The male character looks at her. “If we don’t find out the truth, we can never be wed.”
“I don’t need a conventional wedding. Forget the flowers and the dress and the cake. I just need you.” She bends to grab at his imaginary bag, and they begin an invisible tug of war.
“I refuse for you to go into hiding, to not be proudly married, and bear my children and name.”
Rose quietly gags.
“What are you going to do? If they capture you, you’ll go to jail, or worse,” the female student cries.
“They can take my life, but they’ll—”
“Mr. Gentwood, you know how I feel about plagiarism.” A woman says from the door we’d entered through at the back of the theater. She stands near us, blonde hair and dark roots, holding an umbrella as she watches the stage react. Her voice loud enough to carry clear through the space.
The students laugh, and the guy on stage does a bow. “I was going to say they couldn’t take my pride.”
This makes everyone laugh harder. The woman standing beside us shakes her head. “Sure, you were.”
Rose’s phone chirps and the woman turns her attention to us. “Don’t make me have to tell you guys all of my expectations again.” Her gaze sweeps across us, stopping at Liv, who turns pale before dropping her phone, which she bends over to retrieve. The woman smiles, the gesture looking foreign across her features—forced—before she continues down the stairs to the stage.
“Let’s go,” Liv says.
“Is that her?” Rose asks.
Liv nods and moves to stand, but Rose catches her arm. “Are you sure it’s her? Do you want to wait and talk with her? Should we watch?”
But Liv slips her arm free and goes to the exit, sneaking outside before either of us can suggest otherwise.
“She’s freaking out right now,” Rose says, leaning back in her chair. “God, I would too. Can you imagine learning your mom might not be your mom?” She quickly grabs her things, and we follow. We find her by my SUV, which is alone in the parking lot. We realized after the fact that we’d parked in the wrong lot.
Liv is pacing the sidewalk, ignoring the light mist as she dials a number and then hangs up. She calls again. Hangs up. Paces. After covering the same span three more times, she dials again and holds the phone to her ear.
“It’s me. How could you not tell me about Ellen? Why did you keep this from me? We weren’t supposed to have secrets, and this one, this one feels like a lie. Is Dad my real dad?” She shudders, dropping her head back and tipping her face toward the sky. “And if she’s my mom, who in the hell are you?” She hangs up and sits on the sidewalk, her face in her hands.
Rose remains at my side for several seconds, her chin quivering. I feel like I’ve just been dropped into a pot of boiling water—I have no idea what to do and how to help. My parents and all of their advice regarding women, ensuring Theo and I grew up knowing women go first, and to make sure we look out for other women if we’re out in public, to hold open doors and umbrellas, to be gentle and be sure we pay attention if they say no or stop—none of our conversations ever brought up what to do if two women you care for are crying, and you don’t have any idea how to fix their issue. Because that’s what I want to do, I want to fix this like we fixed my mom’s brakes or a broken football play.
“I can’t,” Rose whispers. “I’m going to make it worse.” I’m not sure how she thinks she could possibly make this any worse, and then it hits me like shotput to the temple that while I’ve considered how to make this better, it’s possible I could make it worse.
“Olivia?”
Liv’s spine snaps as the blonde woman approaches us.
My blood turns cold as I stare at the woman, realizing, without a doubt, this is Ellen. She looks older and thinner, but she has Liv’s nose and eyes, and even her mouth—or Liv has hers. She stops with several feet remaining between them, her eyes never leaving Liv.
“What are you doing here?” Ellen asks.
Olivia’s brow creases and then hardens like she finds the question offensive.
Ellen wraps her arms around herself. “How did you find me? Your mom told you?”