“How are you…?” My voice trails off before I finish the question. “How do you know that conservatory is your path? Why not also consider liberal arts schools with great music programs, like your parents want? I mean, it would make everything easier. How can you…” Reid takes a step back, his face scrunched, and I pivot because I’m doing this wrong. I don’t mean he shouldn’t, I don’t mean that at all. “How are you brave enough to pursue maybe?”

Reid frowns. “It’s my life, Nat. Music is hard, I’m not stupid. But for me it’s not maybe or if. I don’t practice and write for hours every day for a maybe, you know? It’s when.”

I press my lips together to keep my teeth from chattering. “I know that.”

Reid looks confused. “Yeah?”

“For you. It’s just kind of amazing that you know. I wish I knew myself like that.”

Reid’s hand brushes against mine. “Natalie, despite being told there is no money, having to change the entire type of show, and literally every odd, Melted is happening. Were questionable methods involved? Definitely. But you didn’t give up. You brought the arts clubs together. You write the kind of shows that could be on real stages. You do know yourself like that.”

I shiver, but even though December in Massachusetts is no joke—like holy shit why are we still outside?—it’s not from the cold.

“Maybe it’s not about knowing. I know that I like this, that I’m not bad at it,” I say. “But I’ve only ever seen it as a hobby. Maybe it’s more about… believing.”

“I believe in you,” Reid says. Even in the shadows, I see his breath in the air. “I kind of always have.”

In any play, this moment would be the perfect END SCENE. Reid would press his lips against mine and I would throw my arms around his neck and the world would fade to black. In this moment, though, Delia and Hannah barge in, horrified that Reid and I are even standing outside when the car is um, right there. Hannah pesters Reid until he hands over the keys so the sisters can dash inside for warmth.

Then Reid looks back at me. And the way he looks at me?

I can’t help but hope that this isn’t end scene—just intermission.

Post-jazz Chanukah dinner is too-loud parents, too much food, and too many missed opportunities.

Okay, so I got Reid a present this year. I don’t know why. Fine, I know why. Fitz, the enabler, is why. When I go to Fitz for advice, ninety percent of the time it’s because I want her to talk me out of something. One hundred percent of the time, she talks me into something else.