Harmonious Hearts 2017

  Needless to say, all was not as I’d planned.

  After our Saturday morning rehearsal, Brinn approached me and Liam to ask if we’d like to go for coffee. She and Liam were hitting it off, but since we’d entered the café, I’d only spoken to order. I felt even shyer around Brinn than before.

  Liam leaned back in his chair. “Absolutely.”

  “Read the book. Or, heck, the Wikipedia summary of the book! There is no love between them.”

  “Book doesn’t matter, the play’s a different universe. And anyway, love isn’t worth a lifetime of Sir Prickface.”

  “‘Sir Prickface’ is your character!” She said “character” as if it were “son.”

  “So, what, I have to like him?” Liam turned to me like I was the camera in a sitcom. “Yan, do you find Viola particularly charming?”

  Brinn leaned across the table, vying for my attention. “Yan, do you think Lauretta should have fought to be with the man she loved, regardless of how Liam feels about him?”

  I doubt either of them cared who I sided with; they were just inviting me into the conversation.

  “Lauretta can do what she wants, I guess.” My mouth was dry and made a gross clicky noise as I talked. I sipped my latte.

  “See!” Brinn said.

  “Of course she can do what she wants,” Liam said. “I’m just saying that what she wants is a miserable sod.”

  Brinn and Liam continued to argue for some time about whether their characters were meant for one another. I wondered if they were flirting—I could never tell—and felt jealous on Stephen’s behalf.

  I reminded myself Stephen wouldn’t feel jealous. Brinn could tell him Liam was the cutest boy she’d ever met, and he wouldn’t twitch. He wasn’t made for jealousy or conflict of any sort. He was made to love Brinn for a month, no matter how she treated him, then melt away like a snowman. Poor guy.

  I became so preoccupied with pitying my alter ego that I didn’t notice Liam excuse himself. When I next looked up from my lap, Brinn and I were alone.

  “Sorry for being so stubborn,” she said. “Lauretta is my baby, and I have strong feelings about respecting her choices.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She drained the last of her cappuccino, then shot me an arch grin. “Hey, Yan, which guy would you choose? Let’s say they both loved you.”

  “Oh. Um, neither of them.”

  The prince was too aloof, and I agreed with Liam on the knight.

  “Neither?” Brinn sounded surprised, yet strangely pleased with my answer. “Interesting.”

  She hummed to herself, mulling over my response. I felt uncomfortable, like she was gazing into my soul, so I angled the spotlight back on her.

  “You’d choose the knight, of course.”

  To my amazement, she shook her head. “I think Lauretta belongs with Sir Henry, but I’m like you. I’d pick neither.”

  A silence fell between us. Elsewhere in the café, ten hushed conversations blended into one wordless hum.

  Outside, the clouds shifted in such a way that the sun caught Brinn’s hair. The flyaway strands glowed gold, and for a moment, despite her denim jacket, she really did look like a fantasy princess.

  “Brinn, do you have a boyfriend?”

  I don’t know why I said it. I probably didn’t mean to—but now I had to pretend otherwise. I kept a straight—hah—face and met her eyes.

  “No, I don’t.” She winked. “Why, you interested?”

  I laughed so hard I turned red. Yep. Definitely from laughter.

  “Just”—don’t say “curious,” moron—“wondering.”

  Fortunately Liam chose that moment to return with carrot cake and fresh ammunition for the shipping war.

  Well, there went my alternative theory—Brinn hadn’t signed up to Pixel Hearts because she was embarrassed about being single. She genuinely craved the kind of companionship where you sat around confirming meeting times.

  THAT EVENING, I ensconced myself in my room with the 150th anniversary edition of Love and War. Brinn had been responding to all Liam’s complaints about the play with “That’s not a problem in the book,” and I was curious whether the playwright had screwed up as spectacularly as she’d implied. I hoped he had, at least in regards to Lauretta. If book-Lauretta was anything like Brinn-Lauretta, I’d relish a few evenings with her.

  But I only got past the preface before Brinn herself pulled me away.

  Brinn: hey ste, whatcha up to?

  Me: Hey Brinn! Nothing much, just reading.

  Brinn: really? me too! what are you reading?

  I scanned my bookshelf and picked the first respectable title I saw.

  Me: Wuthering Heights. It’s cool.

  Insightful review, I know. Originally I’d written Heathcliff’s a dick, but then I worried Brinn might like him. After all, she enjoyed classics and had inscrutable taste in guys.

  What about you?

  Brinn: ugh, I can’t stand WH. heathcliff is such a dick.

  Oh.

  i’m reading something called quarters of moonlight. you won’t have heard of it.

  I stared at the screen with wide eyes. As a matter of fact, I had heard that title somewhere. Wasn’t it a….

  Before I embarrassed myself, I opened my browser and searched “Quarters of Moonlight.” All I could find, besides information on the lunar cycle, was what I’d been thinking of.

  Me: The romance game?

  Brinn: you googled it?? so embarrassing!

  Me: Actually, it’s one of my favourites.

  It was true. Quarters (or Tsuki no Heya) had been one of the first romance games I’d played. Though the Japanese-to-English translation wasn’t perfect, the story was compelling enough to shine through the clunky language.

  Brinn: you’re into dating sims?

  I huffed. I didn’t care if Stephen existed to please her; he was not letting that slide.

  Me: Romance games. Dating sims are stats-based RPGs, not CYOA visual novels like Quarters.

  Brinn: oh my god?? you were actually telling the truth.

  Me: Yeah, I’m in pretty deep. Quarters, huh? Who’s your favourite girl so far? Mine was Miyuki.

  Brinn: miyuki is a cutie!! but i’m on chinami’s route right now, and i think i might end up liking her even more. what did you think of….

  We discussed Quarters and romance games in general for some time. I was a veteran; Brinn had discovered them six months ago. She’d downloaded one for laughs and ended up enjoying it unironically. The standard experience.

  I couldn’t believe the conversation we were having. I’d never met anyone else who shared my interest in romance games, and Brinn didn’t seem like the type. Then again, her passionate defense of Lauretta’s affair with Sir Henry suggested she had a gooey center, and I was forever insisting you didn’t need a certain personality to be a romance game fan.

  As we kept texting, our fake dalliance was forgotten. Instead we began to form a genuine friendship.

  Late in the conversation, I became curious whether Brinn had heard of me.

  Me: Do you know glitchdoctor?

  Brinn: no. just googled her—she’s a dev. is her stuff any good?

  I panicked, realizing I didn’t actually want Brinn to play my games and read my uninformed musings on love.

  Me: Nah, she’s terrible. Stay away.

  Not long after that, we let each other get back to our reading. I finished the first two chapters of Love and War. I already liked Lauretta far more than when I’d read the script, but that may have been down to my new mental image of her.

  Two days later, I awoke to a text.

  Brinn: you have awful taste. i just played bittersweet and it was amazing. cutest. protag. ever.

  I buried my face in my duvet. This girl was going to give me heart problems.

  ACROSS THE next fortnight, Brinn and I kept chatting—not just about games, but about books, current events, and even our personal lives. I was honest but vague enough to hide my i
dentity.

  The closer Stephen grew to Brinn, the more withdrawn I expected Yanmei to become. However, the opposite was true. When we hung out with Liam after rehearsals, I could talk to Brinn almost as easily as I could over text. Now that her relationship with Stephen was more platonic and genuine, I recognized her as Brinn, my sort-of friend, not Brinn, the girl I was having a weird pretend romance with.

  One afternoon, as I lowered my coffee cup to return Brinn’s smile, I realized I felt as comfortable around her as I did Liam. I’d been wrong. I didn’t need to hide behind my phone to connect with her.

  But I’d also been wrong about us staying distant acquaintances.

  While my anxiety waned, my guilt intensified. I’d glow as I waved Brinn goodbye, then remember how I was deceiving her and go dull on the way home. Guilt would flare up into frustration, and I’d snarl at myself, ask why I’d let things end up this way.

  A tiny voice whispered back:

  I just wanted to talk to her.

  FIVE DAYS before our contract was to end, Brinn sent me a message:

  well, we can drop the pretence now. my family is convinced.

  I frowned, not understanding what she meant.

  Me: The pretence?

  Brinn: our ‘relationship’. we don’t need to act any longer, i’ve already shown my parents some of our messages and they believe you exist.

  The curtain fell, and all those platonic, practical conversations suddenly made sense. Brinn hadn’t enlisted Pixel Hearts’ services for her own benefit after all. She’d wanted to convince her parents she had a boyfriend.

  Me: Oh! Well, that’s brilliant!

  Brinn: you’re brilliant. thanks so much. x

  Me: I’m glad I could help! :)

  Brinn didn’t reply. That was it, I supposed. She was letting me off work early. Relief and disappointment mingled in my sigh. Things were finally pure and simple between us. Even so, I’d miss getting to talk to her one-on-one.

  As the days passed, I longed to text Brinn again. But I couldn’t. That was the rule—you let them initiate conversations.

  THURSDAY EVENING brought our final rehearsal. Liam and I had a free period the hour before, so we hung out on a bench in the courtyard, making sure we could remember all our lines.

  “You should retire to your chambers, Your Highness,” I said. My script rested upside down on my lap. I hadn’t peeked yet.

  “I shall,” Liam squeaked in his pantomime-dame Lauretta voice. He had his script open, since the knight didn’t feature in this scene. “I thank you for the drink.”

  The scene finished there. Before Liam could turn to the next one, I stood up and placed my own script on the bench.

  “Speaking of drinks,” I said, picking up my now empty water bottle, “I’m going to refill this before the finale.”

  Since it was a breezy day, I left my phone on top of the script as a paperweight. Liam was the sort of friend who’d fight a thief for my phone but wouldn’t fight the wind for my script. I could hear him laughing as I chased it across the courtyard now.

  To my horror, I returned to discover there was something I hadn’t considered. Liam was not the sort of friend who’d fight his curiosity for my privacy.

  He was holding my phone, frowning at the screen. I ran up and snatched it from him. The water in my other hand sloshed.

  “What are you doing?”

  Rather than apologize, he met my eyes with a glare more furious than my own. “What the hell have you been doing?”

  I looked at my phone. Brinn’s name was at the top of the screen. She’d sent me two new messages.

  stephen! it’s the last day of our contract, so this is my goodbye. i’ve gotta delete you and cry to casa de caverley about what a douche you turned out to be. ;)

  i’ll miss you. thanks again for not only being a great fake boyfriend, but a great real friend too.

  “Why is she calling you Stephen? And what’s this about being a fake boyfriend?”

  I suddenly realized people who say they want the earth to swallow them up might not be exaggerating.

  “She… I….”

  Perhaps there’d been a way to talk myself out of this, but I was not going to find it in my current state. My heart felt like it had vanished, leaving a vacuum in my chest.

  The rest of the courtyard snuck glances at us, but they seemed more annoyed than curious. I hoped they thought we were still rehearsing.

  Liam sighed and patted the space next to him.

  “Sit down,” he said, softening his voice. “You look ready to collapse.”

  I obeyed—though I kept a little more distance than before—and the attention on us dissipated. I took a swig of water. Liam waited for me to finish before speaking. The drink seemed to calm him more than me.

  “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have messed with your phone. But your notification tone is kind of long, so I thought it was a call, not a message, and I was going to tell them to wait a minute. Then when I saw Brinn’s name, I couldn’t help but….” He blew air through his lips. “Well, maybe I could. Like I said, I’m sorry.”

  Even though I’d gulped down half my bottle, my mouth felt dry.

  “I understand I have no right to know what’s going on between you and Brinn,” he continued. “Just tell me one thing—does Brinn know? Does she know who she’s talking to?”

  I could have just nodded, and he’d have felt too guilty to challenge me. I didn’t—not because it was the honorable choice, but because, after all the secrecy and isolation, I just wanted to confide in my friend.

  “No. She doesn’t.” I buried my face in my hands. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear!”

  It was like a dam had burst in my throat. In an uncontrollable rush of words, I explained everything. How I’d taken the job at Pixel Hearts. How I’d met Brinn after being assigned to her. How I hadn’t seen any way out.

  “Couldn’t you have contacted the company?” Liam asked. “Told them to switch you with someone else?”

  I couldn’t word my excuse, and it took me a moment to realize why.

  I didn’t have one.

  Liam was right. As unorthodox as Pixel Hearts was, they had an ethical code. They would have understood. Why hadn’t that occurred to me? Had I just been stupid? Or had I willed all solutions away?

  “I didn’t think of that,” I said.

  Liam pinched the bridge of his nose and thought. He took a deep breath before finally speaking.

  “You have to tell her.”

  “I can’t!”

  He kept his voice low, but his tone sharpened. “She deserves to know, Yan! This isn’t quite catfishing, but it’s still as shady as hell. You’re lucky she signed up for such a practical reason. If she’d actually wanted to get soppy, this could have been fucked up.”

  “I know.” I bowed my head, ashamed. “But it’s better to keep quiet. Telling her will only make me feel better. Brinn is happy believing Stephen was a stranger, whether he was or not. As long as she doesn’t know what happened, I’ve done no wrong by her.” That last sentence had been my mantra for the past three and a half weeks.

  Liam’s eyes caught mine, and the whole month shattered.

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  I didn’t.

  “You have to tell her,” he said again. “For both of you.”

  “Or you’ll do it for me?”

  “You really think I’d do that?” He sounded genuinely hurt. “No. It’s your decision. I won’t mention this again, not even to you. But you’re a good person, Yan. I think you’ll make the right call.”

  Liam thought better of me than I did, and it made my chest ache. I didn’t consider myself a good person, and I didn’t consider myself a bad person either. I was too self-contained for that. I never went out of my way to hurt others, but I seldom went out of my way to help them. I walked too lightly to tip the balance in either direction.

  When Liam suggested I confess, my impulse had been to l
augh. Yanmei Ruan didn’t make confessions. She wasn’t made for honesty, she wasn’t made for bravery, and she wasn’t made for selflessness. She was made to hide away and sedate herself with fantasies.

  But during our final rehearsal, as I watched Brinn laugh and twirl in an invisible ball gown, I considered that for once, I could forget who I was. I so desired to do right by Brinn that maybe I could find the courage to lose her.

  WE LINGERED in Wynvershore Hall longer than usual after Sunday evening’s performance. It had been our last, and we weren’t ready to let go. The majority of the audience had left, but a few people—mostly friends and family of the cast and crew—had stuck around to chat. My parents had attended last night’s show, and Liam had run off with his brothers, so I was left alone. The odd stranger would say how well I’d done, but I think they were just taking pity on the lonely girl.

  I fiddled with my apron strings, yearning to sneak away. But I had to wait. I had to talk to Brinn.

  I’d held back until the final night for a reason. I didn’t want to make the tension between us on stage real.

  She wasn’t far from me, chatting to someone else’s parents. I listened in.

  “You’re a decent actress, I have to say,” said the man.

  “And what a beautiful costume!” exclaimed his wife.

  Brinn twirled, allowing the skirt of her champagne-pink gown to billow out. A soft gleam rippled across the organza like seafoam.

  The woman clapped her hands and gushed about how exquisite the needlework was. Brinn listened politely, but I could tell she wasn’t thrilled. She’d had nothing to do with the tailoring of her dress. And the compliment on her acting had been lukewarm, incidental.

  She hadn’t received much praise yesterday either. It was a real contrast to our first rehearsal, when she’d had the whole cast in her thrall.

  If the audience had read the script, they’d have been queuing for her attention. She’d transformed Lauretta, restored her from a shell of herself to the heroine she was meant to be. But how could these people realize that? Love and War was an obscure novel and an obscurer play. How could an outsider see all the adjustments she’d made, all the white space she’d colored in?