Kate in Waiting by Becky Albertalli (ereader with android txt) 📕

sudden urge to send a giddy freakout text to Anderson, and the fact that I can’t makes me wistful. A month ago, a moment like this wouldn’t have felt real unless I shared it with Anderson. But of course, a month ago, a moment like this wouldn’t have been real. Because Matt wasn’t real. Not to us. He was like a concept we invented.

Everything was a lot simpler a month ago.

Matt’s room itself is fairly small and sparse, with just a few fantasy books and some Funko Pops on the dresser. There’s also a big rectangular mirror, lined with unframed photos, like a group of hot, preppy boys sitting on a dock in bathing suits. And an old picture of a blond guy who’s unquestionably Matt’s dad—looks exactly like him, wow—alongside Ellen and Matt as a tiny blond toddler. So cute I could melt. I try not to stare too closely at a more recent one of Matt and a pretty blond girl, clearly dressed for a formal dance. She’s wearing a corsage, and his boutonniere matches, and she’s as straightforwardly gorgeous as any Roswell Hill f-girl. And it occurs to me suddenly how little I know about Matt. I don’t even know if he’s single.

“My room’s so boring,” he says, almost apologetically, coming up beside me at the window. Matt’s room looks out onto a modest backyard—mostly just a deck and a small, fenced-in grassy area, with a few bushes and one tall tree.

“It’s not boring. I think it’s peaceful.”

“We’re renting month to month while Mom house-hunts, so we’re supposed to keep everything neat in case the landlords need to show it.”

I try to wrap my mind around that. I guess in the grand scheme of things, it’s a small inconvenience. But I can’t imagine living like that. Even in their own home, Matt and Ellen hardly get to stretch their legs out. Which kind of defeats the purpose of home in the first place.

We head back down to the main floor, and Matt asks, “Are you thirsty?” I say no, because I’m not, at least not in the way he’s thinking. So, we end up on the living room couch, with our scripts facedown between us. My eyes keep darting all around the living room, basically everywhere but Matt’s face. The living room is as clean and uncluttered as the rest of the house, with extra-high ceilings like a magazine room. But right away, I recognize a series of those old-time film-camera camp photos, just like the ones my mom has. I open my mouth to mention them, but then Matt looks right into my eyes with a heartbreakingly sweet smile. So of course I forget how to speak.

“Want to see how far we can get without the scripts?”

Uh. Yeah, I’d like to see how far we can get. Maybe we can just slide these scripts onto your mom’s coffee table there, and lean back and—

WOW. Okay. Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

But it’s crazy, the way I can’t stop turning every single moment here into the start of a love story. The way Matt goes soft-eyed whenever Harry declares his love for Larken. Sir Harry in the show is kind of a medieval f-boy, but Matt makes him into a guy you could really fall in love with. Which is useful. Strictly from a professional standpoint. Just, you know. Speaking as Lady Larken.

We run through the end of Act One, Scene One, where Larken tells Harry she’s pregnant, and Matt doesn’t miss a single cue. He does little movements and gestures, too, even though we won’t officially be blocking the scene until Thursday. But he does them like he’s caught up in the moment. He’ll thrust his chest out like a knight, or he’ll grab my hands and pull me closer.

And I can’t seem to rein my heart in. I’ve got that giddy, bursting-at-the-seams feeling. Like the joy’s too big for the moment. It keeps leaking out around the edges. We keep giggling in the middle of lines and having to start over. There’s this one line where I’m trying to talk discreetly about the secret baby, and I’m supposed to say to Harry, you know, all knowingly. And for some reason, that line in particular is unbearably funny. I keep saying it in less and less subtle ways, just to make Matt laugh. Rubbing my stomach in circles and winking. You know. Pantomiming rocking a baby. Pointing back and forth between the invisible baby and Matt, like I’m delivering the news of a paternity test. You know.

Matt’s so cute when he laughs. He scrunches his nose and flings his head back and shuts his eyes all the way. Like he’s having a little private laugh-moment, completely with himself. And there’s just this feeling in the air, this palpable energy. I swear, it feels like we could start kissing at any moment. He could scoot closer, or I could. Just a tiny shift in our blocking. But then again, the kissing part feels strangely tangential. Like the conversation itself is the kiss. Maybe some conversations are like that.

The only thing I can’t quite settle my mind about is Anderson. What would he think if he could see Matt and me right now? I didn’t even tell him I was coming here. I’m not entirely sure why. I guess I thought maybe he’d try to join us. Or he’d go weird and silent about the fact that it was even happening. Which, by the way, would be insanely unfair, coming from someone who’s supposed to be happy for me. Especially someone who had his own plans with Matt yesterday.

But I have to admit, Andy and Matt’s plans feel very far away right now. Superheroes and waffles. I mean, yeah, that sounds fun, but it couldn’t have felt this charged. It just couldn’t have. Though I guess there’s a chance Anderson’s given me some neutered, watered-down version of the day. Just like I’ll probably do when I