“I know so.” Carly wore jeans, a purple ribbed top with two buttons undone, and brown heeled boots. The beautiful color was not lost on Lauren who spent just as much time thinking about Carly these days as she did the play. She always looked forward to their quiet times alone. She’d grown so used to her presence. She tried to imagine her life before Carly. It felt so long ago.

“Here’s the thing,” Carly said. “You’re so precise. I can always count on you to be a reliable scene partner, but you always bring the emotion right along with it.” A small pause. “I’m flipping out a little bit.”

Lauren took in the compliment but moved right past it to Carly’s confession. “What do you have to flip out about? You’re a professional actress. This is what you live for.”

Carly’s eyes were wider than usual, and she chewed on the inside of her lip nervously. Her fists were balled, and Carly wasn’t someone who balled her fists. Ever. “No. Not at all. No. This isn’t what I do. I don’t have thousands of people watch me work. Film sets are filled with production crew, yeah, but they’re not there to see me perform. They didn’t pay money. This is wildly different.” She slid off the arm of the couch onto a cushion, in defeat.

It made sense. Carly wasn’t used to having eyeballs staring at her. “That part doesn’t matter. You’re just going to go out there and do the same show we just finished running today.” Lauren knelt in front of her and rested her hands on Carly’s knees. “You’re going to get angry with me, and then confide in me, and we’re going to laugh together, and kiss, and then get ripped dramatically apart so we can find our way back once again in a grocery store, of all places. It’ll be grand.”

“But the audience will be there,” Carly said, as if she was informing Lauren of something she didn’t seem to realize.

“That part is true. They might also be noisy. Gum wrappers, cell phones, and the occasional vocal participant are all things I’ve gotten used to, working here. The elderly crowd have some opinions.” She shrugged and tried to send Carly a reassuring smile. “Just part of what makes live theater unique. I think you might actually like it.”

Something unexpected happened. Instead of smiling back, Carly’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Sorry,” she said, trying to find her voice that seemed strangled and not entirely available. She paused to wait for it to return, and Lauren’s heart squeezed. She slid her hands up to the outsides of Carly’s thighs, trying to bring them closer. Her instinct was to shelter Carly in any way she could, even physically.

“Hey, look at me.”

Carly did, though her bottom lip quivered.