Look Both Ways (24 page)

I send the universe an image of myself yelling all those things at her, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t want to fight. All I want is for Carlos to leave so she can be mine again.

I spend my whole crew call on Sunday debating whether to confront her. Maybe if I don’t say anything, the weirdness will fade away on its own. It might be too early in the relationship for me to complain; everything still feels fragile between Zoe and me, and I don’t want to ruin our last three weeks at Allerdale. But she’ll be in the city starting in September, and situations like this are bound to happen again. Isn’t it better to confront a problem before it becomes a precedent?

I still haven’t decided what to do by the time I get home on Sunday evening. When I unlock the door, I find Zoe sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling; she’s not even listening to music or anything, and her mascara is smeared like she’s been crying for hours. How am I supposed to bring up my hurt feelings when she looks so listless?

“Hey,” I say quietly. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“I guess,” she says. “Come here?” She reaches out a hand to me, but she looks so hesitant, like she’s not sure whether I even want her anymore. It’s ridiculous to feel sorry for her when I’m the one who’s hurt, but she seems so miserable that I can’t help it. She’s my Zoe, and she needs me.

I sit down on the bed and gather her into my arms, and she curls against me. “Are we okay?” she asks in a very small voice.

It’s the perfect opening to say all the things I’ve been thinking, and I almost do it, but then I chicken out at the last second. “I think I’m okay if you are,” I say.

“I barely slept all night ’cause I kept thinking about how pissed at me you probably were. Having him here was awful for you, wasn’t it?”

It’s really nice to hear her admit it. “Yeah, it kind of was,” I say.

“I’m so sorry, Brooklyn.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s complicated. And I know I’m allowed to see other people, too, if I want.”

She looks up at me, startled. “But…you don’t want to, do you?”

I think about telling her I do, so she’ll know how I’ve been feeling all weekend, but the last thing our relationship needs is more drama. “No,” I say.

“Good. I know it’s unfair, but I want you all to myself.” She sighs and puts her head down on my chest. “Loving two people at once is so confusing.”

I suddenly feel like I’ve downed fifteen shots of espresso. “Wait,” I say. “You
love
me?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you know that?”

She looks up at me with those pretty sunflower eyes, and it becomes very easy to forget all about Carlos. Guys I’ve dated have told me they loved me before, and I’ve said it back; Jason and I started saying it after a couple of months. I thought I was telling the truth, but the way I feel right now is so different that it makes me want to call him and take it back.

“I love you, too,” I say, and the smile that breaks across her face could power a city block.

“So you’re not mad?”

“I’m not mad,” I say.

“And you still want to do this?” She cups my cheek in her hand and kisses me, soft and sweet.

“Yes,” I whisper against her mouth.

“Good. I was so afraid that I’d screwed things up and lost you.”

I
know
I shouldn’t let everything I feel fade away. We’ll have to talk about Carlos eventually. But no relationship is perfect, and
my girlfriend loves too many people
seems like something I should be able to handle. Dating Zoe is the one thing I’m doing right this summer, and I’m not willing to give it up over this.

So I pull her closer and say, “You didn’t lose me. You can have both of us.”

We stay in bed until the shadows start to lengthen, holding on to each other and murmuring silly, pointless things that feel important because they’re interspersed with “I love you”s. When Zoe’s alarm goes off at seven-thirty, she buries her face in my shoulder and groans. “I have a stupid costume fitting. I don’t want to let go of you.”

I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Will you come with me?”

I’ll probably be in everyone’s way, but Zoe finally wants me near her again, and I don’t want to let go, either. “Sure,” I say.

She holds my hand all the way to the shop. When we get there, she changes into a flouncy yellow dress and stands in front of a three-way mirror while a gray-haired woman pins her hem. There are only two costume people still working—everyone else is probably at dinner—so I wander through the organized chaos of the shop without fear of being a nuisance. The shelves that line the walls are packed with spools of thread, ribbon, trim, and buttons in every conceivable color, and there are half-naked dress forms everywhere, clad in Shakespearean doublets and sequined evening gowns. In one corner, shoe boxes are stacked all the way up to the ceiling, each one neatly labeled. The lulling whir of sewing machines and box fans fills the air, underscored by the oldies station playing on a tiny radio. It’s nicer than I expected in here; maybe I won’t mind working wardrobe for
Macbeth
next rotation.

I’m inspecting a pair of blue satin pantaloons when Zoe comes back out in her normal clothes and slips an arm around my waist. “Hey,” she says. “All done. You want to see something cool?”

“Of course,” I say.

She grabs my hand, leads me to the back corner of the shop, and pushes back a faded maroon curtain to reveal a staircase. “Come on,” she says. “Costume storage is up there.”

“Are we allowed to go in?”

“Probably not,” she says, but she’s already on the third step. I take a quick look around the room, but nobody’s watching us, so I follow. This isn’t exactly a daring escapade, but Zoe’s enthusiasm makes everything feel like an adventure.

We emerge into a big, dusty space crowded with a maze of clothing racks. The one closest to me is labeled “1920s Women” and holds more flapper dresses than I’ve ever seen in one place. The next one over has military uniforms on one end and Victorian gowns on the other. I finger the beaded hem of a black-and-silver dress. “This place is
amazing,
” I say.

“Isn’t it?” Zoe disappears down an aisle and emerges a minute later wearing an enormous red Kentucky Derby hat with feather plumes. “What do you think?” she asks. “Does it bring out my eyes?”

“Oh, for sure,” I say.

“Here, I got you one, too.”

She tosses me a hideous, wide-brimmed gold hat covered in cloth roses, plastic cherries, and a fake bird. I pull it on and adopt a terrible British accent. “Daahhh-ling, won’t you join me for tea and crumpets in the parlor?”

Zoe swaps her hat for one of those furry Russian ones with giant earflaps. “No time for tea! Fetch me the sled dogs!” she growls in a baritone voice, and we both burst out laughing. I love that even after everything we went through this weekend, we can still be silly together. It makes me feel like things are going to be okay between us after all.

Zoe pushes deeper into the room, opens a plastic bin labeled “Undergarments,” and pulls out a lacy purple bra so big, she could probably fit her entire head into one side. “Oh my God, look,” she says. When she fastens it over her T-shirt, the empty cups sag down so low, they almost touch her waist. She sidles up to me and shimmies her shoulders. “Do my giant purple bazooms turn you on, baby?”

I laugh. “That thing would probably fit Barb.”

“Can you even imagine? I bet she sneaks up here at night and parades around in it.” Zoe tugs a flouncy red petticoat up over her shorts, then pulls something out of the box that looks like three U-shaped neck pillows sewn together. “What do you think this is?”

“It goes under a bustle,” I say. “Here, give it to me.” I tie it on over my jeans and shake my butt so the pillows bounce up and down. “It matches my hat, don’t you think?”

“So hot,” Zoe says. “Now all you need is this.” She grabs a purple velvet cape with a dragon embroidered on the back and drapes it around my shoulders. I complete the ensemble with a huge, blingy dollar sign on a long gold chain, and she nods her approval.

“Perfect,” I say. “I’m ready for my close-up.”

Zoe grabs the two sides of my cape and uses them to pull me up against her. “Is this close enough?”

“Almost,” I say. “Maybe a tiny bit closer?”

She runs her hands down to my waist and over the pillows. “Mmm, a cape and a butt pad. Exactly what I look for in a girl.”

“I’ve always had a thing for furry earflaps, personally.” She leans in to kiss me, but my dead-bird hat bonks her in the forehead, and we both start giggling. She tips the brim up and tries again, and this time it goes better. I love that she’s willing to risk kissing me when someone could come up here at any moment and catch us, and I pull her tighter against me. Now that this weekend is finally over, I never want anything to come between us again.

After a minute, Zoe pulls away and runs her thumb gently over my cheek. “You,” she whispers, “look absolutely ridiculous.”

“Says the girl with the dead wombat on her head.”

“Take a picture with me,” she says. “We need to commemorate our hotness.”

She pulls out her phone, and we lean our heads together and make sultry faces. Zoe clicks and clicks and clicks, like she can’t get enough of documenting us. When she ducks under the brim of my absurd hat and snaps a photo of herself kissing my cheek, the joy that wells up in my chest makes me feel like I might pop and scatter bits of velvet and red crinoline and plastic cherries everywhere.

It wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

At ten minutes to midnight, Zoe and I head over to Haydu to get our rehearsal room assignment for the play festival. Everyone’s there, clutching blankets and snacks and psyching themselves up for the all-nighter ahead. Most of the company’s wearing T-shirts and yoga pants, but a few people are taking the sleepover thing to the next level—Pandora’s in a lacy shortie pajama set that definitely isn’t appropriate for anywhere but the bedroom. Our cast looks wide awake and ready to work, and they greet me with friendly smiles. Even Jessa seems to be making an effort to set our differences aside for the night. I wonder what Zoe said to them.

Russell introduces himself to everyone, then turns to me and holds up his hand for a high five. “Ready to kick some ass?”

“Ready,” I say. Even though I’m nervous, I
do
feel ready, now that things are good between Zoe and me again.

Bob reads off our rehearsal room assignments, leads us in a countdown to midnight, and then sends us off to “make some brilliant theater.” The seven of us set up camp in Haydu 107 with some party-sized bags of Doritos and a whiteboard. I’m crunching on chips and waiting for someone to suggest a starting point, when Jessa turns to me and says, “You’re supposed to be our director, right? So, what do we do?”

I’ve never really been in charge of anything before, and I realize I have no idea how to begin. I glance at Russell for help, but he nods like I should go ahead and take the lead. “Okay, well, um, we have people here from both shows, which is really great,” I start. “Maybe the
Midsummer
cast could give us a refresher course on the basic story, and then you could walk us through the
Dreamgirls
sound track, Jessa? How does that sound?”

The words come out timid and hesitant, but Zoe says, “Sure, sounds good,” and when she and Livvy and Kenji and Todd start listing
Midsummer
plot points on the whiteboard, I start to relax. When we’re done listening to the sound track, Russell and I lead a discussion on which parts of the
Midsummer
story we should keep and where we should insert our parody songs, fitting the text and the music together like a puzzle. It’s challenging, but it’s really fun, too, and it occurs to me that this is the first Allerdale-sanctioned activity that hasn’t felt like work. I can totally do this.

We agree that Zoe, Livvy, Kenji, and Todd should play the four confused, manipulated
Midsummer
lovers. Zoe will double as Titania, queen of the fairies, and Russell will make a brief appearance as Puck, who just has to run across the stage and administer a love potion. Jessa will play Bottom, the actor who gets his head swapped for a donkey’s and gets drawn into a brief love affair with Titania. I’ll be the accompanist instead of appearing onstage, but for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m trying to hide behind the piano. I’m excited to show the whole company how well I can play.