EPILOGUE
TUCK
W hen Olivia takes her bow with the rest of the cast, I’m on my feet, cheering myself hoarse, clapping my hands so hard that my palms sting.
The Champlain Theatre Company just finished its third night of Macbeth, with Olivia in the co-starring role.
The first night, Summer and Hudson were here with me. The second night, just Summer and me. The third night, I’m the last man standing.
That’s how it’s going to be. I’ll always be here in the audience to support Olivia. I know it’ll never happen, but if she ever performs in front of an audience of only one, that one person will be me, cheering and clapping loud enough to make up for everyone too stupid to realize what they’re missing out on.
Seeing Olivia put on three awe-inspiring performances in a packed Burlington theatre house is just the bright spot that I need right now, because this last month has been rough.
We made it to the finals of the Frozen Four. The Brumehill Black Bears vs. the Minnesota Monarchs. We skated out onto the ice feeling like we were on top of the world, feeling supremely confident after a dominant performance throughout the tournament.
Then, in the middle of the first period, Lane got tripped. He stuck out his right leg to try to keep his balance. The front of his blade snagged on the ice at the worst angle possible, and he broke his leg as he fell.
We had to play the rest of the game without our team captain, none of us able to stop worrying about him as he was transported to the hospital. We lost 1-4.
Our concern for Lane numbed the disappointment of losing the championship we spent all season dreaming of, almost expecting to hoist over our heads, like it was the only plausible ending to this season.
That disappointment came later, though.
Lane’s leg is still in rough shape. His ability to play next year is in question, and he’s taking it … not too good.
I shake off those thoughts. So much of my mental space recently has been taken up by worry and concern for my teammate and one of my best friends, but right now I just want to be fully present for Olivia.
When I find her backstage after the show, I gather her in my arms and plant a big, firm kiss on her lips with all the excitement and pride I had on opening night.
“Are you really going to come to every single night?” Olivia asks through giggles.
I give her a firm, appreciative pat on her behind. “You bet your sweet ass I am.” I know she’s rolling her eyes—but also blushing—when I sling my arm over her shoulders and walk her to the parking garage.
We drove to Burlington separately. Just being apart from her in my car on the drive home sucks, even though she’s right behind me.
I wish she were sitting next to me right now so I could serenade her with another Taylor Swift concert. She’s even started to join in and sing along with me when we ride together.
Close to Cedar Shade, on the densely forested roads away from the lights of the capital city, I drive up the crest of the hill, and suddenly my breath catches at the most stunning view of the night sky, bright with stars.
I activate my turn signal to pull onto a wide berth on the side of the road that’s been carved out of the forest for roadside stops. I roll down my window and signal for Olivia to pull over, too. We come to a stop just at the beginning of the downward slope of the crest. Ahead of us is a stunning view of the night sky over the tree cover.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asks as we both step out of our driver’s side doors.
“Nothing,” I say. I sweep my hand upward and across, gesturing to the sky. “Look. It’s beautiful.”
Tonight is the warmest night of the year so far. The air feels soft and mild, the breeze a gentle caress. What makes it even better is that it’s still just chilly enough for Olivia to have changed into one of my Brumehill Black Bears hoodies that she’s pilfered from my room.
Seeing my girl wearing something of mine is never not going to make my chest pound.
I round to the front of my car and wave for her to join me. We hop onto the hood and shimmy back, leaning against my windshield and gazing up into the star-scattered sky.
She snuggles into the crook of my arm.
“Have you ever been good at spotting constellations?” I ask.
“Nope. Couldn’t even tell you where the Big Dipper is.”
“Let’s make our own, then.”
I spread my legs, and she positions herself between them, her back against my chest. I dip down so that our eyes are level, and I take hold of her hand, lifting it with mine so we can trace the stars together.
“See?” I say, tracing out a sloppy outline of a cat in the pinpricks of silver light. “There’s Salsa.”
She laughs, the vibration of it feeling so good with her flush against me. She twists her hand so now her dainty palm is clasping the back of mine, and now it’s her turn to trace.
“And there’s you,” she says, “sneezing when she jumps onto your lap.”
I sling my free arm around her waist, pulling her tight against me as I laugh. “How many stars did it take to make that?”
“Seventeen,” she says, pulling a number out of thin air.
I don’t know how much time we spend just sitting on the hood of my car, gazing at the sky, cuddling together and laughing as we pretend to trace increasingly intricate and ridiculous shapes in the stars.
Olivia guides my hand through an arcing zigzag that isn’t even pretending to follow the stars anymore. “That’s you when you’re singing Taylor Swift songs in the shower.”
I guide her hand, tracing out letters in the stars.
M is first.
Then I .
Then N .
Then E .
Olivia turns to me, her brow crinkled. “ Mine? ”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s you. Every damn day for the rest of our lives.”
My lips feather onto hers, and I kiss my girlfriend as she wears my hoodie, under the star-lit sky, sitting on the hood of my car by the side of the road on a beautiful early Spring night.
I don’t know how things could possibly get better than this. But knowing that I’ve got a lifetime with Olivia ahead of me, I’m pretty sure I’m going to find out.