As I’d backed away from the scene, stumbling in my heels, I realized that I had lied to myself about why I’d come. The way I always lied to myself when it came to Gabe.
In my attempt to flee, I made a wrong turn and ended up onstage. The curtains were closed and the whole space felt far smaller than it had appeared from the audience.
“You can’t be out here,” a stagehand said to me.
“She’s with me,” Gabe said.
He had been in his costume. Still wearing his stage makeup, but I was pretty sure that smear of lipstick on his cheek wasn’t from the show.
“Chani,” he’d said.
It was like someone dragging a finger down the length of my spine. I’d shivered.
“You’re here,” he said.
“Thank you for the ticket,” I said. “But I should go.”
I’d turned to walk away, but the other side of the stage was blocked by set pieces and sandbags. If I wanted to leave, I’d have to go through him. So I screwed my courage to the sticking place and faced him, if only so I could get away.
“Gabe, I should—”
“I was hoping—”
“The show was good.” I’d been grateful for the truth and used it as a shield. “You were good.”
He’d ducked his head. “Thank you.”
We’d both stood there for a moment. My feet had been aching. My pride too.
“You look nice,” he’d said.
“You have lipstick on your cheek,” I’d told him.
He swore and rubbed at it with the base of his palm.
Out, damned spot, I’d thought.
“Jacinda is—” he’d started.
“Waiting for you in your dressing room, I imagine.”
Gabe glanced back toward it.
“It’s not like that,” he’d said. “She surprised me.”
“Likewise.”
“My mom is here too,” he’d said.
As if that made things better.
“Wow,” I’d said. “That’s not—I mean, really?”
He’d let out a breath, his frustration evident, its recipient unclear.
“Can we…” He’d gestured toward the couch on the center of the stage.
I’d lifted an eyebrow. He wanted to sit? Here? Like we were overdue for a cozy chat?
The worst part was that I’d wanted to do it.
“Won’t you be missed?” I’d asked.
Gabe had rubbed the back of his neck. I hadn’t known what to expect when I came to the show—when I came backstage—but this hadn’t been it. If anything, I’d imagined something so far out of the realm of reality that it had been a hard, vicious comedown.
“There’s an after-party,” he’d said. “You could go with—”
“You and your wife?” I’d asked. “What fun.”
“I could introduce you,” he’d offered. “She knows your work.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” I’d said.
A wrinkle had appeared between Gabe’s eyes as he frowned at me. I’d seen the wheels turning in his head, and wondered what he had hoped to accomplish.
“Yeah,” he’d said. “Sorry.”
“Well,” I’d said. “I should go.”
“It’s good to see you,” he’d said.
The sincerity in his words was like a punch in the chest.
“It’s good to see you too.” I’d been clutching my purse like it was a lifeline. The truth, again.
He’d nodded, his eyes sweeping over me, stopping at my hand.
I followed his gaze and found that he was staring at my wedding band, which suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He nodded, and I felt a wave of shame. Because for a moment, I’d forgotten.
“Give my regards to the Novelist,” he’d said. Pointedly.
“Jeremy,” I’d said. “And tell Jacinda I loved her last movie.”
Gabe had given me a curt nod.
“Thanks for coming,” he’d said.
“Anytime,” I’d said, and headed for the exit.
As I passed him, I had been able to smell his cologne. Expensive cedar tree. I’d almost stumbled, but didn’t.
When I’d left the theatre, it was dark and cold, but people were waiting by the stage door, hoping to catch a glimpse of James Bond. I’d walked home, feeling the same way I’d felt when I heard that he’d married Jacinda. Like a deflated balloon on the bottom of someone’s shoe. Like I’d been played for a fool.