Esme and Matt can't stand each other, even if they have to play nice for the cameras. As public speculation about their chemistry heats up, they're forced to confront what's real versus what's just for show.
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The piano is waiting for me.
The walk towards the stage feels endless, even though our booth wasn't too far from it. Each step is sluggish, like there are weights tied around my ankles, and the pressure of all the eyes on me doesn't make it easier. Although I asked for this, for visibility, for cameras, this is still more vulnerability than I'm necessarily comfortable with showing in public.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears, each dry thud louder than a gunshot. My breath comes out shaky and weak as I force myself to keep walking—just a few more steps, just a couple more. Matt is watching; somehow, it makes it both more comforting and stressful.
I know I'm good. I'm far from being a professional and am self-aware enough to know there's always room for improvement, but I've been playing for a while. Even so, there's a chance my nerves will get the better of me and I'll fumble the song in front of all these people, some of whom might recognize me. If I screw up, they'll know. It'll be public information in no time.
People will know I can't do anything right. They'll know I'm a fraud.
The bench creaks when I sit down, getting acquainted with the plush surface. My fingers brush lightly along the keys, testing the waters, and I allow myself one final look at the crowd.
It's an intimate setting, not a crowded bar by any means, but I can barely see any of the patrons' faces with how the lighting is set. I'm not sure whether to feel relieved or not, but at least I can trust my eyes and my brain to still find Matt, tucked away in our booth. He leans forward across the table in anticipation, fingers laced together.
I take a deep breath.
Silence stretches while I attempt to find some courage to start playing, to fulfill my promise. People are waiting, not rushing me, and I try to shake off my nerves by wiggling my shoulders. It makes me feel ridiculous, especially when my entire career depends on being comfortable with eyes on me, but it's different now.
This isn't scripted. It's a moment that should be mine and Matt's, but I still chose to use it to prove something. To prove that I can be my own person.
My fingers betray me before I can even consider playing something soft, something people won't read too much into. A smarter person would have gone for a safer choice, but I've thrown all my intelligence and caution to the wind. That line was crossed the moment I decided to go forward with this.
Waitress has been my favorite musical for as long as I can remember. It has always spoken to me even though I'm lucky to have never found myself in a similar situation, teaching me about the importance of perseverance and bravery, but also empathy.
Then, Oakley came into my life, wrecked it all up, and walked away without a scratch. I miss the person I used to be before him, but there are days when I can't remember who that girl was. I can't remember if I was better then or if I'm hardened now.
