Page 47 of Between Love and War
“Okay! I’m so excited for our sleepover. What did you prepare? All my sleepovers with my friends always have a princess tea party. While we watch Elsa!”
Michael blinks, obviously not planning things through. He smiles at her and says, “You’ll see!”
Polly lets out a delighted gasp and skips a few steps ahead of us, humming theFrozensoundtrack under her breath. Michael waits until she’s out of earshot, then gently grabs my arm. His hand is suspiciously cold against my skin.
He immediately takes his hand away from my arm, but he looks at me in panic. I raise my eyebrows as he says, “I did not prepareanyof that. Tea parties? Elsa? I bought hotdogs and apple juice. I thought that covered the basics.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Not funny, Katie.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say, patting his shoulder. “Just say yes to everything, keep her sugared up, and pretend you’ve seenFrozenat least three times.”
“I’ve never seenFrozen.”
I gasp. “Oh, you poor, culturally deprived man.”
We reach my car, and we put Polly in the backseat, as I climb the driver’s seat. As I close the door, Polly immediately says, “This is so nice. You’re like my mommy and daddy for the day!”
I cough so hard I nearly choke on air.
Michael blinks, half-turned in his seat. “What now?”
“You guys look like a family!” Polly continues cheerfully, completely unaware of the minor identity crisis she’s causing. “Like in the movies! But cooler, because you smell like cookies and Tito Wowski knows how to shoot hoops.”
“Okay, Pol,” Michael says to stop her. Surprisingly, it works. She sits back and hums by herself.
We pull up to our neighborhood ten minutes later, and Polly practically launches herself out of the car before the engine even stops. “Yay!” she yells, making a beeline for Michael’s front door like she owns the place. She waves for him to follow, a tiny general summoning her exhausted soldier.
Michael just sighs, shoots me a grateful look, and jogs after her. “Thanks again,” he calls over his shoulder.
I wave back, already laughing under my breath. “Good luck, soldier.”
As I step into my own home, I catch Haley on the couch, legs tucked under her, clutching a massive bag of chips—the ridged, ultra-salty kind.
“Everything… okay?” I ask, eyeing the bag suspiciously.
“Oh, peachy!” she says brightly, mouth full. “I got the part.”
I pause. “The part?”
“Elphaba. In the local production. You’re looking at your new green-skinned, gravity-defying, witch.”
I blink. “And… that’s a bad thing?”
“No! I mean, yes. I mean—no, it’s great. It’s a dream role. It’s Elphaba! But also, it’sElphaba,” she groans. “I have to sing upside down, possibly in a harness, and act like I’m not dying the whole time.”
“Ah,” I say, reaching into the bag for a few chips. “That’s why you’re chomping through our expensive chips that we reserve for drastic events, along with that full-fat truffle ice cream.”
She nods slowly.
“You’ll do great, you always do!” I say.
“Yeah,” she mutters, grabbing the remote. “I always do, don’t I?” She scrolls through the Smart TV, then—without warning—stands up and belts out Elphaba’s final, defiant cry holding an invisible broom with the commitment of a Tony nominee.
I blink.
She’s so good. Even when she’s being unserious. I’ve always admired that about her. She’s so confident even when she’s not. She believes in herself all the time.
