Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

25. Snowball (Part Three)

Thatcher smiles at me from across the small space and holds out his hand for me to take. I step forward, slipping my hand into his, and Thatcher wraps his arm around my waist, enough to call for us to stand much closer than he and Patti did. He is probably about 6'3" and I'm only 5'4", so I'm not even going to try to reach up to his shoulder. Instead, I simply rest my free hand on his upper arm, and with my other hand... well, he hasn't let go of it yet. We start dancing like a couple in an old movie or like I've seen people dance at weddings, with our elbows bent and our hands clasped together.

My first instinct is to look away, but Thatcher's meeting my gaze and I can't look away. The lights in here have bathed everything in a blue tint, and the color makes his brown eyes seem even richer, even deeper, and more handsome. Somehow Thatcher just keeps becoming more handsome to me with every day. I remember thinking how plain he seemed to me, and now that just doesn't make any sense. He isn't plain at all. His jawline is square and defined, his skin is clear, his hair is smooth and catches the lights, his lips are full. As I examine his face, his lips widen into a closed mouth smile.

"Have you ever thought about how creepy some love song lyrics are?" he asks.

I laugh and shake my head. "Can't say I have, no."

"Watch," he says, and immediately after, his smile drops and his brows furrow. With a steady, deep voice, he speaks some of the lyrics along with the singer: "Come on now, baby. We'll use the night to hide us maybe, or just shine bright. It doesn't matter as long as you're here."

The way he says it makes the love song sound more like a threat, and I laugh. "That just happened to work. That doesn't work with every part though."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Now it is."

"Fine, watch this," he starts, and his face changes again. With the same threatening tone, he speaks along with the lyrics again: "We will run away, chase the day, live our lives, like love will never die." As the music break picks up, Thatcher maintains his angry expression and, supporting my back, dips me. "Love will never die," he repeats for emphasis.

I can't help but laugh—I've never felt so effortlessly happy with anyone else like this before—and I concede: "You win, okay? You win. You can make any love song sound creepy."

He pulls me back up, and without thinking, I allow my head to rest on his chest. My cheeks are already pressed to his heart—it's too late to turn back now—so I freeze, waiting to sense any shift in his posture and figure out how he feels about this. He keeps dancing, and for a bit, nothing changes, giving me absolutely no indication as to what he's thinking. But then, his thumb passes over the back of my hand while our hands are still clasped.

He likes me. He has to. Why else would he encourage my head on his chest? I'm about to build up the courage to tell him how I feel when the DJ comes back on the mic: "Alright, Riverside, y'all were real sweet just now, but let's pick it back up with this next song."

Of course. I'm half disappointed and half relieved, but when I set away from Thatcher, our hands stay clasped together for a little longer than they should and there's a look of sadness in his eyes. Or maybe I just think it's sadness, because I want it to be.

"Yeah, I love this song," Moth shouts over the music as "Shape of You" by Ed Sheeran comes on. "Dance," he tells us. Patti happily joins him, but Thatcher seems hesitant; and I am mostly just confused. What do I do now? How do I get a moment with Thatcher like that back again?

I need a breather.

"I'm going to get some punch," I call to them over the music, and immediately turn around to weave my way out of the crowd toward the food tables.