Page 114 of Mostly Loathing You

When she told Jackson that she would be playing the lead this weekend in Illinois, we knew we had to make it happen, no matter how challenging the weather would be. Bundled up in layers of clothing, we brace ourselves against the harsh gusts and trudge toward the theater district. Our breath billows out in front of us with every exhale as we walk through streets lined with towering skyscrapers as far as the eye can see.

Despite the biting cold, I feel a thrill of excitement coursing through my veins as we head to watch Hannah perform under bright lights onstage.

Sage skips ahead as we approach the theater. I still don’t understand how the cold isn’t bothering her, but I’m quickly reminded that she is a different breed of human entirely.

A force of nature.

I don’t miss the way Gabe walks at her side, their dynamic having vastly changed in the past few weeks. When Hannah moved out last month, Sage was left without a roommate. Simultaneously, Gabe and Kara broke up again, but this time it was bad enough for him to move out. I just hope this break-up sticks. He deserves better.

I take a step into the theater and immediately flash back to when Hannah and I sawHamiltonin New York. But as my eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, I notice that this theater is much smaller, with worn-down seats and faded curtains decorating the stage. Instead of massive props and intricate costumes, this production has modest designs, but is still elegant in its own way.

The theater goes dark and my heart rate spikes. My eyes lock on the stage, the cast’s presence as palpable as electricity in the air. A stirring from behind the curtain reveals an ensemble of bright-eyed actors spilling onto the stage. My gaze darts among them, searching for a single familiar face amidst the crowd.

Then suddenly, there she is. Her signature blonde strands are pulled back beneath a brunette wig to reveal her striking green eyes sparkling under the spotlight. I draw in a deep breath, butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

Her voice fills the small theater like a gentle caress. Each word that comes from her mouth seems to be suspended in the air as I lean forward in my chair, captivated by her performance. My heart flutters with anticipation and I feel completely entranced.

I’d be content doing this forever, watching her perform.

A hand lands on my forearm, causing me to jerk. Only then do I realize it’s Sage squeezing my skin with a grin across her lips.

There haven’t been many conversations between the two of us that didn’t revolve around Hannah in the past few weeks. Ever since I made the decision to try to mend things with her, I’ve spent an abhorrent amount of time talking Sage’s ear off. Asking for advice, mostly, but sometimes just to vent.

Intermission comes and goes but I don’t leave my seat, even when everyone else goes to the bathroom and grabs drinks. It’s like I’m fused to my seat.

The second half is more entrancing than the first, and I find my eyes locked intently on Hannah with little desire or ability to let go.

We step out of the theater and as my skin chills in the winter air, I feel a new sense of contentment I haven’t experienced in months. Whether she’s willing to talk to me or is even happy I’m here, it gives me a sense of calm knowing that I’ve seen her again and she’s okay.

Jackson steps onto the sidewalk, eyes focused on Gen as they walk. His left hand is firmly tucked inside hers, and his right arm is around her shoulders, warming her from the cold breeze that blows through the city street amidst the frigid night. He removes his jacket with his free hand and carefully drapes it over her slender frame.

“Hannah said for us to meet her at some restaurant named Stage Left—I guess the cast is going there after the show.”

“Did she say anything?” I ask, my voice more timid than normal.

“About?”

“About me being here?”

“Oh, she doesn’t know.”

“You didn’t tell her?” I say, my voice climbing in volume.

“Not my place. She’ll see you in like twenty minutes, so chill.”

I resist the urge to smack him upside the head as we make our way down the sidewalk to find a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

The tables are covered with red- and white-checkered cloths, and the smell of garlic and melted cheese fills the air. Steam drifts upward from the bubbling cheese of deep-dish pizzas, their doughy crusts glistening with olive oil. Several of the makeshift tables have two or three pizzas placed in the center as groups huddle around, scooping pieces onto their respective plates.

Dimly lit, the room is humming with chatter and laughter, but as soon as an employee wheels a microphone stand onto the empty stage at the back of the room, all eyes shift toward it. Every wall is filled with memorabilia; however, my gaze is drawn to the large poster next to the stage that announces tonight as open mic night. The barstools along the small bar are now full, and some people have even taken to standing around the edges of the room, waiting for the show to begin.

Makes sense why the cast wants to come here, no doubt to continue the performance and keep their skills sharp.

“Liam,” Sage calls, and I realize I’m still standing near the door, taking in the expanse of the room. My friends are now crowded around a table far too small for five people. I’m suddenly glad Wes couldn’t get off work—as a result, he and Savannah were not able to come. This setup would be a disaster with seven—actually, including Hannah, eight people.

I hesitantly make my way along the edge of the crowded room until I spot the DJ booth and a selection of instruments behind it. Swallowing hard, I walk up to the counter where the open mic night sign-up sheet lays. I grab a pen from beside it and write my name down with shaking hands, my fingers tingling withanticipation.

If I’m going to make a complete idiot of myself, I might as well do it in stride and go out in a fiery blaze of glory.

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