The after-party was in a loft in Midtown. Industrial space converted into something sleek. Exposed brick. High ceilings. Low lighting. Not packed, but not empty either. Maybe fifty people. Cast members still riding the high of a live show. Crew members finally relaxing. A few familiar faces Henry recognized from television.
Henry and Andrew showed the address at the door. The bouncer checked a list, nodded them through.
Inside, music played at conversation volume. Not a club. Just background. People clustered in small groups. Drinks in hand. Laughter. The energy was loose. Comfortable.
"Not what I expected," Andrew said quietly.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. More... chaos?"
Henry scanned the room. "This is the industry version. Everyone's too tired for chaos."
They grabbed drinks from the bar. Beer for Andrew. Negroni for Henry. The bartender made it well—proper proportions, good gin. Henry sipped it. Bitter and sweet at once. Perfect. They stood near the edge of the room, observing.
Taylor spotted them from across the space. She'd changed—jeans, a simple top, less makeup. She looked younger like this. More like the person Henry remembered.
She waved, gestured for them to come over.
Henry and Andrew crossed the room. Taylor was standing with a few people—a woman Henry didn't recognize, and a guy who looked familiar but Henry couldn't place.
"You made it!" Taylor said. She introduced them to the others. The woman was a writer for the show. The guy was someone's boyfriend. They exchanged pleasantries. Small talk.
After a few minutes, the group shifted. People drifted. New conversations formed.
Henry found himself talking to Kristen Wiig. She was funny even offstage—quick wit, self-deprecating humor. She held a glass of wine, red.
"So what do you do?" she asked.
"Actor. Just finished filming a movie."
"Oh yeah? Which one?"
"(500) Days of Summer. Indie thing. Low budget."
She nodded. "I love indie films. There's more freedom, you know? Less studio interference."
"Yeah, that's what I'm learning. This was my first real film role."
"First?" She looked genuinely interested. "How was it?"
"Terrifying. But good terrifying. Like, I knew I was out of my depth but that made me focus harder."
"Lead role?"
"Yeah. I play Tom. Guy who falls in love with a girl who doesn't believe in love."
"That sounds like a fun contradiction to play."
"It was. Lots of emotional range. Lots of... heartbreak."
"That's the best kind of role. The ones that scare you." She sipped her wine. "I did this short film once, years ago. Tiny budget. Shot in like three days. But it taught me more about timing than anything else I'd done."
"Timing?"
"Comedy timing. Drama has rhythm, but comedy has timing. It's different. More precise. You're off by a half second and the joke dies."
"Is that what makes SNL so hard? Getting the timing right live?"
"That's part of it. But the harder part is committing. You can't second-guess yourself when you're live. You just have to go. If it works, great. If it doesn't, you move on."
"I think I'd struggle with that. The not being able to fix it part."
"You get used to it. Or you don't and you stick to film." She smiled. "Do you prefer film?"
"I think so. I like that you can try different things. Experiment. See what works. With live, you get one shot."
"But with live, you get immediate feedback. Film you have to wait months to know if it worked."
"True. But at least with film you know you did it right. Eventually."
"Fair point."
They talked about the differences between film and live performance. About how film let you try things multiple times but live forced you to commit immediately. About how both terrified her in different ways.
"Do you ever break? Like, laugh during a sketch?"
She smiled. "Sometimes. It's unprofessional but sometimes you can't help it. Especially if someone does something unexpected."
"Did that happen tonight?"
"Almost. During Penelope. Liza Minnelli is insane in the best way. She nearly made me lose it twice."
"Do you prefer one?" Henry asked. "Film or live?"
"I don't know. They scratch different itches. Film lets me be precise. Live reminds me why I started doing this in the first place."
"Which is?"
"To make people laugh. Immediately. Right there in front of me. There's nothing like that feeling."
Henry nodded. He understood that. The immediacy of it. The risk. But he also knew he preferred the control of film. The ability to shape a performance over time rather than trusting a single moment.
After a while, someone else wanted Kristen's attention. She excused herself. Told Henry it was nice meeting him. Told him to keep doing the scary roles.
"Those are the only ones worth doing," she said.
Andrew was talking to someone else now—one of the writers. Henry drifted toward the bar, got another drink. Aperol Spritz this time. Lighter. Sweeter. The Negroni had been strong.
"Hey."
Henry turned. Neil Patrick Harris stood there, holding what looked like a gin and tonic.
"Hey," Henry said. "Great show tonight."
"Thanks." Neil leaned against the bar. "You're a friend of Taylor's?"
"Yeah. We met a while back. Haven't seen her in months though."
"She's busy. Tour and everything." Neil sipped his drink. "You're an actor too, right? She mentioned something."
"Trying to be."
"Aren't we all." Neil smiled. "What kind of stuff do you do?"
"Film. Mostly. Just finished shooting something."
"What was it?"
"(500) Days of Summer. It's this romantic comedy but not really. More like an anti-romantic comedy."
"Interesting. What's your role?"
"Lead. I play Tom. Guy who falls for a girl who doesn't believe in love. It's about... the difference between expectations and reality, I guess."
"Heavy for a comedy."
"It's not really a comedy. It's more honest than that."
Neil laughed. "I like that. Honest. What was it like? First lead role?"
"Yeah. It was... intense. Lots of emotional scenes. And we shot it all out of order, which was disorienting."
"That's film for you. Scene 47 on day one, scene 2 on day thirty."
"Exactly. I kept having to remind myself where Tom was emotionally in each scene. What day it was in the story versus what day it was in production."
"That's the hardest part of film. Keeping the through-line when you're shooting fragments."
"Do you prefer film or live?" Henry asked.
"Depends on the project. Film lets you craft something. Take your time. But theater? Theater is immediate. You feel the audience. You feed off their energy."
"I think I prefer film. I like being able to try things multiple times. Figure out what works."
"That makes sense. Especially for a first role. Theater doesn't give you that safety net."
They talked about acting technique. About how Neil approached different roles. He'd done theater, television, film. He talked about How I Met Your Mother, about playing Barney, about finding layers in what could've been a one-note character.
"The key is specificity," Neil said. "Even in comedy. Especially in comedy. You can't just play 'funny guy.' You have to know exactly who this person is. What they want. Why they do what they do."
"Even if what they do is ridiculous?"
"Especially then. The more ridiculous the behavior, the more grounded the motivation has to be."
Henry absorbed this. It made sense. He thought about Tom in (500) Days. Thought about how he'd played him. Had he been specific enough? Or had he just played 'supportive friend'?
'Something to think about,' he thought.
"You should try Broadway," Neil said. "If you get the chance. There's nothing like it."
"Yeah?"
"Live theater is different. Film you can fix. Do another take. Adjust in editing. Theater? It's just you and the audience. No safety net. It's terrifying and addictive."
"You miss it?"
"All the time. I'll go back eventually. But right now TV pays the bills." He smiled. "The boring truth of this industry. You do what pays so you can afford to do what matters."
"Is that cynical?"
"No. It's practical. Cynical would be only doing what pays and never doing what matters. As long as you do both, you're fine."
They talked for a while longer. Neil gave him advice about auditions—about how to handle rejection, about how to know which projects to chase and which to let go.
"Trust your gut," Neil said. "If something feels wrong, it probably is. And if something feels right but scary? That's usually the one you should do."
"Even if it doesn't make sense?"
"Especially then. The things that don't make sense are usually the most interesting."
Eventually someone else wanted Neil's attention. He excused himself, told Henry it was good talking to him, told him to keep in touch if he ended up in New York again.
"I'm here more often than LA," Neil said. "Look me up next time."
Henry said he would. Meant it too.
He found Andrew again. Andrew was deep in conversation with Bobby Moynihan about British comedy versus American comedy. It looked heated but friendly. Henry listened for a bit.
"The thing about British comedy," Andrew was saying, "is that it's meaner. Like, fundamentally meaner. American comedy softens everything."
"That's not fair," Bobby said. "We do mean. We just do it differently."
"How?"
"We make fun of situations. You guys make fun of people."
Andrew considered that. "Maybe. But isn't that more honest?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it's just cruel."
They went back and forth. Henry enjoyed listening. He grabbed another drink. Boulevardier this time. Like a Negroni but with whiskey instead of gin. Sweeter. Richer.
The conversation shifted to specific shows. The Office UK versus The Office US. Monty Python versus SNL. They couldn't agree on anything but they were both enjoying the argument.
Henry grabbed another drink. Manhattan this time. Sweet vermouth. Bourbon. Cherry. He sipped it slowly, feeling the warmth spread. Not drunk. Just loose. Comfortable.
Taylor appeared beside him. "Having fun?"
"Yeah. This is good."
"Good." She glanced around. "Want to talk somewhere quieter?"
"Sure."
She led him through the loft, past clusters of people, toward a back corner where a few chairs sat near tall windows overlooking the city. They sat. The noise from the party dimmed but didn't disappear.
"So," Taylor said. "Catch me up. What's been going on?"
Henry thought about how to answer. "Finished a film. Low-budget thing. We'll see if it goes anywhere."
"What's it about?"
"Love and the idea of love. The complications of both."
She smiled. "Sounds very you."
"Is it?"
"Yeah. You always liked complicated things."
Henry wasn't sure how to respond to that. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know. You think about things more than most people. Like you're always analyzing. Trying to understand why things work the way they do."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It probably is. But it's also why you're good at what you do."
Henry sipped his drink. "You think I'm good?"
"I think you're deliberate. Which is better than good. Good can be accidental. Deliberate means you're making choices."
He let that sit for a moment. "What about you? Tour's good?"
"Exhausting. But yeah, good. I love performing. Just... it's a lot. Every night. Different city. Different faces. Sometimes I forget where I am."
"That sounds lonely."
"It is. Sometimes." She looked at him. "I miss having people around who knew me before all this."
"Before what?"
"Before it got big. When it was just... smaller. More personal." She paused. "You know when we met, you didn't know who I was. Not really. You'd heard my music but you didn't treat me differently because of it."
"Should I have?"
"No. That's my point. Most people do. They meet me and they already have this idea of who I am. What I should be. But you just talked to me like a normal person."
Henry thought about that. In his first life, he'd known exactly who Taylor Swift was. Global superstar. Cultural phenomenon. But in this life, when they'd met, she'd just been a young singer who was talented and driven. He'd treated her accordingly.
"I didn't have a reason to treat you differently," Henry said.
"Exactly. And I appreciated that. Still do." She looked out the window. "Do you ever feel like you're playing a role? Even when you're not acting?"
"All the time."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I think everyone does. We all have versions of ourselves we show different people. The version for family. The version for friends. The version for strangers."
"Which version am I talking to right now?"
Henry considered. "The honest one. I think."
She smiled. "Good. Me too."
They sat in silence for a moment. The city lights glittered beyond the window. New York at night. Endless and indifferent.
"Do you regret it?" Henry asked. "Any of it?"
"No. You?"
Henry thought about it. Leaving the firm. Leaving the estate. Coming to America. Choosing acting over the safe path. All the choices that led him here, to this moment, sitting in a loft in Midtown with a fake ID in his pocket and a Manhattan warming his chest.
"No," he said. "No regrets."
"Not even the hard parts?"
"Especially not the hard parts. Those are the ones that actually taught me something."
Taylor nodded slowly. "I think about that sometimes. Like, if I could go back and make things easier for myself, would I? And I don't think I would. Because easy doesn't teach you anything."
"You learn more from failure than success."
"Everyone says that. But I think you learn more from difficulty than ease. It's not about failing. It's about struggling. About having to work for it."
Henry appreciated that distinction. "You're right."
"Do you ever think about what it would've been like?" Taylor asked. "If you'd made different choices?"
"All the time. But then I remember—I didn't make different choices. I made these ones. And these ones led here. So they must've been right."
"Or at least right for now."
"What's the difference?"
"I don't know. Maybe there isn't one." She finished her drink. "I'm glad you came tonight. It's good to see you. Really see you. Not just text or phone calls."
"It's good to see you too."
"We're both doing okay, right? Like, actually okay?"
Henry thought about it. Was he okay? He was figuring things out. Still uncertain about a lot. But he was moving forward. Making choices. Living deliberately.
"Yeah," he said. "I think we're okay."
"Good." She smiled. "Don't disappear again, okay? I mean it. We should actually stay in touch."
"I will. I promise."
"You better. Because I'm going to hold you to it." She stood. "I need to make the rounds. But text me tomorrow before you leave. Let's get coffee or something."
"Okay."
She hugged him. Held on for a moment longer than necessary. "I'm proud of you. For what you're doing. For taking the risk."
"I'm proud of you too."
"We're going to be okay," she said again. Like she needed to believe it.
"We are."
She walked back toward the party. Henry stayed in the chair for a moment longer, looking out at the city.
'This is real,' he thought. 'This life. These choices. All of it.'
He finished his drink. Stood. Rejoined the party.
Morning arrived with sharp January light and a dull headache.
Henry opened his eyes. Hotel room. White ceiling. The sound of traffic filtering through the window. He checked his phone. Ten-thirty.
'Not bad,' he thought.
He sat up slowly. Headache but manageable. He'd had worse.
The events of last night came back in pieces. The show. Taylor. Neil. The party. Conversations. Laughter. The whole strange, wonderful absurdity of it.
He got up. Showered. The hot water helped. By the time he was dressed, the headache had faded to background noise.
His phone buzzed. Text from Taylor.
Coffee? I'm free around noon.
Henry typed back.
Sure. Where?
She sent an address. A place in the Village.
Henry had a few hours. He ordered room service. Coffee. Toast. Eggs. Sat by the window eating and watching the city move below.
'What am I doing?' he thought. Not in a bad way. Just genuinely curious.
A week ago he was at the estate with his family. Now he was in New York having used a fake ID to watch SNL and gone to an industry party where he'd talked to Neil Patrick Harris about career choices.
Life was strange.
He thought about what Taylor had said. About choices. About not regretting them because they led here.
'She's right,' he thought. 'Every choice led here. And here is pretty good.'
His phone buzzed again. Text from Andrew.
Alive?
Henry smiled. Typed back.
Barely. You?
Same. Worth it though.
Definitely.
Heading back to London next week. We should do this again sometime.
Minus the fake IDs.
Where's the fun in that?
Henry laughed.
He finished his breakfast. Checked the time. Eleven-fifteen. He had time to walk.
He grabbed his coat. Left the hotel. The cold hit him immediately. Sharp. Clean. January in New York.
He walked south toward the Village. The streets were busy. Weekend crowds. Tourists. Locals. Everyone bundled against the cold.
Henry thought about the past few days. The Met. The fake IDs. The show. The party. All of it. A series of choices that could've gone wrong but didn't.
'I'm lucky,' he thought. Then corrected himself. 'No. Not lucky. Deliberate.'
He'd chosen to come to New York. Chosen to say yes to Andrew. Chosen to take the risk. Every step had been a choice.
And every choice had led to something good.
He reached the café right at noon. Small place. Warm inside. Taylor was already there, sitting in a corner booth. She waved when she saw him.
Henry sat across from her. She'd ordered already—coffee for both of them.
"You look tired," she said.
"You too."
She laughed. "Fair."
They talked. Easy conversation at first. Nothing heavy. She told him about tour. About the cities blurring together. About the strange experience of performing the same songs every night but having to make them feel fresh each time.
"It's like acting, I think," she said. "You have to find something new in it every time. Even when you've done it a thousand times."
"Is that hard?"
"Sometimes. When I'm tired. When I've had a bad day. But then I get on stage and see the faces and remember why I do it."
"The audience."
"Yeah. They make it real. Without them, it's just me singing to myself."
Henry told her about the film. About working with Marc. About playing Tom, this guy who falls in love with the idea of love more than the actual person. About the strange experience of being on a film set where everything mattered but also nothing did. Where a single scene could be done a few times until it was right, then you moved on.
"That sounds frustrating," Taylor said.
"It is. But it's also what I prefer. I like that once you get a scene right, you're done with it. You move forward."
"Do you prefer it? Over live performance?"
"Yeah. I know a lot of actors love theater because you get to live with the character every night. Develop it over the run. But for me, that's the problem. Having to do the same thing over and over. Eight shows a week. Same lines. Same blocking."
"But doesn't that let you find new things? Go deeper?"
"Maybe. But I don't want to keep revisiting the same moments. I'd rather do a scene a few times until it's right, then move on to the next thing."
"That makes sense for you. You like forward momentum."
"Exactly. Theater feels like you're stuck in a loop. Film feels like progression."
"But doesn't film feel disconnected? Doing everything out of order?"
"God, yes. That's the worst part. We shot the ending on week two. The beginning on week four. I had to constantly track where Tom's head was at emotionally for each scene. What day it was in the relationship."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It was. But I'd rather deal with that than perform the same show a hundred times. At least with the fragments, each one is fresh. You do it, get it right, done."
"Do you think they fit together? All the fragments?"
"I don't know yet. Won't know until I see the final cut. That's the other frustrating part. You do all this work and then have to wait months to see if it actually worked."
"That must be weird. Not knowing if what you did worked."
"It's terrifying, actually. But at least once it's done, it's done. With theater, even after opening night, you still have to do it again the next night. And the night after that."
Taylor nodded. "I think I'm the opposite. I like the repetition. I like getting to do the same songs every night but finding something new in them. Making them feel different."
"That's the difference between us. You like the ritual. I like the finality."
"We're very different people," Taylor said, smiling.
"We are. But that's probably why we're friends."
They talked about their families. Taylor told him about her parents, about how supportive they'd been but also how hard it was to be away from them so much. Henry told her about his siblings, about the Christmas at Borough Market, about the strange feeling of belonging to something you'd also chosen to leave.
"Do you think you'll go back?" Taylor asked. "To England? To the family business?"
"No."
"You sound certain."
"I am. That life isn't for me. Never was."
"But it's hard. Leaving family behind."
"They're not behind. They're just... somewhere else. Living their lives. I'm living mine."
Taylor nodded. "I get that. I think about that with Nashville sometimes. Like, that's home. But it's also not home anymore. Home is wherever I am now."
"Does that feel sad?"
"A little. But also liberating."
They talked about loneliness. About how strange it was to be surrounded by people but still feel isolated. About the difficulty of making real connections when everyone wanted something from you.
"Do you ever feel like people only see what they want to see?" Taylor asked. "Like, they look at you and they see 'actor' or 'singer' but they don't see you?"
"All the time."
"How do you deal with it?"
"I don't know. Try to find the people who do see me. Hold onto them."
"Like who?"
"Like you. Like Andrew. Like a few others."
She smiled. "I'm glad I'm on that list."
"You've always been on that list."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Just existing together. No performance. No expectations.
"What are you scared of?" Taylor asked suddenly.
Henry looked at her. "What?"
"What scares you? About all this. About the career. About the future."
Henry thought about it. Really thought about it. "Wasting it. This second chance. Making the wrong choices. Ending up back where I started but older and with more regrets."
"Second chance?"
He'd said too much. "Just... life. The opportunity to do something that matters."
She seemed to accept that. "I'm scared of losing myself. Like, the more successful I get, the less I recognize who I am. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah."
"Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't know if I'm looking at me or at the person everyone expects me to be."
"You're still you."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're asking the question. The moment you stop asking is the moment you should worry."
She considered that. "That's actually helpful."
"I try."
They talked until someone came looking for Taylor. A manager or assistant. Someone who needed her attention. She apologized, hugged Henry again.
"Tomorrow. Coffee. Don't forget."
"I won't."
She disappeared back into the party. Henry stayed in the chair, processing everything they'd talked about.
They hugged outside the café. Promised to actually stay in touch this time. Maybe they would. Maybe they wouldn't. But the intention was real.
Henry watched her cab disappear into traffic. Then he started walking.
No destination. Just walking. Processing. Thinking.
'This is what living feels like,' he thought. Not the big moments. The small ones. Coffee with a friend. Conversations in corners. Choices made without overthinking them.
He walked for hours. Through the Village. Up through Chelsea. Eventually back toward his hotel.
By the time he got back, the sun was setting. The city was shifting into evening mode. Lights coming on. Energy changing.
Henry sat on his hotel bed. Looked at his phone. Thought about what came next.
LA. Eventually. But not yet.
He still had a few days in New York.
And he planned to use them.