Page 50 of Play Room Actor

“Hamlet,” I said, wiping my mouth with the napkin. “It’s going to be really cool. Something totally different. You should definitely check it out.”

“I’m looking forward to the light show,” my mother, the sweetest person on earth, said. “Too bad we couldn’t make it to the opening.”

She wore her chestnut-brown hair in a modern bob just above her shoulders, which suited her perfectly. Yaël looked like her, with soft features, while I took after my father more. He also had angular features and dark hair. I got my height from him too, while Yaël and my mother were about half a head shorter.

“Did the trip go well?” I asked, taking a sip of water.

“Wonderful! We had fantastic weather,” my mother gushed. “The Alsace is always worth a visit.”

“Next time, just make sure the opening night doesn’t fall on our anniversary,” my father teased.

“I don’t know anyone as traditional as you two,” I groaned, which made Yaël chuckle beside me.

“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s horrible,” I said.

“One day, you’ll find someone,” Yaël said, taking a sip of wine.

“Leave me alone with that,” I shot back. “You can tell yourself you and your Ken live in perfect harmony and celebrate every damned anniversary, but don’t try to fool me.”

“Kilian,” my mother scolded.

“What? It’s true. Good grief!” Slightly annoyed, I turned back to my older sister, who was gaping at me with wide eyes, completely stunned. “When you finally come to your senses, my door will always be open to you.”

“You’re an asshole, Kil.”

“Better tell your Ken that,” I sang back in a mocking voice. “Or should I do it? Just tell me when to show up.”

“Enough now,” Dad interjected. “You’re not teenagers anymore.”

But I felt something brewing inside me, and it was hard to stop. Before I knew it, I was anxiously bouncing my leg and biting my thumbnail.

“Do you have a lot on your plate?” Ma asked, concerned. She was like a hawk, noticing every little sign.

“It’s been a tough week,” I replied.

Yaël helped Dad clear the dishes, while Ma scooted over to Yaël’s seat and took my hand. “You shouldn’t take on too much,” she said, both concerned and gentle. “You’re tense, and it’s not good for you.”

“You know I don’t have that luxury during the lighting rehearsals.”

As a dramaturg, my mother knew all too well that 12-hour days were the norm in situations like these. Maybe that's why, after my diagnosis, my father did everything he could to ensure that I would follow in his footsteps as an architect, but there was nothing that could stop me from following my mother into the theater.

With a few lighting designs for his new buildings, I had hoped to show him how versatile my job was, but all he saw in my packed schedule was how much I was overworking myself.

“Why choose the theater if you could have it much easier elsewhere?” he would ask me after every completed project.

Maybe I was taking on too much. Sometimes, for sure. But once the plays were rehearsed and my lighting concepts were in place, I could hand things off to Tim, my right-hand man, or an intern during the performance season—though that just meant I’d use my free time for other projects, like the exhibition with Alex and Lucien.

“Are you okay?” my mother asked, still holding my hand.

“Yeah,” I replied, blinking a few times. “What’s the big deal?”

At that moment, Yaël placed both hands on my upper arms from behind and leaned in close to my shoulder. “Kili’s met someone.”

“I meet lots of people,” I said coolly, shrugging her off.

“A man,” Yaël said almost ceremoniously, reaching for her wine glass.