I nod, only so this conversation will stop. I’m not ready to admit out loud that Melted is more than a hobby. But somewhere between the formation of HAVE A HE(ART) and sitting at the piano next to Reid—Melted kind of became everything to me. I can push these feelings aside, keep using the budget cuts, the fear of more layoffs, and my desire to have one final show with Henry to justify just how serious Melted has become to me.

Or I can be honest.

I’m not smart. I’m scared.

I wish I believed in my art the way my parents believe in theirs. The way Reid believes in his. I don’t. I can’t. Because I can’t believe in something with no guarantees. If I had a magic mirror that showed me my future and revealed, Natalie Jacobson, you will write a Tony Award–winning script—I wouldn’t hesitate. But not even my high school drama club has a guaranteed future! Never mind anything bigger. I’ve seen what art has put my parents through. Is putting my parents through.

My dad has a job that is not guaranteed.

Mom is late sending the sample of Guy in Your MFA, the romcom that she promised her agent.

Her next book—even when inspired—is also not guaranteed.

I can’t live like that.

I’d rather be scared. Because I’ll never know what pursuing theater could have been.

But at least I will always love it.

Avoiding Leonard’s gaze, my eyes flicker toward the stage. I want to be, like, Watch him! Because as much as I doubt my own art, I don’t doubt Reid’s. His specialty is clarinet, but over the course of the Melted process I’ve loved watching him play the piano. His fingers move with such ease, his shoulders bouncing to the beat of the percussion. He chews on his lower lip every time he flips to a new page, not that he even needs music.

“Natalie.” Delia waves her hand in front of my face.

I blink, wondering how many times she’s said my name.

She hands me her phone and asks if I’ll take a non-selfie of her and Hannah. Leonard pretends to be offended Delia doesn’t ask him, but he always cuts off the tops of our heads or covers part of the camera with his thumb like a tech-dumb dad.