Page 113 of If Ever

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"Morning, Ryan. Want some scrambled eggs?" I ask from the kitchen the next morning as Tom plays guitar softly in the living room. Ryan rubs his eyes and glances at the food I'm preparing. "Yeah, if you have enough." He grabs the Kinky Boots mug from the cupboard and pours his coffee. Apparently it's a tradition that anyone who lives here must leave a mug from a show they've been in.

"Absolutely." I start cracking eggs into a frying pan with no idea how much two Broadway performers eat. Making breakfast is one of the few things I've thought of to help out around the apartment.

Ryan drops onto the couch. "Your girlfriend is making me breakfast. I vote she stays."

Tom casts me an approving smile and winks.

"Ryan, you're too easy," I tease.

"Don't I know it? Another top issue with my therapist." He blows on his coffee before sipping.

Tom takes up the guitar from its stand, sits on the couch and strums softly. "Any luck with auditions?"

"Nah, I get called back two or three times and then cut on the final round. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It's not you."

"Am I already too old at twenty-five? Have I lost my touch? Maybe I should grow my hair out or lose some weight."

"Dude, you know none of that will make a difference. It just hasn't been the right timing."

It's impossible not to eavesdrop. I add shredded cheese into the bubbling egg mixture.

"Well, I'm running out of time. I've been thinking about getting a grownup job."

The strumming stops. "I hate to see you do that. Can't you hang in there for a while?"

"I've been living on hopes and dreams for almost two years with nothing to show for it. I can't do it much longer."

Tom starts playing again, filling the room with a cool, acoustic vibe. We're all in our own thoughts as I finish scrambling the eggs and set out a bowl of fresh fruit. "Come and get it," I call.

Tom puts away the guitar and joins Ryan who's already grabbing a plate.

"This smells amazing," Ryan says, loading up.

Tom stands so Ryan can't see that his hands are on my behind, lightly groping me through my yoga pants. "Sure does."

I let him have his fun, mostly because it feels damn good, and I like the crooked smile on his face. We grab spots in the living room and eat.

That afternoon as we amble along Sixth Avenue, I tug on Tom's arm. “Please, we need to talk about it.” I’ve been a slug ever since I arrived and I need to figure things out.

“Talk away.” He continues along without a care in the world.

“But you aren’t listening.”

He chuckles and slides his arm around me hooking his thumb in my back pocket as we check out the holiday decorations. “I am, but I’m also trying to rest my vocal cords.”

So far we’ve come across a display of over-sized old-fashioned tree lights and a stack of enormous red tree ornaments sparkling in the December sun.

“Sure you are,” I say sarcastically, pretty sure he’s making that up. “I mean it. It’s been almost a week and I need to make some decisions.”

He sees how serious I am. “Okay. Everything stays as is. You relax and enjoy doing nothing for a while. Done,” he says with a smug smile.

There’s a surge of relief that he hasn’t changed his mind about wanting me to stay, but I still need a plan. “Smart Alec. I need to figure out my life too.”

He halts, his smile disappears. “You want to leave?”

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