And just like that the curtain closes on Melted: The Musical.
The applause fades on the other side of the curtain, until the only sound left is the beat of hearts hammering against our chests. I wait for the overwhelming release of emotion that the final curtain always triggers once the adrenaline wears off. Except it’s not wearing off.
Reid is here.
Dad is here.
“Natalie! Jacobson!” Fitz squeals. My eyes pop open as her arms wrap around me. “That was amazing.”
Henry appears, stage left, his headset around his neck, insisting to get in on the group hug. And even though I still have to go find Reid and Dad, this is when the tears come, the overwhelming feeling I can’t push down or swallow. Tears roll down my cheeks because, like, how lucky am I to have Henry and Fitz? The best people. My people.
“My makeup,” Fitz says, mad at the tears streaming down her face.
“The show’s over,” Henry says.
Fitz’s shoulders slump with the disappointment of seeing her art slide down my face. “But it still would have looked great for Chao Down. Ugh. I assume we’re going to Chao Down?”
I nod through the tears, because dumplings have never sounded so good.
“Reid’s smile for you is the stupidest,” Henry says.
“Did you know?” I ask.
Henry and Fitz shake their heads no in unison. The movement is too precise, too choreographed, and I would call bullshit, but I’m so happy I don’t even care. I break the group hug first and Fitz is fake-annoyed until I remind her the quicker I change, the sooner we eat.
In my closet fitting room, I change out of conductor chic and into a thigh-length cobalt sweater and black leggings. Someone knocks on the door as I’m lacing up my combat boots. “One sec,” I call because I’m already rushing, okay? We only have four fitting rooms, which are very much one-person-at-a-time size, as they are, you know, actual closets.
I toss my duffle bag over my shoulder and pull the door open.
It’s not Fitz on the other side. Not Henry. Not even Reid.
It’s Dad.
“Hi—” I start.
I don’t get the rest of the words out because Dad pulls me into a giant bear hug and it’s so unexpected, so… not my dad. But none of this is. He’s here. Not in Albany with Reid. Not schmoozing with Jenny at the meet-and-greet. Not with Reid at the concert prospective students were invited to. Dad was so excited to take Reid to Albany, to network with musicians who have performed in orchestras around the world.
But he’s here.
I pull back from the hug first. “How?”
“Jenny fit Reid in after lunch instead. We made it back as fast as we could. Traffic was a nightmare.”
“You’re here,” I say, still stunned.
Dad frowns. “Of course I’m here. Everything about Melted was phenomenal. Mrs. Mulaney even cracked a smile during the tap number. I’m pretty sure she loved it. You put so much work into this and it all came together. I’m so proud of you.”
I wipe my cheek, catching a stray tear that escapes. “I didn’t think you were coming home until the morning.”
“We wanted to surprise you,” Dad says.
“Consider me surprised,” I say.
Dad scratches his beard. “I’ve never missed opening night.”
“Well—” I swallow “—it’s never conflicted with a Reid thing.”
My cheeks flush, embarrassed that I’m still admitting how I feel, how much I care.
But… maybe continuing to call him out is the first step toward trying.
His expression softens. “Natalie, I’d never miss your opening night, not for anyone or anything. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that I would.”
I study my dad. The creases in his forehead that exhibit worry. His mouth, pressed into a thin line. His eyes, glossy, like he could start crying at any moment—but also urgent. I’d never miss your opening night. He said that.
And he didn’t. He means it.
This time, I’m the one reaching out for a hug, my tearstained cheek pressed against my dad’s chest. I know we’re not going to wake up tomorrow with a perfect relationship, but maybe we’ll wake up understanding each other a little better.
My emotions level off until I hear the words “I love you, Nat” spoken just above a whisper and then the tears come once more.
A few minutes later, makeup fixed a second time, I head to my dad’s car.
Once the cacophony of parent and teacher congratulations concluded, Dad tossed me the keys to his car and Mom said, “Be home by midnight.” Henry and Fitz are already on their way to Chao Down with everyone. We’ll push all the tables together “La Vie Boheme” style and order all the dumplings. It’s an LHS drama takeover, now so much bigger because all the clubs are coming too.
On my way out, Mrs. Mulaney spots me and pulls me aside.
“Natalie! Wow. I am blown away. From what I could tell, so was the school committee.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Mulaney.”
“You’ve made your case. Every one of you. And… I’ll be fighting for you too.”
I nod and thank Mrs. Mulaney again, because as much as I’ve wanted to hear that for so long, right now all I want is for this conversation to end. All I want is to make my way to Reid. I cross everything he’s still here. Pushing through the double doors, I fight the urge to overanalyze Mrs. Mulaney’s words. She sounds optimistic. But it’s not a promise. Nowhere close to a guarantee.
I need to accept the reality that there are no guarantees.
And stop using my fear of failure as an excuse to not even try.
My heart speeds up as I look for dad’s car and—just like I hoped he’d be, Reid is there, his hands stuffed in his pockets. I walk toward him, my lips pressed together so I don’t break out in a smile because he’s here. He’s still in conservatory audition clothes, black dress pants and a white button-down, the sleeves rolled up. He looks incredible.
Henry’s right. Reid’s smile is stupid. I hope it’s also for me.
“You’re not in Albany,” I say as if that isn’t obvious.
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“You’re supposed to be schmoozing at the faculty meet-and-greet.”
“It turns out I am not a schmoozer,” Reid says.
“Okay. Okay, but you couldn’t just try to schmooze for the most competitive audition of all time? How was the institute? How did it go? How did you even make it back in time? Did you—?”
Reid takes a step toward me. “Natalie. Pause. Melted was amazing. You’re amazing.”
He’s so close to me, I could press my lips against his. So I do. Because against all logic, despite the mess I made, he is here. And it was amazing. What we made was amazing. We are amazing, especially together. And it’s time I take a chance. In no time at all Reid’s hands are on my waist and mine are around his neck and it feels right, this kiss, more than ever before.
He breaks the kiss. “Hi.”
Now I’m the one with the stupid smile. “Hey.”
“I killed my audition, for the record,” Reid says.
“Of course,” I say, lacing my fingers through his. “Tell me everything on the way to Chao Down.”
“Wait,” Reid says. “I had this whole thing prepared. A word speech.”
I nod. “Word speech.”
“Shut up. Okay.” Reid runs his free hand through his hair. “So. Do you know why I started playing clarinet?”
I shrug. “I mean, it’s my dad’s instrument, right?”
Reid sees Dad teaching me the clarinet. Reid decides he needs to learn too.
That is the rivalry origin story I’ve always known.
Reid shakes his head. “It was your instrument. It was a reason to hang out with you.”
I am, for once, speechless.
“I like you, Nat. I’ve always liked you. But for ten years you’d only give me the time of the day if we were competing for top spot, or pranking each other, or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” I repeat.
Reid swallows. “Now though, I more than like you. And I don’t want to go back to the whatever, no matter what happens with the plays or conservatory or anything else. So I’d like to request an amendment. In Natalie vs. Reid.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Reid pulls a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket. His copy of our rule book. “To the truce clause, specifically. ‘Truces are agreed on with a double pinky swear. No pranking can occur during the seven-day truce period.’ ”
“We were weird kids,” I say.
Reid nods. “My amendment is that we extend the truce.”
“Oh?” I ask.
“Yeah. Like, a permanent truce.”
“Permanent?”
Reid crosses out the very specific details of our old truce amendment in black Sharpie, rewriting it to say, “And no pranking can occur. Ever.” He signs the updated amendment and holds it out to me.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“I don’t hate it,” I say, taking the pen out of his hand and signing our new amendment into law. Reid folds the paper back into quarters and stuffs it in his pocket, smiling. He steps toward me.
“So. Natalie. Truce?”
He crosses his wrists and holds both his pinkies out, double pinky swear. Serious as it gets.
I smile and latch my pinkies around his. And as I do Reid kisses me and I melt into this moment, high on an incredible opening night and the music we composed together and the possibility of so much more that we’ll do together. The boy who I couldn’t seem to get out of my life became the boy I never want to go away. So I answer him.
“Truce.”