Page 149 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

Sometimes dreams shift and change and grow, and changing along with them isn’t failing. Pivoting isn’t quitting. Happiness isn’t linear, and seeking it isn’t selfish.

Margaret thanks me again, then heads off to find Dylan, and I turn and see Booker standing in the aisle.

Like the scene in the gym inWest Side Story, we’re Tony and Maria, and everyone else disappears for a moment as we move toward one another.

I want to run to him, of course, but I’m also hesitant. Because this morning, separate from anything Britta’s email says or the rush of goodwill I’m feeling tonight, I made my decision.

And it wasn’t easy.

He eyes me for a long moment once we reach each other, and then, as if we’ve communicated telepathically, he says, “You’ve made up your mind.” A statement, not a question.

“I have.” I take a step toward him. “And it was difficult.”

“Did you—?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know yet about the part. She emailed me, but I wanted to wait to read it. I wanted to give the show my full attention.” I look away, worried he won’t understand my choice. “I might get that part. I might not. But either way, I’ve realized I’m not ready to quit. And while I’ve loved directing and want to do more of it in the future, I also want to perform. I just... need to figure out a way to do that while also having a life.” I look up into his green eyes, afraid if I stare too long, I’ll change my mind. “Because I’ve also realized I really, really want to have a life. Outside of a floundering career.”

“Can we...?” He tips his head in the direction of the door that leads outside. I nod, and he reaches for my hand, leading me out into the warm air.

I look up at the dark sky, marveling at how bright the stars are. “I’ll miss this sky.” A knot forms in my throat, and I hope he hears what I’m not saying.

“I think this sky will miss you.”

We stand face-to-face. I try to memorize everything I can about him. The way he smells. The way his eyes see straight through every wall I try to put up. The way his hands rest at my hips, firm yet gentle. And especially the way he always seems to pay attention to what I need.

I know he’s not perfect—nobody is—but he might be perfect for me.

But he can’t leave.

And I can’t stay.

I step into his embrace and let him hold me, aware of how good it feels to fold myself into him.

“For what it’s worth”—he kisses the top of my head—“I’m glad you’re going.”

I look up. “You are?”

“Oh, I’m not glad you won’t be here anymore,” he says, brushing a stray hair away from my face. “That part is terrible. But Iamglad that you’re going to go for it.”

“It seems foolish to keep pursuing something that hasn’t gone well up until this point,” I say thoughtfully. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Definitely,” he deadpans. “But not for that.”

He leans in and kisses me. When he pulls back, he searches my eyes. “When did you decide?”

“Well.” I think about it. “I did a lot of soul-searching, and the answer finally came to me earlier today. I don’t want to quit, because I love it too much. I remember now why I want to act. Not because I promised my mom or myself, or because I want to be rich and famous. I really don’t care about that stuff.”

I really don’t. It feels so good knowing who I am and what I want, and it makes this incredibly clear.

And incredibly difficult.

“I want to create characters. Tell their stories. Make people feelsomething. Remember what it’s like to be alive. I want to walk in someone else’s shoes and study the human condition and close the gaps between us and show that we’re not so different. That all of us humans essentially want the same things.

“I don’t need to be on Broadway to do that. I don’t need to be working with big-name talent to do it. But Idoneed to be performing. And that’s not what this job here is asking me to do.”

He tucks my hair behind my ears, taking a slow breath and letting it out. “So, what now?”

I shrug. “Now, I finish out the show, and I start looking for jobs in Chicago.”

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