It was nice to hear.
“But it wasn’t just that,” she said. “The daughters had no idea who you were.”
“The mothers were fans, I’m guessing.”
Harriet nodded. “And they kept trying to explain who you were, but the girls didn’t care. All they saw was their new favorite Broadway star.”
I bit my lip. It was too much.
“It doesn’t matter what the press writes,” Harriet said. “It doesn’t matter if people come to the show because they remember you. It doesn’t matter if people come because they’ve heard of all the drama between you and Cal. What matters is that they’ll be in the audience when you show everyone exactly how fucking talented you are.”
“We are,” I said. “It’s your show.”
“It’s our show,” she said.
“Does this mean we’re friends again?” I asked.
“Please,” Harriet said. “We’re family.”
“Oh, thank god,” I said.
Harriet pulled me to my feet and into an embrace I’d been waiting weeks for. Months even. I’d missed her. I’d missed her so much.
“I’m sorry I was a jealous monster,” she said.
“I’m sorry I can’t keep it in my pants,” I said.
She looked at me. “You and Cal?”
“We’re over,” I said. “I swear.”
She bit her bottom lip.
“What?” I asked.
Harriet looped her arm through mine, and I followed as she led me away from the table, taking us around the park.
“What?” I asked again.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That you broke up with Cal because of me.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t because of you,” I said. “It was because of me. I’m no good for him. I think we both know that. I think the whole world knows that.”
“That’s utter bullshit,” Harriet said.
“Hey!”
“You are good for him,” she said. “He’s good for you. I couldn’t see it because I was so jealous and stupid, but honestly, it doesn’t even matter that I see it now. It doesn’t matter what I think. You’re adults. You love each other. You shouldn’t be making decisions based on my opinion.”
I stared at her.
“I’m getting whiplash,” I said.
“I know,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “There’s no way Cal would give me another chance. Even if I asked for one.”
“Would you?” Harriet asked.
“No,” I said. “I can’t.”
She raised her eyebrows at me.
“You love him,” she said.
“Stop,” I said.
“You do.”
“I thought you just said that I shouldn’t make decisions based on your opinion,” I said.
“That’s not my opinion,” she said. “That’s fact. You love him and he loves you.”
It was getting colder. I buttoned my jacket up under my chin.
“It’s too late,” I said.
“He said that?”
I nodded. “I don’t blame him. I’ve jerked him around enough for one lifetime. He deserves someone better.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“You know what I mean,” she said.
“I do,” I said. “And thank you. But this is just the way things are going to be.”
Harriet leaned her cheek on my shoulder. I could tell she wanted to say more, to argue with me further, but she didn’t, and we just walked on.
CHAPTER 39
The standing ovation lasted ten minutes.
Of course, it was opening night, which meant the audience was packed with friends and family and supporters, but I savored every single second of that applause. I’d earned it. We’d earned it.
Backstage the energy was electric. We all were aware that our jubilant moods could change once reviews were released, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. We had opened on Broadway.
Harriet met me in my dressing room, where we exchanged nearly identical bouquets of roses.
“Can you believe this?” she asked.
I’d taken off my costume and wig, and joined her on the small couch in my robe with my hair still pinned back. She poured me a glass of champagne.
“We’re a triumph,” I said.
We clinked our glasses and drank.
“How was it being in the audience?” I asked. “Watching your show premiere?”
Harriet let out a deep, satisfied sigh.
“It was incredible,” she said. “If only I could bottle this feeling and take a tiny sip of it whenever I felt bad about myself.”
I squeezed her hand.
“To your first Broadway opening night,” I said. “I can’t wait for the next one.”
“And to you,” she said. “Not that you’re allowed to leave the show anytime soon.”
“Speaking of.” I got up and went to my bag. “I found your next project. Our next project.”
“Are you kidding me?” Harriet asked. “The last thing I want to do is start something new. It’s time to bask, not work.”
“I don’t know if you’ll consider this work,” I said, holding her gift behind my back. “But if you don’t want it…”
Harriet was trying to see what I was hiding, but I kept turning away from her.
“Fine,” she said, holding out her hand. “Let’s see what this new project is.”
I gave her the package.
“Is this…?” She turned it over.
“Open it,” I said.
She tore the paper off.
“Kathleen…” she said. Her voice was thick with tears.
“I’m ready,” I said. “Aren’t you? We’ve waited long enough.”
It was the demo we’d recorded all those years ago. All of Harriet’s beautiful songs.