Page 104 of My Cosplay Escape
“Don’t worry,” Stacey says.
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter.
Stacey narrows her eyes. “You’re actually doing this? You’re telling him tonight?”
“I have to.” No more games, no more subterfuge, no more hiding. Tonight, I come clean, and if I’m lucky, Adam will love me anyway. Or, goldfish, he’ll at least stilllikeme enough to give me a chance to be my authentic self with him going forward.
“I’ll juggle the list. I’ll make sure you get to tell him. Okay. I’ve got your back.”
“Thank you, Stacey!”
She flips her brunette waves behind her shoulder. “But you’re going to invite me and Monique to the next Tuesday night barbecue. Adam has been raving about the tomatoes and lemonade nonstop. Deal?”
My voice catches in my throat. Stacey wants to stay friends. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Go on to Malum. I’ll sub you out as soon as he gets here.”
It is an epic night at Malum Asylum with all of my gym coming through the escape room. Kate and Henry scream when they see me. Gwen and Tony cheer.
But where is Adam?
“It’s packed tonight,” I say to Vanessa. “Have you seen Adam?”
She hasn’t. No one has.
My mom arrives with her book club ladies. They need extra help posting their celebratory pictures on Instagram after the photo op. A slightly nauseated Jen, accompanied by Brent, comes through. Nathan and his husband circle through twice, and Alice with her grandkids give me high fives.
It’s eleven p.m. before Stacey finds me. “Adam’s not coming,” she says.
My stomach plummets. “Did he say why?”
Stacey shakes her head. “Just that he was headed back to his place and that he’d call me in the morning to talk details about the homecoming operation.”
I stick it out for my last round of escapes and then leave. This time through the front door. I grab an electric scooter and weave my way through the PB nightlife (and a smattering of raucous shouts of recognition) to Beryl Street and a block of apartments with well-worn steps.
If ever there was proof that I am crazy creative, knocking on Adam’s door at midnight dressed as Catstrike would be it. “Adam!” I shout when he doesn’t answer.
“It’s open,” he calls.
I step into his apartment and feel like a cat burglar must feel. Adrenaline, fear, desperation—it’s all there. My cosplay is too conspicuous for white T-shirt normal life.
Adam is on his couch, watching the spice-week episode of the latest season ofMississippi Bake-Offon his enormous screen.
“We need to talk,” I say, in a voice that is desperately, painfully my own.
I expect Adam to jump or swear. But he turns off his TV and remains where he is, sitting calmly on his couch, eyes focused most definitely not on me. “Those are never comforting words.”
“I need to quit. I can’t work for you anymore.”
“What?” Adam says, rising. He takes in my costume and the spectacle of me dressed in resplendent cosplay in the everyday confines of his apartment.
My eyes are hidden behind my mirrored goggles. “I’m giving you my two weeks’ notice. Although when I’m done talking, you’ll probably want me gone sooner.”
“You want to tell me why? Without the mask?” He looks at me. “Sarah?”
He knows. I’m still in cosplay and he knows. I don’t know whether to shout for joy or panic. I feel as if ice water and hot oil were dumped on me at once. So I say nothing.
Adam cracks. He’s on his feet and standing in front of me. “Tell me it’s you under there. Because if it’s not, I need to run up to Los Altos Street and wake you up for a long-overdue apology.”
