Esther wants me to leave. Now. "Tell Scott... whatever he needs to hear." She'll handle it. That's what she does. While everyone else stumbles through life blindfolded, she moves with purpose, like she's done all this before and she knows exactly how to handle it. Responsibility comes naturally to her. Anyone can book a plane ticket, but of all mortals, Esther alone can rescue a cello from the bureaucratic clutches of Immigration in three hours flat. Anyone can make chicken noodle soup, but only Esther can take a bitter, wounded, hopeless failure out of a hospital bed and stand him up again on his own two feet in front of millions. Some people thrive in bettering themselves, stretching their limits, or making progress, but Scott thrives in success, plain and simple, and she made that possible for him again.
Maybe she'll tell him something came up and I had to leave. Maybe she'll tell him not to ask. Maybe she'll give him the truth. It must be nice knowing all the answers.
That's not fair, though. She's human. I've seen her screw up, embarrass herself, lose her temper, wear her shirt inside out all day, cuss out a parking ticket, cry, everything. She doesn't have all the answers, and she doesn't know how to handle everything. She's just doing her best, and it can't be easy. She hasn't given up, though. Not like I did.
"You must hate me." Taking care of Scott should have been my job. She did everything I should have done. She looked after him when I abandoned him. She doesn't hate me, not really, but she has every right to, and I want her to know I understand that. I look her in the eye, trying to convey more meaning than I can articulate. "But I love you. And I'll always be grateful. Thank you."
She nods, and I turn to go. Everything in me wants to stay, but it's better if Esther decides. I'm too blind where Scott is concerned. I have to go now. I have to figure out how to uproot my feet. It can't be that hard. I have several decades of walking experience. Put Scott first. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Go. Leave. Left foot. Good. Right foot. Excellent. It's just like walking anywhere else. I can do this.
"Wait." I freeze. "Just tonight. Just this party. This is a special day for him, and it means a lot to him that you're here."
What's so special about today? It's not his birthday, or any kind of anniversary that I can think of. Esther is already going back inside, and I follow behind. Walking is suddenly much easier. Scott meets me while I'm still on the back deck. "First of all," he says, squeezing the air out of my lungs like a two-year-old with a tube of toothpaste, "welcome back! Are we in trouble with Esther?"
"I am. She wants me to stay away from you. I get to stay for the party but that's all, and it's only because she says today is special."
"I'll talk to her." I don't think that will make a difference.
"She's, I mean, I don't want to leave. I really don't, but she's right, isn't she?"
"She can't be."
"Just try and understand her perspective. She's smart, and she cares about you. She's worth listening to."
"She is, and I have, and I'm done. I've tried it, and I want to try something different now. I'll talk to her." That's probably for the best. She'll persuade him. "Don't worry about it, okay? I don't care if she listens. I don't even care if she's right."
"It matters. I don't want to do any more damage."
"I'll try to bring her around. It'll be fine."
"It's not about what she thinks. I'm worried about you."
He shakes his head and turns back to the party. We go inside, and he makes me try chocolate-dipped pineapple, chocolate-drizzled pomegranate seeds, and chocolate-coated chocolate. He asks me about the end of filming, about the crew, about Baz, about what it's like acting. We're so behind, so out of touch, yet we still know each other so well. I can tell his mind is in a million places right now, but I can't tell why.
He tries to talk me into another round of karaoke, but there's no way I'm gonna embarrass myself like that. I took great pride during my childhood in the knowledge that I was better than him even though he was older, and I'm in no hurry to acknowledge that I've let him catch up, or maybe even surpass me. I really do need to start singing seriously again.
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaase?"
"You know you have other guests, right? You should maybe talk to them, be a good host and all."
"Getting you to sing is the nicest thing I could possibly do for them."
"I wasn't expecting a party like this. I thought it was just gonna be dinner."
"The caterers are setting up in the kitchen. There's vegan gluten-free stuff. You're still doing that, right?"
"More or less. What's the occasion?"
"You'll see," he smirks. He's happy. He's plenty of other things right now too—worried, excited, nervous, but still undeniably happy. I don't fully understand why, but I'm happy for him. Maybe he's right. Maybe it'll be okay.
But he's probably wrong. Esther has seen a lot more than I have, and she's worried. Maybe it's better to keep my distance for a little while than to jump in too soon. How long, though, do I have to wait? How long is too long?
"Mitch!" Todrick pulls me out of my head with a bright smile and a warm embrace. "It's so good to see you. Especially right here," he waves at the area just next to Scott, "in your natural habitat." He's known us since Arlington, since before any of us were famous. Scott and I were joined at the hip even then. "Good to see my impersonation of a broken record on a soapbox wasn't wasted," he says to Scott. "Lemme tell you, Mitch, it's a rock solid impression. Passers by, they look and they say, 'How come pop legend Scott "The Hottie" Hoying is here talkin' to a broken record on a soap box?' and he's gotta explain to them it's really just me."
"A broken record on a soap box?"
"You know my mantra. So long as you're walking on the earth, you've gotta be doing the things you wanna get done before you're lying down under it, 'cause you don't get to know how long you've got."
I don't know how long I get with Scott either. Maybe I should sing with him before I go. He practically runs to the studio when I agree to karaoke, and I follow at a more socially acceptable pace with Todrick.
I'll sing, I resolve. I'll sing before I die, whenever that may be, even if it means putting out a hat at Venice Beach. Ha, Venice. I don't miss that city. It's good to be back. There's no place like home.
Y'all have probably seen the Pentatonix Fanfiction Awards on your timeline a lot, and that is because they're super fun. Check them out, show your favorite authors and stories some much appreciated appreciation, and find some new fics to read. Thank you SO much for the nominations; I'm tickled pink! <3
