.” The wind blows her hair into her face and she brushes the strands back. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why were you avoiding the girls so hard tonight? You and Taryn broke up months ago and as far as I know you haven’t dated anyone since.”
“Except you now.” I tip my beer toward her and then take a drink.
“You know what I mean. A real date and hookups don’t count. Those girls were pretty nice. Are you still hung up on Taryn?”
“Are you politely asking me why I haven’t jumped into another relationship already? Because the guys have been giving me shit. No need to tiptoe over my feelings. I know I have a reputation for going from one girlfriend to the next.”
“It’s more than a reputation. You haven’t gone more than a few weeks without a girlfriend in all the time I’ve known you.”
I hesitate, nodding. I don’t know if that’s true, I’ve never really tracked it, but it’s not far off.
“It’s okay if you’re not over Taryn. She was great. We all liked her a lot.”
“She was.” My last girlfriend was someone I thought I could picture a future with, but when she transferred schools at semester, we both decided it’d be easier to cut ties instead of trying to make it work long-distance. I’m a romantic, but I’m also realistic. I like spending time with my girlfriends too much to be happy with a weekend here and there. “It isn’t Taryn. I’m trying to take some time, be single. Plus, with this being my last year playing hockey, I really want to see it through and focus my energy there.”
“Makes sense.”
“Also, don’t tell the guys I know, but they have a bet going on how long before I’m with someone new.”
“Oh, I know,” she says. “Heath’s out. He had one week.”
“I guess between my buddies betting on me and the shit with my parents, it seemed like a good time to break my usual cycle.” I still get an ache in my chest when I think about my parents splitting up. They completely blindsided me. I thought they were crazy in love, even after all these years. Ginny thinks I’m taking it too personally, but it is personal. Everything I believe about love and relationships was based on watching them. They were so happy. Or so I thought.
“But what if you found someone you wanted to be with? Would bad timing stop you?”
“No, I doubt I’d let anything stop me.” The trouble is, I’m not sure if I trust my own instincts. I never get into a relationship expecting it to fail. Yet, they always do. It starts out fantastic and then a month, or six later, and suddenly everything just feels… wrong.
“Adam, I need to tell you something.” Reagan angles her body toward me. Her eyes fall to her hands. She looks so serious all of a sudden.
“What is it?”
Seconds pass, my heart rate accelerates in anticipation.
“I…” she starts and then stands quickly. “It’s nothing. I should go. See you later.”
Reagan beelines inside, says something to Dakota, and then heads out of the apartment. Huh. Well, that was abrupt. What a weird fucking night.
Good news, though. I’m most definitely not broken.
3
Reagan
Committed Cancer, you might be feeling bored with a complacent partner. Mix things up! Single Cancer, this is the perfect time to join a pole dancing class or read a book on sex positions. You never know when the right guy will fall into your lap.
All the usual suspects show up to open auditions for the spring play. Mostly drama majors, and a few that aren’t, but who have done previous performances. We’re clearly divided by the level of seriousness we bring. All the drama majors sit together on one side of the stage and the others on the opposite.
As Dr. Rossen starts to explain the audition process to the newbies, a girl I don’t recognize steps into the theater.
The door slams behind her, and we all stare. She walks down the center aisle to the stage.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she says, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes.
Dr. Rossen looks over her glasses impatiently. “Are you here for auditions?”
She scans the stage, looking at all of us. I can see her gulp. “Yes.”
“Very good. Name?”
“Mila.”
“Have a seat, Mila.” She lifts her clipboard. “As I was saying, Director Hoffman and I will take auditions according to the sign-up. You’ll come out, do your prepared monologue, or read from the script. If needed, we’ll do callbacks at the end of the week. The cast list will be posted this weekend, and we’ll start rehearsals next Tuesday. Any questions?” She barely waits a second before ducking her head and walking toward the second row of seats. “Let’s get started.”
Everyone files off the stage except the unfortunate soul who got stuck with the first time slot. Dr. Rossen and Mr. Hoffman are both notoriously hard to impress. No one ever wants to go first, although, their moods really don’t improve much the farther along we get. And this is Mr. Hoffman’s first time taking the director role, so I have a feeling he’s going to be even harder to win over.
Mila looks apprehensive as people push past her. I remember just what it’s like to be the new girl.
“Hey,” I say as I approach. “I’m Reagan.”
“I know. I mean, I’m kind of a fan of yours. I’ve seen every student performance for the past two years.” Her smile is shy, but she talks fast and animated. “Mila.”
“Nice to meet you.”
She follows me behind the curtain. There are a few chairs and props that people sit on. I keep going, passing by everyone and dropping my backpack in a corner. “This is my little nook.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll go—”
“No, wait. That isn’t what I meant. Have a seat, please. I’m more nervous than normal. It would be nice to have some company.”
She lets her bag fall to the ground. “You’re nervous? I’ve never done this before.”
“Really? Never?”
She shakes her head.
“Not in elementary school or summer camp?” I thought everyone had done some theater, however unwillingly.
“That look on your face…” She waves her hand in a circle dramatically. “Is not helping.”
“Sorry.” I offer her an apologetic smile. “We don’t get a lot of new blood around here. Are you doing a monologue or reading from the script?”
Mr. Hoffman is one of the few directors who lets us audition for a specific part. He still casts us however he feels best suits the show, but he at least pretends to take our preferences into consideration.
“I’m not sure.” She pulls out a printed script. “You?”
I hesitate to tell her. She’ll know in a few minutes anyway. “I’m reading the youngest sister’s tantrum at the end of act one.”