by Kait Nolan
The slap of the glass as Brody slammed it down on the table echoed off the high ceiling. "I love her."
"Simmer down," ordered Cam. "It's a fair question. If Tyler said it, then clearly you did or did not do something to spark that thought. So what was it?"
"Why is this on me? It was her decision."
"Do you want help figuring out what went wrong or not?" asked Tucker.
"She's made up her mind," said Brody. That had been painfully obvious in the set expression on her face, in the fact that she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
"And you're clearly totally okay with that," said Cam, "what with the Little Mary Sunshine attitude you've been sporting all week."
Brody gritted his teeth. "Of course I’m not.”
"She said it was temporary, so she went into it expecting you to leave," said Tucker. “Did you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think beyond having her back in my life. Having her back was like a miracle. And by the time I realized I was going to have to figure out how to make it work, she’s kicking me out.”
"This might have something to do with it," said Cam, tapping the envelope he'd opened and pointing at the flight itinerary on top. "You're leaving for Portland in January. If she heard about that, could be she's just cutting things off now to make sure it ended on her terms."
"For fuck's sake, I’m practically just hearing about it. Where would she have heard?” Brody stopped, cutting himself off. He had lost the first packet of information. If she’d found it… He shook his head. “None of it was even finalized until after she kicked me out. And why wouldn't she talk to me about it?"
"Because you have a history of leaving without a word," said Tucker. When Brody would've spouted off again, he held up a hand. "It doesn't matter the whys of what happened before. You weren't here to see what that did to her. We were. We were the ones who picked up the pieces. It was bad, Brody. Really damned bad. There’s not a one of us who would blame her for not wanting to go through that again."
Jesus, would he ever be free of the guilt from that? "I'd never do that to her. Not deliberately."
"Did you tell her that?” asked Cam. “Did you tell her, at any point, explicitly, 'Look, Tyler, this temporary thing is not going to work for me. I have no idea how we're going to make it work, but I love you and I want more?'"
"Do actions count for nothing?"
Tucker looked at Cam. "No,” they said.
"Women need the words," said Cam. "Which means we have to man up and say them, no matter how obvious all of it seems to us."
"Sometimes we need the words too. She's never asked me to stay." Not once since that unguarded moment after they'd become lovers again.
"Then you're not only stupid, you're blind,” pronounced Tucker. “Just because she hasn't spelled it out doesn't mean she doesn't want you to. She'd never have let you back into her life otherwise. Tyler's not the type to give an ultimatum. She can't leave, can't change the responsibilities she has here, so the change has to be on you. She’d never outright ask you to give up things for her. She’d feel too much like she was guilting you into it.”
What, exactly, did she think he’d be giving up? "How is saying what you want a guilt trip?"
"I don't know,” shrugged Cam. “Seems to me you both suck at saying what you want. I speak from personal experience when I say you should go grovel and work on that."
Brody thought of that carefully blank face, the hint of banked temper in her eyes. What was behind her mask? "I'm not sure she's in a place where she's interested in listening to anything."
"Then I guess you'll just have to do it in a way she can't ignore."
~*~
How could a house where she’d lived alone for the last five years feel so empty after having a guest for only a week?
Because you never saw Brody as a guest, Tyler thought, clutching a pillow to her chest and staring up at the living room ceiling. Because you built this place for him, for both of you, and part of you has just been waiting all these years for him to come home.
Well, that wasn’t happening again. The pain of that was quick and deep and familiar. For the last week, fresh stabs had struck her everywhere she turned in the house. And that didn’t even begin to cover the misery of rehearsal. There they danced, and Brody’s touch was light and impersonal. That in itself felt like a slap. Dancing had always been an intimacy, a shared pleasure. And now…
Well what the hell did you expect? You took him back, and you kicked him to the curb. Now you have to deal with the consequences.
Still, Tyler couldn’t see getting involved with Brody again as a mistake. She’d wanted closure. In truth, she’d wanted a hell of a lot more than that. But closure was what she’d gotten. No more wondering why he never came back for her or if he ever would. After the play was over, he wouldn’t be coming back to Wishful, back to her. It was done now, settled with the kind of finality their previous parting had lacked. The part of her that had spent all these years waiting could finally move on.
Whatever the hell that looked like.
Moving on was somewhere well on the other side of a pain she’d done her best to forget.
Part of the process, she thought. Been there, done that. Burned the t-shirt.
Ollie barked, thumping his tail.
“Potty?” she asked.
He barked again.
“At least you’re simple,” said Tyler, rolling off the sofa. “Food. Water. Potty. Cuddles. We’ve got all that covered, buddy boy.” She pulled open the door, scooped Ollie up and headed outside.
“Gotcha.”
Tyler closed her eyes at the triumphant tone in Piper’s voice from where she’d been hiding out of sight on the other side of the grill. I should’ve known that a text announcing I had a highly contagious stomach bug wouldn’t keep her away.
“We’ve been worried about you.” Norah unfolded from the chaise lounge.
Crap.
Ignoring them both, she continued on into the yard, setting Ollie down so he could do his business.
“You know, I was pretty sure you were lying about being sick,” said Piper. “But you look awful.”
“Thanks. You’ve seen for yourself that I’m not well. Now you can go report back to whoever you’re reporting back to and let me go back to bed.” Where she’d been spending all of her time when she wasn’t at the store or at rehearsal, trying to pretend that everything was fine when, in fact, she was exhausted and heartsick.
“Do you know me at all?” asked Piper.
“Unfortunately, yes. Didn’t anybody ever teach you to respect a brood?”
“We brought pizza, Ben and Jerry’s, and chicken noodle soup,” Norah announced before heading in through the back door and making for the kitchen.
That was it then. There’d be no ejecting them now. At least they’d come bearing food. Dinner the last two nights had been a bowl of dry Peanut Butter Crunch cereal, the last shred of Brody in the house.
Piper waited until she got Ollie settled on his living room bed to speak again. “I’m going to use my super duper powers of observation here and hazard a guess that Brody is no longer staying with you.”
Staying, thought Tyler with a pang. Even she knew it was really temporary.
“No.”
Piper crossed to the stereo, turned it on. After two bars of The Cure rolled out of the speakers, she stabbed it off again. “Oh honey, it’s worse than I thought. Lay it out. Tell us what he did in order that we may conceive of the appropriate punishment for him.”
God love Piper for immediately thinking it was all his fault.
“Nothing.”
“You don’t want to punish him? Norah, quick, bring the Ben and Jerry’s. This is serious.”
“He didn’t do anything.” That was the problem. “I asked him to move out.”
“You—” Piper cut herself off. “I think I need the Ben and Jerry’s too.”
Norah came back with the ice cream and three spoons. “Why did you ask him to move out?”
“Because I needed him to go on my terms. I needed to keep something when he walked away, even if it was only my pride.” Not that the shriveled husk of that was much comfort under the circumstances.
Piper immediately sank to the sofa and put an arm around Tyler’s shoulders. “Why now?”
“Because I couldn’t keep up the charade anymore. He’s not staying. He was never staying.”
“Okay, I know that was the case when he got here,” said Norah, “but that really isn’t the impression I’ve had since you got back together. What makes you so sure he hasn’t changed his mind?”
“Because I found the flight itinerary and all the details of his next job. He’s leaving for Portland come January, and he didn’t tell me.”
“Oh honey.” Norah set down the ice cream and wrapped her arms around Tyler from the other side.
Sandwiched between her friends, Tyler felt tears begin to burn. Fighting them back, she choked out, “It gets worse. He’s talked his boss into buying the Madrigal to turn into some kind of awful conference center. After everything we did to save it, all that talk about preserving our history, now he’s leading the charge to destroy it.”
“He what?” demanded Piper, a dangerous glint in her eye. “He told you he was doing that?”
Tyler shook her head. “I went to find him after I found the stuff about Portland. He was there, at the theater, going over the whole thing with Gerald Peyton. I heard all of it. They never knew I was there.”
“Did you ask him about it? About any of it?” asked Norah.
“What was the point? I heard with my own ears, saw it written in black and white. And when I asked him to go, he just went. No fuss, no fight, no argument. Who does that?”
Norah was wearing her very careful negotiation face. “Well, honey, what did you expect him to do?”
“If it really mattered, if I really mattered, he would’ve stayed and at least hashed out what was wrong.”
“Why didn’t you tell him what was wrong?” asked Piper. At Tyler’s glare she held up a hand for peace. “He’s a man, ergo he’s dense. You can’t expect him to be a mindreader. You jumped right on to the end of the fight without giving him a chance at participating and defending himself.”
“Did you ever ask him to stay?” asked Norah.
She thought of the night they’d become lovers again, of the question that had slipped out in that unguarded moment. He’d thought she was asking him to stay for the night, not forever. And she hadn’t felt the need to say it again, not when they had seemed to be so clearly on the same track. She never dreamed she’d been so wrong.
A niggle of doubt wormed its way into her mind. If she’d asked him—explicitly, outright asked him to stay—would it have made a difference?
“How can I do that?” she whispered.
"It's very simple.” Piper put her hands on Tyler’s face like the genie in Aladdin. “You say, 'Brody, I love you. I want you to stay.’”
Tyler shoved her hands away. "Right. And risk that he says no. Or worse, that he stays and grows to resent me because of it? I can't bear that."
"You don't know he'd do either of those things," Norah pointed out.
"I don't know that he won't. The only way I’ll truly know is if he comes to me himself, of his own volition.”
It struck her then. The truth of her situation. It had all been a mistake. Because after all these years, she was still waiting for him. She didn’t get closure. All she’d done was reopen an old wound she used to know how to live with.
1 Week 'Til Show
This was it. The last dress rehearsal they’d ever have in the Madrigal. As she stood in the dressing room, surrounded by the scatter of makeup, hair products, and all the other flotsam and jetsam of costuming, Tyler wanted to weep. It was simply too much to bear. Once this show was over, she’d have nothing left to hang on to. Brody would be gone, and the theater would be destroyed. And every day she passed it, she would have a flagrant reminder that he hadn’t been the man she believed him to be.
“Hurry up!” hissed Piper from the door. “We’re almost on!”
Tyler hurried through the rest of her costume change and took her position, real feather fan in hand. The smile she forced for the number felt like it would shatter her face, but her voice, her choreography was on point. At least now everyone would believe her lack of spark was due to the foreclosure rather than Brody. Except for Brody, at least.
He watched her, dark eyes far more serious than the role dictated. If it had still been temper in his gaze, he’d have been easier to ignore, but it was concern she saw as she traded lines and plotted matchmaking with him on stage. Tyler forced herself not to get lost or forget her lines. She thought she managed well enough, as Nate didn’t stop the rehearsal for redirection. But Brody caught her in the wings between scenes.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” said Tyler shortly. She knew the smile she shot him was more of a wince.
Brody lowered his voice. “You forget, I actually know you.”
“I used to think I knew you.” She moved away from him for the next costume change.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“We don’t have time for this, Brody. I have to get changed.”
Brody cursed and Tyler felt the sizzle of his temper as he let her walk away. It lit a fire under her own, while she slipped into the next dress. How could he not know, not understand what he’d done? She was still simmering when she met him on stage again, and they sparked off each other as they performed.
Hardly the magic everyone expects, she thought as the curtain dropped for a set change.
“Cut!” called Nate.
Now they’d done it. They’d screwed things up with their personal crap badly enough that he’d stopped a dress rehearsal.
The curtain lifted again, and Tyler braced herself for a lecture. But Nate wasn’t paying attention to them. Instead he was talking to someone in the aisle. Two someones. Squinting, she tried to make out who it was. Norah? What was she doing here?
“Raise the house lights, please,” shouted Nate.
As the auditorium lights came up, Tyler felt her blood run cold as she recognized Brody’s boss in his impeccable suit.
Norah and Gerald walked to the front of the auditorium, beside the orchestra pit. “Sorry for the interruption, y’all,” said Norah, “but I knew you’d want to be the first to know. As you’re aware, the Madrigal went into foreclosure with the bank a couple of weeks ago. The old girl isn’t in the greatest of shape, and our various fund raising efforts weren’t enough to keep the wolf from the door. But I am happy to report that the theater is off the market. The sales paperwork has been filed with the bank.”
A low murmur of surprise swept through the cast.
Norah continued, “I’d like to introduce you to the new owner of the Madrigal Theater, Gerald Peyton. He wanted to come talk to all of you and tell you a bit about what he has planned.”
Gerald stepped up, thanked Norah for her introduction.
Tyler’s shoulders went rigid and she closed her eyes, waiting for the blow.
“I’m not from here,” Gerald began, “but through my business dealings in the community, I’ve come to develop a true fondness for Wishful and its unique history. When I first heard of the availability of this property, my initial thought was to incorporate it into the same complex I’m developing up the street. But one of your own has worked very hard to convince me that there are other more…suitable alternatives that will maintain the integrity and history of the theater, while continuing the theme of urban redevelopment in downtown Wishful.”
Tyler’s head shot up and her heart began to pound.
“Brody, perhaps you’d like to tell them the rest,” said Gerald. “It is your idea, after all.”
Brody stepped forward to address the assembled cast, crew, and orchestra. “Y’all might’ve noticed I’ve looked half dead the last week during rehearsals. I apol
ogize for that. I’ve been getting very little sleep while I put together a proposal for Gerald about the Madrigal and her potential. For the record, I don’t recommend anybody use AutoCAD while high on Mountain Dew.” A chuckle swept through his audience.
“Gerald’s new non-profit organization will be submitting a grant in the next month that’s geared toward the first in a multiphase project to create a state-of-the-art performing arts center. First and foremost, we’re going to restore the theater. She’s going to get outfitted with the latest in lighting and sound technology, while receiving a makeover to the lobby and auditorium that will return it to its original splendor.”
A whoop went up from the crowd. Tyler felt her knees go weak. Brody grinned and held up his hands for quiet. “That’s only the first stage. Ultimately we want to expand to include a concert hall and an additional outdoor performance space beyond the central park lands, for outdoor concerts and theater productions. Those projects will depend upon the securing of additional grant funding and revenues generated by continued and expanded performances of the complex. If you’re interested in seeing what the proposed venues look like, I’ve been working on the plans for the last couple of weeks. But the important take home here is that The Madrigal is safe.”
The Madrigal is safe. The words echoed through Tyler’s brain. Brody met her gaze across the stage, cocking his head in question at her no doubt stunned expression.
Oh God. I had it all wrong.
Congratulations were tossed like confetti, and the generally dismal mood that had haunted rehearsals since they announced the foreclosure finally dissipated. Half the cast launched into a rousing rendition of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” while others burst into spontaneous jigs. Nate let it go on for a good five minutes, before calling everyone back to order and getting the dress rehearsal back on track.
Gerald came up to the edge of the stage and shook Brody’s hand. “Good luck with the show. I’m afraid I won’t be here during the run. I’m flying out tomorrow morning. But I’ll see you on the third.”
Tyler felt like the top had blown off her head. It was a minor miracle that she remembered her lines and choreography through the rest of the performance. The numbness started to wear off about the time they finished resetting the stage for opening night. She raced through changing back to street clothes. Piper strode in as she was hopping toward the dressing room door, pulling on her shoes.