I didn’t expect the theater would be this full and it takes us a few minutes to get to our seats, which are front and center.

Ethan lies back in his seat and closes his eyes.

“Are you going to fall asleep?” I ask.

“I hope so,” he says and snickers.

It’s about fifteen minutes in when I shuffle in my seat, and my leg accidentally touches his. He opens his eyes and looks at me. I look back and mouth, ‘Sorry.’

The next time I look to my left, Ethan is paying attention to the stage.

I lean over and whisper, “The chair not comfortable enough for your nap?”

I don’t know what makes me come up with these quips, but I must say, I enjoy teasing him. It’s not fun playing ping-pong with a wall, but it’s quite entertaining if you have a partner.

“We have over two hours back to Carmel. Thought I might as well have an opinion since judging by how into it you are, you’ll talk my ears off about it,” he whispers.

I wasn’t planning on discussing the show on our way back. We have far more important things to talk about. Like Max. But I like that he’s watching it with me; it gives me a good feeling. Not that I’m some musical aficionado; it’s just the idea of sharing this with someone. And to think that a few days ago I wanted to strangle him and hated the mere idea of him.

After the intermission, he’s doing something on his phone during the second act of the play and drops it. He’s trying to get it back, and by accident, our hands touch. I turn and look at him and for a moment we stay like that, eyes locked, then he mouths, ‘Sorry.’

That feeling I had the night I met him, and a couple—more like a couple of dozen—other times since then, I have it again. I don’t know what it is or how to describe it. I don’t know if it’s my guilty conscience or something else but being next to Ethan is both comfortable and nerve-racking at the same time. And I’m not used to confusing feelings. For me, things are either black or white. I don’t do well with grays and shades thereof.

Forty-Five

When the show is over, we walk toward the exit, but we pass through a wide hallway before we can get there. It’s more like a grandiose foyer with red walls, gigantic chandeliers and one of those arched marble staircases like in the movies.

“This is impressive,” I say to Ethan.

He turns to me and smiles.

I look around. There are perhaps a hundred, maybe more, people squeezed in here, and nobody seems to be in a rush to leave. They’re standing around, in small and large groups, chatting and drinking champagne.

I look at my watch.

“This is your crowd? The ‘one o’clock champagne and theater’ cool kids group?”

He laughs quietly.