It would be nice to see Gabe after all these years, I’d told myself on the subway. Like old friends. I took my seat at the theatre, feeling nervous and jittery, as if I was going to be the one onstage.

And when I saw him…

It was as if the entire theatre disappeared around me. As if the rest of the cast vanished. All I saw was Gabe.

Seeing him that close after all those years was like a drug.

And then, during intermission, one of the ushers came to my seat.

“Mr. Parker would like you to come to his dressing room,” she told me. “I’ll escort you back after the show.”

I spent the rest of the play in some sort of fugue state, barely registering what was happening onstage. All I could think about was what would happen when I saw him backstage. What would I say? How would I greet him? A handshake? A hug? A cheek kiss?

By the time the curtain went down, my entire body was vibrating with nervous energy. My fingers were ice-cold, my throat burning hot.

After the theatre had emptied out a bit, the same usher came to find me, and I followed her backstage, the narrow corridors overflowing with flowers and people.

“Here it is,” the usher said, leaving me in front of a closed door with Gabe’s name on it.

She left. I knocked, overeagerly turning the knob as I did.

That was my mistake.

I’d opened the door and found Gabe. With Jacinda in his arms.

As I’d backed away from the scene, stumbling in my heels, I realized that I had lied to myself about why I’d come. The way I always lied to myself when it came to Gabe.

In my attempt to flee, I made a wrong turn and ended up onstage. The curtains were closed and the whole space felt far smaller than it had appeared from the audience.

“You can’t be out here,” a stagehand said to me.

“She’s with me,” Gabe said.

He had been in his costume. Still wearing his stage makeup, but I was pretty sure that smear of lipstick on his cheek wasn’t from the show.

“Chani,” he’d said.

It was like someone dragging a finger down the length of my spine. I’d shivered.

“You’re here,” he said.

“Thank you for the ticket,” I said. “But I should go.”

I’d turned to walk away, but the other side of the stage was blocked by set pieces and sandbags. If I wanted to leave, I’d have to go through him. So I screwed my courage to the sticking place and faced him, if only so I could get away.

“Gabe, I should—”

“I was hoping—”

“The show was good.” I’d been grateful for the truth and used it as a shield. “You were good.”

He’d ducked his head. “Thank you.”