I spent all this time trying to be someone else. Wishing I knew how to lie, when the thing that could have saved me was the truth.
I told my husband not to let people hurt him, and didn’t count myself among the people he might have to protect himself from.
“I didn’t want to end up like my parents,” he says, like the words are tearing out of his chest. “I didn’t want to leave. Or be left. I tried so hard to make our marriage perfect, I made it into something two real people couldn’t live inside. I admit I made you do too much of the hard stuff, like saying no. That’s on me.
“But you own this, too. You talked about being your real self and saying yes. But I’ve been the ‘yes’ this whole time. I asked you to do the book, and I played whatever part you wanted me to, and I took whatever love you could give me while I was giving you all of mine. You let me do that. And I watched you say yes to improv and friends and work and even Amber, while you broke every rule you made for us except the one where you won’t say you love me. While you rejected the job you dreamed of winning because I came with it. And I feel like…”
The stars in his eyes. They’re out. Freezing blood courses through my body.
“I feel like you said yes to everyone but me. So now I’m saying no.”
I’m frostbitten for real, face tingling, fingers stuck. “Tobin. Is this… What is this?”
Please let it not be the end.
“This is me figuring out what’s important. Taking a hard look at what this relationshipis,instead of what I wanted it to be. And deciding what to do about it. And you should, too.”
He scrubs one rough, beautiful hand across his eyebrows before turning away. “I need time to think. I’ll find someplace else to stay tonight.”
“No. No, don’t, I’ll… you shouldn’t have to move out. I’m already packed. I’ll go.” Where, I don’t know.
“You sure?” So polite, like I’m a stranger.
“Yeah. It’s, uh. Not a problem.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” The door closes as silently as it opened. I hear the lock slide firmly into place behind him.
This time, he lets me walk away without a fight.
Chapter Twenty-six
Brilliant improvisers step willingly into the void of the future.
—Impro for Storytellers
I pull into the Little Theater’s parking lot with no memory of how I got here. I shouldn’t have driven anywhere in this state, but I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.
Or maybe there’s nowhere else Icango.
My brain has powered down to essential life functions. I can’t process anything—work, my maybe autistic self, Tobin.
Tobin.
Improv is the only thing I can control. So here I am.
With a capacity of just a hundred people, the Little Theater is supposed to be cozy. From the wings, however, the shadows in one hundred tipped-up red velvet seats scowl at me. Backstage lookscomplicated and technical, ropes and cords snaking everywhere. It looks like I should know what I’m doing, and I really, really don’t.
Onstage, McHuge supervises warm-up activities. He does a double take when he spots me lurking, then jogs over with a light step.
He considers me for a moment, arms crossed. With classic McHuge understatement, he says, “A lot happened today.”
“If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.” I can’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry for today. And I understand if you’d rather not, um. Do anything at all with me ever again.”
“Whoa, little bud. From what I saw, you got set up. We all did. You and my friend for sure have some shit to work out. But I did write a whole book about good people who have the same problem. And I know you’re a good person, Liz. You’re always welcome.”
The rush of gratitude is so intense, I have to close my eyes and swallow. “Thanks, McHuge. For everything.” After an awkward pause, I add, “Your book is great.”
“I know,” he says. “But thanks for saying so. Are you here for the showcase? It could be a lot, on top of… the other thing.”
