FORGETTING MY LINES

Years later, nothing had changed. I remained madly in love with Heather, and she remained my best friend.

When her boyfriend had the worst timing possible to break up with her, I was the shoulder to cry on once again. The pep-talker. The guy who’d never found his way out of the friend zone. I was also her lover–on the stage. We’d rehearsed our kiss countless times, angling our bodies so the audience wouldn’t be able to tell that our lips never actually touched, by her request. But one small move. A slight change of plans. My lips were on hers.

Description

If you stick too closely to the script, you might miss the obvious choice.

Heather
From the time I was a little girl, my parents told me that if I made a plan, I could be anything. I wanted to be an actress.

So why on the day of my career-sparking performance did my boyfriend break up with me? A breakup hadn’t been part of my relationship plan, and the untimely emotional crisis wasn’t part of my career path. But as usual, when my life was in shambles, my lifelong friend Zane was there to save the day. He had to be. He was in the performance too.

With his support, I made it through the performance so deep in my character that I forgot there was life outside the stage. I forgot Zane and I were only lovers on the stage. And I forgot about the jerk who dumped me. Until the kissing scene. Zane’s improv changed everything.

I forgot my lines. Botched the rest of the performance. Got terrible reviews. And suddenly felt my whole world crumbling.

Could I forgive Zane and move on? Or was I going to step outside of my well-crafted plans and finally accept what I’d failed to see all along?

Zane
When we were kids, Heather suggested we write down what we wanted to be when we grew up. I wanted to be her husband. Thankfully she also suggested we tuck the papers away then check back when we were adults and see how we did.

Years later, nothing had changed. I remained madly in love with Heather, and she remained my best friend.

When her boyfriend had the worst timing possible to break up with her, I was the shoulder to cry on once again. The pep-talker. The guy who’d never found his way out of the friend zone. I was also her lover–on the stage. We’d rehearsed our kiss countless times, angling our bodies so the audience wouldn’t be able to tell that our lips never actually touched, by her request. But one small move. A slight change of plans. My lips were on hers.

In my fantasy world, the kiss was supposed to change everything–in a good way. It wasn’t supposed to leave me wondering if she’d ever talk to me again.

As they say… If you love something, set it free. So I did. Not that she gave me a choice. The only question was if she’d felt what I had during the kiss. Did she need time to process that there could be more than friendship between us? Or was I hanging onto a childhood dream that I could somehow know she’d been the only woman for me?

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