Become

Halloween passed, and Thanksgiving was in progress at the Cross house. Well, more like the Cross mansion as Raine put it. My father wanted to invite everyone who mattered to me to Thanksgiving dinner, and when I told him only two names, he simply raised his eyebrows and went to ask his other daughters the same question.

Fortunately, Penny, Blaire and Chloe had too many friends to list them all, and brought only a select few each. While this made dinner more bearable, it still made for very awkward conversation. I sat between Raine and Mr. Arthur, and the unnerving silence forced my mother to speak.

"John Arthur," she began, and John looked up. The rest of the table quieted; Blaire brought her boyfriend, and three of her close girlfriends; Chloe brought two of her current crushes and five girlfriends; Penny invited a whopping eight girls from her sorority. My mother wore a white Vera Wang dress, a string of pearls and only silver and diamonds on her fingers. "I believe I've seen your work before on a stage in London, oh, ten years ago? You were truly inspiring, why did you ever leave it?" I shot her a look of death after seeing John's uneasy expression. Leave it to my mother to ask such a personal question as an icebreaker. Every pair of eyes rested on John, waiting for his reply.

"I wanted to teach," he lied; well, I knew it for a lie, but he still insisted it was the truth no matter how many times I tried to pry it out of him. He told me the real reason once, but denied it every day since. "London burned me out, quite honestly. I saw my talent better used here in America to lead students to the stage."

"How charitable of you!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. The others chuckled in agreement. Each of them must have been informed that my mother wasn't one to be ignored. "My dear Viviana wants to be a teacher as well, no wonder you get along so well!"

"Mother, I'm a Theater major," I reminded her, and while my father and siblings laughed lightly to smooth over her mistake, Raine and John weren't amused.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear," she said in mock apology, setting her bejeweled hand on her tanned chest. "You all study so many different things, it's not easy to keep track of them all."

"It's okay, sometimes I forget you're my mother, too." I stood up and pushed my chair back with the back of my knees and stalked from the dining room and through the double doors into the billiards room. I had absolutely no patience today. I heard more chairs scrape against the hardwood floor, so I locked both of the doors. Before anyone could start trying to talk to me, I took my iPod from my pocket and plugged my ears with the earphones. Normally I didn't carry it around, but I knew Thanksgiving was bound to be a disaster. As soon as music started playing, I racked up the pool table and resumed ignoring the rest of the world, slamming the cue ball into the others as hard as possible.

A good chunk of time passed, and I only knew that because I lost count of how many times I put the multicolored balls into the wooden triangle. Other than being frustrated with my mother, I was embarrassed John and Raine had to witness exactly what my home life looked like. I took out an earphone to itch the inside of my ear and heard a man humming to himself. I spun around and saw John sitting in the armchair next to the cold fireplace, a book in his lap and looking through my father's box of cigars.

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm just sitting here," he said, finally selecting a cigar and clipping the end before lighting it. "Go about your business."

"How long have you been in here?" I was more alarmed that he managed to escape my radar for so long. "Where is Raine?"

"Raine went back to the dormitory," he answered, flipping a page in the book. John held out the smoking cigar and raised his eyebrows. "Cigar?" I eyed him suspiciously, but his face remained as unreadable as ever. "She couldn't bear listening to the way your siblings talk about you, and neither could I, so I asked Mr. Cross to unlock the door."

"Welcome to the Cross family," I mocked with fake enthusiasm. "My mother only cares about her pretty daughters and all my father cares about is making my mother happy. Now, can we forget about my lousy family? I can't believe I asked you to come here."

"I'm glad I came," he said, and I could see him stand up and walk toward me from the corner of my eye. He set his hand on my shoulder and I felt more concern come from him than I ever felt from my parents. "Our families don't define us, Vivi. Come back to the table and suffer them for another hour and then I'll be glad to take you home." I mulled it over for a moment. My father paid for my schooling, and he gave me considerable amounts of spending money. If I angered him by disrespecting my mother, I would see at least one zero disappear from the end of my allowance. One more hour, and I could be in bed.

"Why do you have to make so much sense?" I asked irritably, and put the pool stick back up on the wall. I help up a pointer finger and brought it even with his nose. "One hour, and not a moment longer." John moved his hand from my shoulder to the space between my shoulder blades to lead me back to my seat. Dinner was replaced by dessert and each cluster of my sisters' friends chatted heartily.

"Look who it is," my mother greeted with what I assumed was supposed to be a warm smile. It looked like she smelled something rotting underneath her surgically altered nose. "You must have a silver tongue to get through Viviana's stubborn skull."

"It's a gift," John said with a smile, and took his seat beside me. "Mrs. Cross, you said you watched one of my performances in London nearly a decade ago?"

"Yes, I did," my mother replied, watching him with interest over her wine glass. "You played The Phantom."

"I did," he confirmed, and now it was my turn to watch John curiously. "I'd like to thank you for inviting me to this lovely Thanksgiving get together. I couldn't make it back to London on such short notice and this has bee quite pleasant. Choose any scene you'd like, Mrs. Cross, and I'll reenact it here for you."

"Well, isn't this a delightful surprise?" It was more of a statement than a question, and sat up a little straighter in her chair and tapped her lips with a finger. My sisters and their friends watched eagerly. Students knew the talent the head of the theater department had, and it wasn't often that he showcased it. "I did love the scene where the Phantom removes his mask for Christine, but I'm afraid I don't remember her lines." I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, not to worry, your daughter knows them," he said, and held out a hand for me to take. I narrowed my eyes at him, loving and hating the challenging stare he gave me. He forced me to study Christine from "The Phantom of the Opera" because she was so unlike myself, and he thought it would be a nice distraction for me. My mother perked up and clasped her hands together.

"Viviana has never acted for us before," my father said, rubbing his clean-shaven chin. "Harold, bring out the nice champagne, will you?" Even my sisters shifted uneasily in their seats. It didn't occur to me that they'd never seen any of my performances, and I felt the familiar nerves begin to build in my chest.

"Just like you practiced," John said, and we walked to the large space near the kitchen entrance. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Remember, we don't act; we become and the words of the characters become our own. Begin where you scramble away from me in fear."

This was my element. To my eyes, the dining room became the dungeon of the opera house, and John's attractive face became the face of the Phantom and the lines left my mouth. Normally I recited my own lines; John didn't act out the part of the Phantom, he only read out the lines so I could continue my own performance. This particular scene focused more on him, and he stopped the scene where Christine touches his face and just before he goes into a rage. I left character and found myself on my knees, still looking up into John's pale blue eyes. He left character as well, but he didn't look away either. We bowed after he helped me to my feet and we returned to our seats, a chorus of applause following us.

"You are brilliant, Viviana, I had no idea!" my mother exclaimed, leaving her seat to give me a quick squeeze. "To think, all this time I teased you for being so talented."

"It's okay," I said as an immediate response, since my emotions felt very jumbled. "You and Father were always busy with work. You can come see our end of year performance of...what are we doing again, John? I mean, Mr. Arthur?"

"I haven't decided," he said, and it may have been my imagination, but he looked just as distracted as I felt. "My board of professors will be pitching ideas my way next week."

"Whatever it is, we are sure to attend," my father said firmly, and held out his hand for John to shake. "Be sure to keep my dear Viviana busy, Mr. Arthur. If you do not have plans to spend your holiday in London, please join us again for Christmas."

"I will certainly consider it," John said, shaking his hand firmly.

The entire mood of the house changed. No hostility remained when John and I left and even I was smiling when he opened the passenger door of his black Audi. A full apple pie rested in my lap since Raine didn't stick around for dessert.

"You miss it," I said, staring forward at the dash. "I could see it in your eyes. You miss it so much it hurts." He scoffed and laughed before heading in the direction of the college.

"Detecting the emotions of others is not your strong suit, Vivi," he said wryly. "I would stick to acting if I were you."

"You can say whatever you want and I won't believe you."

"Well, believe it," he said, more forcefully this time. "I don't want to rejoin theater, and you need to accept that."

"I will not give up on you," I told him at the red light. "Give up on yourself as much as you want, but I can't give up on the only person who believes in me." John kept his eyes on the road, but when the light turned green he didn't go. Only after a few repeated honks from behind did he finally proceed down the street. He stayed silent, but the pulsing vein near his temple said he was thinking hard.

He pulled his car to the curb outside of my dorm building, and climbed out of his seat to open my door for me. Well, he was nothing if not chivalrous. Since I was holding a pie, apparently that meant I needed every door opened for me, even to my dormitory.

"I could have kicked the door and Raine would have answered, you didn't have to come up," I mumbled, setting the pie on my desk. Raine snored lightly, buried in her blankets and her face squished into her pillow.

"I insist," he said politely, and took my coat from me to hang up on the rack.

"Thank you," I said instead of arguing with him. "Happy Thanksgiving, John."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Vivi." Before I could walk away, he took my bare hand and brought it to his lips. Every hair on my neck raised; I felt his lips very clearly, and the way his fingers manipulated my hand. I didn't realize my fingers grasped onto his until his hand fell away. My eyes absorbed every last feature they could, taking in and filing away this moment. Even after John was driving away, I stood in the same spot, staring at the door. This is...different.

I wandered around our tiny dormitory as if it was unfamiliar territory, searching for my pajamas and pulling them on awkwardly before crawling under my covers. The ceiling, painted plain white, proved a worthy staring contest opponent. My hand tingled and I brought it out from underneath the blanket and stared at it in the moonlight. It must be an English thing, I thought, still peering at the back of my hand. Don't they do that to everyone? Of course they do. John is just a polite, English gentleman. I nodded in the darkness, rolled over and closed my eyes.