Page 101 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
And I want to smile and claim him.That’s my boyfriend.
That’s my best friend.
That’s my lover.
That’s my husband.
That’s the father of my children.
But I don’t get to. I’ll never get to. He’ll belong to someone else, and I’ll forever be the little harpy who rented out his back unit and stole his cranberry juice and begged for cookies because she was too afraid to take a chance. Unlike the Beatrice of this play, I will end up a spinster. I’ll grow into the role I’m already voluntarily assuming with other women’s cats.
I was supposed to find myself in La Jolla. Instead, I found Mike, but I’m too immature, stunted, spoiled, bitter, prickly to do anything about it. I am a cactus, hear me roar.
I sulk in my chair, arms folded, for the rest of the play. I want to say I can barely watch the final scene. The declarations of love, theI’ll stop thy mouthline. But let’s be real. I’m here for it. I’ve already survived seeing Mike kiss another woman. I can happily do it again and compare notes.
My stomach knots. This kiss onstage is nothing like his kiss with Catstrike Gwen in PB. Oh gosh. He really was surprised then. He didn’t kiss back. I mean, I know this is a staged kiss. I know it’s been rehearsed, but it's also a representation of two people consensually kissing. And that looks very different than one party leaning in and surprising the other.
I feel terrible. Also swoony. If it were possible to order kisses off a menu where some kisses were small plates and others were desserts, this one would be an entrée. This is the kind of kiss that leaves a woman full. It’d become my favorite meal. But kisses don’t work that way. At least I don’t think they do.
Mike and the actress onstage break away, and then it happens.
He smiles at her but then turns his head ever so slightly and winks at me.
I mean. I could be wrong. The theater is dark, but I swear he winked at me. And I am not okay.
“No wonder you’re in no hurry to get back to work,” Mom says as the applause dies down.
I give her a look before laughing.
“What? I’m just saying I understand the appeal of spending as much time as possible in that young man’s proximity.” Mom waggles her eyebrows just once before flagging down Dad. “George! Wasn’t it wonderful?”
“Spectacular! Are you going to the cast meet and greet?” Dad shouts.
“Yes, of course!” Mom pulls me in step after her.
“Mom, no,” I beg.
“It’s the best part. It’s even more fun than the play.”
“I couldn’t.” I haven’t spoken with Mike since the Catstrike night, and I don’t want to now.
“Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you’re even my daughter. When did you become such a recluse?”
“Michael! Michael Benedick! You were wonderful!” my mother says, strutting up to Mike like she’s the captain of a starship. “You’re glowing!”
“He has every right to be. He just finished a two-week run,” I mutter.
“Thank you for coming,” Mike says, folding my mother’s hand warmly into his. But he stiffens when he sees me and drops his arms to his sides. “I’m glad you could make it. I was worried you’d be too sick.”
“Oh, she’s fine,” Mom says.
“Senior Benedick!” My dad sandwiches himself between me and Mom and extends his hand to Mike. “That was quite the performance.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mike says with a smile and a curt bow. “I had quite a lot of help.”
“And a director who let you get away with stealing Beatrice’s best lines.”
“They indulged me, to be sure.”
