The Cheat Sheet: A Novel

You know what’s strange about being a normal person and not living inside a Netflix movie? After significant moments, you don’t get a scene jump. After your best friend whom you’ve been secretly pining after for years and years maybe-sort-of-did-he? admits to liking you too, you don’t get to flash forward.

Nope. My life goes on, painfully slow and full of uncertainty. I get to live in the grey for three whole days. You’d think with how often I wear grey, I’d like living in it, but NO! I don’t. I want to take everything grey I own and burn it in a pile in the parking lot. I’ll do some sort of ritual dance around it to cleanse myself of its hold on my life. I’ll lift signs and chant, “WHAT DO WE WANT? NO MORE GREY!”

So anyway, Tuesday was rough. After Nathan left for practice, I had to go teach my new toddler class with a banged-up knee and elbows that felt like someone was scraping shards of glass over them every time they bent. And guess what? You bend a lot in ballet. It’s practically all we do. Bend all over the place.

I taught the rest of my classes that day and then was hoping I’d get to see Nathan that evening, but he had an event at the children’s hospital and I wasn’t about to be that girl who asked him to skip making tiny children’s dreams come true, so we texted a little (texting inside the grey is super awkward, in case you were wondering), and then I went to bed early.

Wednesday, my scrapes were scabs and I could remove my bandages. Why am I telling you this piece of unimportant information? Because it was the only interesting thing that happened that day. Oh, and I found the match to my favorite leg warmers that I’d been looking for for months. They were somehow behind a jug of milk in my fridge. Woohoo for buried treasure!

Nathan’s practice ran long that day and then he had another meeting about another thing that I can’t keep up with. Life during the playoffs is incredibly hectic, and it seems like somehow, Nathan’s days are only getting MORE full. I’m not sure how it’s possible when they were already stuffed to the brim to begin with. I’m worried about him. When I ask if he’s tired or if he’s slept at all, he just brushes it off. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Right, sure, I’ll just turn that switch off then. Easy-peasy.

This morning (Thursday), I finally did a big thing! I submitted my application to The Good Factory. It’s done and out of my hands, and that thought is as thrilling as it is terrifying. I still find myself trying to temper my expectations, but for the most part, I’m forcing myself to hope. To think about how wonderful it will be if my studio is granted the space. I even went by the factory and toured it just so I could be able to more accurately dream of how I would arrange everything—which wall I would have the mirror installed on, which one would get the barre. I took pictures for Nathan of every nook and cranny in the place, and he dreamed with me through text. It has felt unbelievably freeing.

It’s 9:30 PM now, and just as I’m crawling into bed for the night, I see Nathan’s name lighting up my screen. I lunge across my bed to grab it so hard I pull a muscle and accidentally fly over the edge and crumple on the floor.

“HI! HEY! I’ve missed you!” I say, rubbing my sore neck and completely forgetting that I’m supposed to be playing it cool.

His low chuckle races across the line and tickles the little receptors in my ears. “Hi, I’ve missed you too,” he says, not bothering to play it cool either. Chill bumps flood my arms. I wish I were there with him right now more than anything.

I climb back up into my bed and scoot against my headboard, pressing my phone between my ear and shoulder so I can pull my comforter up. It’s worth noting that I have a disgustingly dreamy smile on my face as well. I’ve completely sunk into la-la land where everything is beautiful and sadness is only a mythical idea. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sighs heavily, and somehow I know he’s also lying in his bed. I hear him take a deep breath and imagine his hand resting above his head. If I were there, I’d run my fingers across his scalp until his eyes shut and he groaned with delight.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.” He doesn’t say this in the way most people do—where it’s sort of flippant and really you hear, I’m not actually sorry and I haven’t thought about you once before now. He says it in a pained and guttural way, and I know he means it. He’s spread thinner than butter on toast, and my worry for him ratchets up again.

“No, Nathan, it’s okay! I understand what the playoffs are like.”

“But I don’t want to be too busy for you.”

My fragile little paper airplane heart gets launched into the sky. “I’ll still be here when playoffs are done.”

I hear rustling on his end and imagine he’s turning over onto his side. “I know we need to talk about the other day on the couch…I haven’t meant to leave it this long. I’ve just barely had time to even look at my phone for the last few days. Do you want to talk about it now?”

Imagine the Michael Scott gif of him yelling NOOO. That’s what my brain says. In no way do I want to potentially have a DTR with my best friend over the phone when he’s half asleep. Or…oh gosh, even worse, what if he’s had time to think it over and realizes he never should have hinted at anything? He doesn’t like me like that. He doesn’t.

“Bree?” Nathan’s voice cuts into my terrified thoughts.

Let yourself hope.

“Sorry, I’m here. But no, I’d rather talk about it in person.”

“Good. That’s how I feel too. So we agree to stick a pin in it for now?”

“That sounds painful.”

“It will be for me.”

My smile stretches so wide the corners of my mouth touch my earlobes. If ever there was a reason to let myself hope for something, that statement was it.

“What are you doing tomorrow night? Maybe I can slip out of practice a little early and we have dinner?”

“Yeah! That will be—” I grimace, suddenly remembering the plans I already have. “Ah, shoot. I can’t. I forgot I have my nephew’s birthday party tomorrow night. He’s turning six. I got him a new harmonica just to really drive Lily over the edge.”

“You’re going to a family thing tomorrow night?” His voice is doing that thing where it’s filled with longing mixed with disappointment. Not because he’s disappointed I’m going, but because he loves my family and wants to go too.

“Yeah…I know you’re busy though.”

“What time?”

I don’t know why he could possibly be asking me this. “It starts at six, I think. They’re having dinner and an outdoor movie. My parents will be coming in for it too!”

I’m really looking forward to it. I love my family, and since my parents retired, I haven’t seen much of them. They’re RVers now and spend most of the year traveling around the US. When we all get together, things get rowdy in the best of ways. My mom is also super into TikTok dances and is always begging me and Lily to do one with her. I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from seeing her dance to Cardi B though. Watching my dad dance to it was even worse.

But it’s good. After seeing them work so hard for most of their life, the day they were able to retire felt like a burst of sunlight to all of our souls. I miss them, and I can’t wait to hug their necks tomorrow.

“I’ll be there,” Nathan says, followed by the sound of a click. Must have turned off his light.

Listen, there’s nothing more I want in this world than for Nathan to come with me to a family event. My parents adore him and it’s always fun to see my mom try to mother him like she does the rest of us even though he’s eight miles taller than her, but I hear the exhaustion in his voice. In fact, I’ve heard it for the last month.

“Nathan, if you have the night off tomorrow, you should take that time at home to rest. Watch that documentary you’ve been wanting to see. Drink some hot tea in a bubble bath!”

He’s quiet for a second.

“Do you take bubble baths?” he asks, his tone changing ever so slightly.

“I do when I’m at my sister’s house. I only have a walk-in shower here.”

He makes a thinking sound. “I have a bathtub here. A big one.”

I swallow. “I know…I’ve seen it.”

“You can use it any time you want.”

I laugh, feeling slightly nervous and zingy all of a sudden. “Okkaayyy, but we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and how you should use tomorrow night to rest. I think you’d love a bubble bath!” If Chandler Bing loves them, anyone will.

“I think the only way you could get me in a bubble bath is if…” His words trail off, and I’m left to fill in the blanks all by myself. My heart thumps again: Hope. Hope. Hope. “Never mind.” He clears his throat. “I’m good though. I have plenty of energy,” he says, sounding like a dehydrated man having to be carried across the finish line of a triathlon. “Let me come with you. Please.”

I can never say no to his pleases. They are made of tiny little strings that wrap around my heart and squeeze.

“Fiiiine, you can come with me. But fair warning, there’s going to be a lot of chaos. Screaming, dancing, cake flying everywhere, and that’s all just coming from me.”

He chuckles, and an image of his dimples pops into my mind. I remember the way he looked lying in his bed before I woke him up the other morning. In my mind, I go to him there in his room like I have a hundred times before, except now, I have a perfect image to accompany me. I tiptoe in quietly and gently lift the covers back. I slide in and it’s like a sauna in there because Nathan always runs at a thousand degrees. He feels me move beside him and hums a sleepy sound before wrapping his big arm around me and pulling me in tight. His breath tickles my hair and his skin is hot all around me.

“I’ve been warned,” Nathan says, puncturing my fantasy.

“Good night, Nathan.”

“Night, Bree.”

Nathan was supposed to pick me up after practice, and we were going to go together to the birthday party. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to slip out early like he hoped and texted me this afternoon saying I should go on ahead without him and he would catch up as soon as he could. The thing is, Lily’s house is not just down the street. It’s a two-hour drive, and my nephew’s sixth birthday party is a completely ridiculous reason for Nathan to drive two hours out of the way after a long day of practice. I tell him this over text with lots and lots of exclamation marks, but he just responds the same way he did last night: I’ll be there.

I make it to Lily’s house about half an hour before the party. Good thing too because my entrance is so epic it would show everyone else up and make them feel terrible for their mediocre existence in life. I am The Fun Aunt. Aka, I don’t have any kids yet and therefore still enjoy running wild around the house, screaming and flailing my arms like a monster on the hunt for little boys while my sister hides in the bathroom with the glass of wine I’ve poured her.

I throw open the front door and hold my hands up in the air, showing off my bling. “Holla! Aunt Bree is in the house!” I’m decked out with Ring Pops on every finger. Three candy necklaces adorn my neck, and a superhero cape is draped over my shoulders. Gift bags full of Legos, water guns, and bubble gum (because what kid doesn’t like bubble gum) are cutting off the circulation of my forearms.

I hear the stampede of nephews before I see them. I brace for impact as they run down the stairs, scream my praises, and hug my legs, and then one by one, I’m robbed of my loot. They don’t even leave me with a single Ring Pop! The little footpads run off, and all I see is a haze of birthday bags as they brush past my sister, who is now approaching in the hallway with a scary smirk.

She levels me with a frosty glare. “You brought sugar into my house when I already had CAKE AND ICE CREAM?!”

“No.” I shake my head aggressively. “You misunderstood what you saw. Those were broccoli pops.”

“And the candy necklaces?”

“Vitamins.”

At this, she cracks a gorgeous smile and opens her arms. “Get over here and hug me you terrible, terrible sister.”

Mid-hug, I hear the door open behind me and my mom’s voice trill through the air. “My babies are hugging!! HAROLD, GRAB THE BAGS YOURSELF! MY GIRLIES ARE HUGGING!”

Mom barrels into us next and squeezes with all her motherly might. She fusses over Lily first and smacks her right butt cheek. “You haven’t been eating enough. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it while I’m here.” She looks over her shoulder and calls to our dad, who we’ve yet to see. “HAROLD, BRING IN THE CASSEROLE!” Of course Mom made a casserole.

Next, her sharp blue eyes turn to me, and I wonder what lecture I’ll receive. She gets close—closer than close, and narrows her eyes like she’s looking into a crystal ball.

“You’ve been kissing Nathan.”

I gasp. “How did you know that?!”

She waves me off. “I’m a mom, honey. I’ve always known everything, and I always will. It’s called motherly intuition.”

Lily cackles and then yells, “Bologna! It’s called Twitter! She signed up for a dummy account a few weeks ago and didn’t tell us. She saw your red carpet kiss.” Mom looks affronted. “Yeah, thought I didn’t notice, didn’t ya? Well I did, Mrs. Brightstone!”

“You didn’t,” I say, looking at my guilty mother. Mrs. Brightstone was the name she’d always use when we played dress-up growing up. She was a very wealthy woman—always going to balls in her mink coats. (Don’t throw paint, they were really only scratchy wool blankets.)

“I didn’t think you’d remember! And I had to! I knew you’d start filtering your content if you knew I was following you.”

“What? No way, Mom. You’re cool, and we’ve always known it.”

She smiles and turns with her oversized purse whipping against her hip as she saunters into the kitchen, at which point Lily and I both show each other our wide eyes and crossed fingers.

Mom yells from the kitchen like some sort of supernatural being, “Uncross those fingers, ladies, and gather the boys! It’s time to TikTok!”

At that moment, Dad emerges through the front door, loaded down like a pack mule with enough luggage to last them a month, beads of sweat trailing down his forehead, and a casserole tin clamped under his arm. “Please tell me Nathan is here too. He’s the only one who will be able to talk your mother out of the costumes she brought for the dance video she wants to do.”

I highly doubt that, but still, I throw my dad some hope. “He said he’ll be here.”