“Aimee, I can’t find the garden hose! I don’t know how it went missing, but—”

One of the tech crew, the teenage barista from Joy’s—who’s not named Freddy and is in fact named Antony—bursts into the dressing room. With him comes the ambient sound of busy energy from outside.

He looks stressed.

“Stage left, I just saw it,” she says.

He sighs deeply, putting a hand on his chest. “What a relief.”

He rushes back out, sending this room back into silence.

Aimee and I look at each other.

“I can’t do it. I haven’t had any time to emotionally prepare for this. I hate being onstage!”

I’m filled with a fizzing, nervous anticipation I haven’t felt in years. Knowing everyone is out there, that they’ll be watching in real time. I’ll hear them laugh. I’ll feel them listen.

“You can do this,” I say to Aimee, earnestly. “It’s you and me.”

The characters are us, in a way, but there’s another meaning to my words. It’s going to be us onstage and nothing else matters.

She exhales noisily and says, “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because it’s the best thing.” And the only thing, because otherwise she was big-time fucked. “You’re going to be great.”

“Maybe! Or maybe I’ll suck!”

She sits down next to me and starts buffing her foundation into her skin with frantic energy. I finish my lipstick and then, as she overapplies blush, I say, “Okay, okay, let’s calm down, let’s put down the makeup. Come here, let me help you.”

She turns to me, looking anxious, her eyes pointed at the ceiling, her eyebrows in a state of worry.

I blend the foundation around her jawline and clean off the blush brush with a tissue before starting to buff in the color.

It’s been a really long time since I’ve done another girl’s makeup, but I always used to do Aimee’s. Even if I did a bad job.

When we were around thirteen years old and really discovering makeup for the first time, we’d experiment with it in my parents’ bathroom while they watched Survivor downstairs. Once, we got caught using my mom’s good stuff and she tried to teach us better techniques.

Then, once we were older and I was starting to get the general hang of it, I’d do Aimee’s makeup before homecoming, when we were usually each other’s dates. Before prom, which we both had dates for, but left early. Before the plays, even when I had the lead and she was in the background. Before our joint high school graduation party.

In college, she leaned into a more natural, clean look and lost interest in me practicing cat eyes and contouring on her.