“How long have you been performing?” I ask Hugo while I tug a needle through the delicate fabric.
“Five years. Harry got me into it.” He points a spatula at me. “But we’re not talking about Harry.”
“No Harry. Got it.”
I’m sitting at Hugo’s kitchen table while he makes us brunch, which is grilled cheese because it’s all he knows how to make. Harry used to do all the cooking. But we’re not talking about Harry.
“How long will it take to fix the dress?”
“Not much longer. When is the audition?”
“It starts at noon.”
“Perfect.” I give him my best reassuring smile, which might be more of a grimace. This situation is a little anxiety inducing, but I’m dealing. The only thing keeping me from shaking with nerves is the fact that I’m using my hands to fix his dress and sewing is all soothing, repetitive movements. Plus it’s something to focus on other than my incessant monologue of worries. “This won’t take more than another few minutes. I’m nearly done.”
He brings over a plate with a grilled cheese and sets it next to me. “Did you want some coffee or—? Oh wait. I don’t have any coffee. I stopped drinking it when Harry ran off with that barista from Oakland.”
Hugo has a real gift for talking about something we’re not talking about. “I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am. Can you imagine? Breaking up a week before auditioning for a show at the Huntress? And now we have to perform together.” He shakes his head. “If we win, we’ll have to see each other even more. Rehearsals every night. During the show.” He frowns. “Touching each other and pretending to enjoy it. I’m not sure what would be worse, getting a spot on the show, or not getting a call back and then getting a clean break, you know? Who wants to see their ex every day for months, right after he dumps you?”
“I get it.” I finish the last stitch and then flip the garment around. “I think that should do it. Do you want to try it on?”
He swallows. “I’m a little nervous. The sound of the fabric tearing.” He shudders. “It was traumatizing. Harry is meeting me at the venue and he will go ballistic if I show up with a torn dress.”
“It sounds like you’re better off without him.”
He nods but his mouth curves down. “I suppose.”
“Now you have a little more room, so it should be fine. And even if it does tear again, we have time to fix it.”
I hold up the dress. After a second, he takes it from me, giant hands careful.
He disappears into the bedroom and I eat the grilled cheese, which is two slices of white bread with some fake American cheese, fried in butter. It’s surprisingly delicious, and somehow comforting. It reminds me of childhood, even though my mother would have died before making a sandwich like this when I was a kid. If we had something as pedestrian as grilled cheese, it was on split wheat or focaccia with gouda and aged cheddar.
A few long minutes later, I’ve finished my sandwich and Hugo emerges from the bedroom. He’s wearing the dress and grinning.
“It fits.” He twirls around, sending the skirt flying.
I stand up and move closer to make sure the seam isn’t visible. “It looks fantastic.”
“You think so?” He grips the ends of the skirt and holds it out from his body, gazing down at himself. “I think blue looks so much better on me than red. Like a royal blue, you know? But Harry picked the colors and he didn’t want us to clash.” He drops the skirt and blinks rapidly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Jane.” He steps toward me, engulfing my hands in his. “Don’t apologize. You’re an angel sent to me straight from heaven. And I still have an hour until I have to be at the Huntress.” He watches me, head tilted. “You should come with me.”
Surprise jolts me backward, and I pull my hands from his. “You want me to go to your audition?”
He bites his lip, putting his hands together like he’s praying to the seamstress gods. “Please.”
Mingling with strangers is usually like asking me to swallow a live snake. My hands twist together. “I don’t know.”
“Pretty please?” His gaze is pleading. “What if it rips again while I’m there? I might need you. And it will be fun, I promise. And you can meet Harry and we can talk about how gross he is after.”
Hugo is clearly terrified and anxious and scared. I know what it’s like, to go somewhere and feel alone. I can’t do that to him, especially not when I know that later, he’s going to be crying like his whole world is over.
And let’s face it, it’s better than moping around my apartment or giving into the urge to see Alex.
I nod. “I can go.”
His eyes light up, shimmering a little bit. He grips my hand briefly. “Thank you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Hugo drives us into the city in his car, a Geo Metro that’s at least thirty years old. His frame fills up the entire driver’s side and spills over into the passenger area, forcing me to lean against the window. There’s a dent in the roof headliner where his head sits. The back is full, stuffed to the brim with all his makeup and hair supplies, the dress hanging from a hook in the back seat. The car rattles and chugs so much I don’t think we’ll make it across the Bay Bridge, but Hugo distracts me by telling me what to expect.
“The audition is for a new show with a 1980s theme. Harry and I picked this whole Dirty Dancing concept, because of the song ‘The Time of My Life.’ Even though the movie is set in the ’60s, the song is so ’80s. It was really Harry’s idea.” He blows out a breath and glances over
