Grace was about to blow up the Lincoln Center and everyone in it.
Her morning had started horrendously, with Eliza stranded on an unmoving subway car and unable to reach her. Through no fault of her assistant’s, it had meant Grace would need to forego her morning coffee and head to work earlier than usual, making up for whatever lost time Eliza’s delay might cause. When hailing a cab, she’d encountered the rudest, most self-centered driver in all of New York – a heavy feat – who'd sped through the largest, dirtiest, iciest puddle in the whole city and had promptly splashed it against her all-white Pant Suit. She’d had no time to turn around and change, instead having to make do with a now murky-gray outfit that gave her the appearance of a toddler who’d recently soiled themselves. She loved that suit. Regrettably, it had also been a gift from Declan, so perhaps she should have known it was doomed the minute she’d stepped into it that morning.
Upon arriving at work, she’d discovered that seven of their dancers had called in sick, a set designer had spilled a whole tub of paint on the Sugar Plum Fairy’s tutu, and Alice had tripped and sprained her ankle helping her roommate build an assault course for his sugar glider. She hadn’t asked, but the other woman had supplied her with the unwanted explanation all the same. And with gusto.
Sufficed to say, everything was going wrong, and Grace was about to blow a fuse. Or, to put it lightly, perhaps she already had. With Eliza crying in the corner and Morgan awkwardly hovering with one hand gently patting her shoulder, Wilhelm googling flights back to Germany, and Tanvi taking selfies with the Mouse King, she didn’t think she could handle much else. Two weeks into the run of The Nutcracker, hardly anything had gone wrong up until now, and it was just her luck that every possibly obstacle they could face had decided to arrive on the very night that the Mayor of New York was coming to see the show.
Hunched over in a vacant dressing room and rocking back and forth, Grace tried to remind herself of the breathing exercises Teddy had taught her after she and Declan had first separated. They hadn’t done a whole lot of good back then either – she'd instead settled on setting her wedding dress on fire and sobbing while playing Here Comes The Sun on repeat for twelve hours straight – but she thought it was worth a shot.
Suddenly, a knock sounded at the open door, followed by the clearing of a throat that she’d recognise anywhere. Lifting her head slowly, Grace’s gaze landed squarely on Declan Quinn, her soon-to-be ex-husband.
“Am I in hell right now?” she quipped, before a fresh stream of tears began rolling down her cheeks.
