Page 94 of The Ballad of Darcy and Russell

“Great.”

“Wait.” He paused, his thumb hesitating over his phone screen. “How do you feel about cannibalism?”

“Cannibalism? In… a musical?”

“Okay, maybe we table Sweeney Todd for the moment. Maybe In the Heights?”

“What is that?”

A shocked expression passed across Russell’s face for just a moment before he took a deep breath and composed himself. “It’s the first Lin-Manuel Miranda musical—it all takes place over twenty-four hours in Washington Heights, and I frankly think it got unfairly eclipsed—”

“It takes place in a day?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Why?”

“I just didn’t know that could happen. I thought they were all—I don’t know, more epic or something.”

“Twenty-four hours can be plenty epic.”

I smiled at that. “That’s true.”

“But there’s a few of them. How to Succeed in Business, I’m pretty sure. And I think Forum all takes place in one day.…”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said, giving him a smile, even as my mind was filing this away as useful information. “What’s next?”

* * *

We drove across the desert, and Russell played me highlights from the last one hundred years of musical theater—songs about love, and loss, and carnivorous plants, and Lion King ushers. About turning thirty-five, and mythical towns that exist just for one day, and meat pies made of people (I’d relented about the cannibal thing, mostly because I was curious). About the wives of Henry VIII, and MI5 during World War II, and Mormon missionaries. With every song, I knew Russell was watching me, looking for my reaction, trying to see how I felt about it. I could practically see him cataloging the songs I liked and tailoring the next song accordingly.

I listened as I drove, sometimes requesting repeats or complaining about the logic jumps I was expected to make (like, why were the people in River City so excited about a boys’ band? And why couldn’t girls be in the band too?). And while the songs played, or while Russell cued up the next one, we talked—sharing the details we hadn’t gotten to before, filling in some of the gaps and missing pieces in both our lives.

“What are your cats named?” I asked, looking over at him as he scrolled through the songs on his phone. “You said you had two?”

“We do. Bisou and Dameron.”

“I’m guessing you named Dameron?”

“He was always taking flying leaps as a kitten!” Russell said, sounding a little defensive. “So he had to be named after a space pilot.”

“Well, obviously.”

“Do you guys have any pets? You and your dad?”

“No. I always wanted a dog, but we never had one.”

“Maybe he’ll get one now,” Russell suggested. “Keep him company when you’re gone?”

“If he gets a dog when I’ve left, after denying me one for my entire childhood, I’m going to be so mad.”

“It’s a catch-22.” Russell glanced over at me and raised an eyebrow. “A fetch-22?”

“Nicely done.”

“Fun fact—it’s been proven that dogs are stress reducers. That when you pet them, your cortisone levels drop.”

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