As they rolled away . . .
I couldn't help but think of the first day I met them and their family.
Mr. Rose asking about suites. David bugging me for an extra towel. Mrs. Rose accusing me of stealing her earrings.
I couldn't have asked for a shittier day.
Like it wasn't bad enough being stuck living here, in this next-to-nothing town, knowing I'd never get out. Like I enjoyed having no family around, no hopes, no dreams—like I'd just accepted that it would always be this way.
Hadn't I, though, on some level? Hadn't I already given up?
As they rolled away . . .
I saw the look on Mr. Rose's face when he agreed to commit to running the motel in writing. The fear he obviously felt as he agreed not to abandon me.
Sure, he was partially doing it for himself. He needed the motel to succeed so he could get back on his feet.
But, in that moment, it felt like he also saw me.
Just like Mrs. Rose did when she gave me that pep talk backstage before my solo in Cabaret. Telling me she wasn't worried about me. Asking me what my secret was. Telling me to go out there and show everyone who Sally could be—if only she were more like me.
The looks of encouragement she gave me from the wings of the stage.
The way they've all encouraged me in so many different ways.
Alexis supporting me through that awful first rehearsal.
David helping me scatter Aunt Maureen's ashes—assuring me I wouldn't end up like her.
All of them pulling me into their celebration after Mr. Rose, Roland, and I secured the funding for the Rosebud Motel Group—like I was part of their family.
Not a family full of conflict, philandering, fraud, and gunplay—but one full of musicals, impromptu Christmas parties, and family barbecues.
As they rolled away . . .
Tears in my eyes, I reassured myself . . . I'll find this again someday.