This was what Everett had always loved about his heroes, Mr. Rogers and Jim Henson. They both had an openness, a willingness to let the children in their presence be themselves. They didn’t force kids into being a certain way; they let them ask whatever wacky questions or say whatever awkward things came into their heads. They let kids be kids. And that was all he hoped he could do with his show.
“They’re here.”
He looked up and saw Astrid standing in front of him, looking more high-strung than usual. She’d twisted her long hair into a tight bun and she was way more dressed up than usual.
“Should I have worn something else?” Everett asked, gesturing to his outfit of black jeans and a plaid button-down over a Ted Leo and the Pharmacists T-shirt.
“No, no, no,” Astrid said, waving a hand at him. “This is fine. They should see you how you are. That’s kind of the point.”
And then two men and one woman walked into the room, all of them in suits. Everett took a deep breath, stood up, and shook their hands.
28
Dear Theodora,
This weekend I had mozzarella sticks, also known as the fried pickle’s slightly drunker cousin. My best friend’s girlfriend got them for me as a pity gift at the bar. Fun fact: it’s actually impossible to eat mozzarella sticks without burning 75 percent of the roof of your mouth. But that doesn’t stop me from eating them at every opportunity.
Theodora, I know we don’t really know each other, but I hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries by saying that you’re entirely too hard on yourself. Whatever bold choice you didn’t make—I bet it’s okay. In fact, I know it’s okay. I have a belief that, as long as you keep trying and pushing and working toward your goal, something will happen, even if it doesn’t happen the exact way you thought it would.
For example, I was dead set on majoring in puppetry in college (yes, that’s a thing you can major in, and as you might guess, I had to explain that constantly to curious adults who asked what I wanted to go to college for). But I ended up staying here in Columbus when my little sister was born, and that turned out better than I ever could have imagined. I figured out that kids are awesome and hilarious and so, so weird, and that shaped my career in ways that might not have happened if I’d gone away to school like I planned.
So I guess what I’m saying is: it’s okay. Whatever you did or didn’t do, it’s okay, and you’ll figure it out, because you’re Theodora (fill in your last name here, please), damn it, and you get things done!
There. Was that enough of a pep talk for you?
And no disrespect to your teacher, but they sucked. You’re artistic because everyone’s artistic. You have to let yourself express it, and it won’t be long until you’re sewing . . . Well, I don’t actually know what you make in an intro-to-sewing class.
Yours till the mozzarella stick cools,
Everett
PS: You didn’t think I was going to forget about that portrait of Shaq, did you? I need proof.
Teddy read Everett’s email approximately fifteen times before she and Eleanor left for their sewing class. His words felt like the best kind of hug. Of course she and Everett didn’t really know each other, but he believed in her. He knew she could do difficult things, or even sometimes fail to do difficult things, but that she’d get it right next time. Sure, he didn’t know that the situation in which she chickened out was actually that email, that she hadn’t told him they’d met at the karaoke bar. But no matter. Everett St. James believed in her.
“I’m Theodora Phillips, damn it, and I get things done!” she said out loud to her empty room.
“Love the enthusiasm!” called Eleanor from the hallway. Teddy always forgot how thin these walls were (the Viking’s sleepover last night was nearly silent, aside from some loud bumps and shushes from Kirsten).
“You ready?” Eleanor asked, poking her head in.
Teddy shut her laptop. “You bet.”
* * *
—
IT WASN’T THAT Teddy expected a sewing class to be an adversarial experience, but she came in with her guard up. Maybe this would be like that elementary school art class. Maybe her teacher would hold up her pillowcase as an example of “what you shouldn’t do,” much like her unfortunately lumpy Shaq portrait.