Page 31

Noam walks into my parents’ living room, wearing pajama pants but no shirt to show off his six-pack. Never mind that it’s currently being devoured by beer every weekend. “You’re making those for us, right?”

He doesn’t mean to, but Noam brings me back down to earth. I might be a part of this huge movie, but right now I’m in my parents’ home wincing every time I see someone.

I came home a fair amount during college, but lately, every visit back is just a reminder of how much more functional the whole family is when I’m here as a guest. My parents can keep the house cleaner without my shoes accidentally left in the living room, they turned my bedroom into the neutral-tone guest room they always wanted, and even Noam seems more relaxed without us bickering from the moment we wake up every morning.

I glance at my made-from-scratch fudge brownie batter. “No.”

Noam frowns, stuffing his hands into his pajama pockets. His pants sag under the weight, and I make a mental note to keep my eyes elevated because I’m sure his ass crack is currently out. “Good. Because Mom banned carbs from the house.”

“I know. I can see the lack of carbs.”

“She’s gonna be mad.” He says it with such a lack of enthusiasm that it’s almost comical. Neither of us is winning any child-of-the-year awards. “I’m gonna put on a mov—”

“Can you fall down the stairs while I film you?” I ask.

Noam stops everything he’s doing to blank-face stare at me. “Why would I agree to that?”

I glance at my mix. “I’ll give you a tray of these.”

He pauses, considering. “Why?”

“I want to play with too-bright lighting to show discombobulation.”

“I don’t know what that means.” He pauses again. “Why?”

He wants to be an engineer, so neither of us understands half of what the other is saying. And that’s on a good day.

Butterflies float through my stomach as I spoon the cookie dough into tray number one. “I got a job on the movie Valeria Sullivan is directing.”

Noam blinks slowly. “She’s the chick in that western movie that just came out, right?”

“Yeah.”

He sniffs. “Cool. She’s pretty hot.”

“Yeah.”

Cookie dough ceases to be scooped in the pan. The A/C flowing through the house stops. I think my heart stops too. I can’t believe I just said that Valeria is hot.

Noam blinks a few times. “What?”

I put the cookie dough aside and lay down the Oreos. “So will you do the stairs thing?”

Noam reaches over and steals an Oreo. Easy to do when you have giant hands. “Will anyone see it? Will Valeria Sullivan see it? I don’t need people seeing me in that state.”

Slowly, slowly, the gay panic subsides.

I sigh. “I’m testing out a lighting technique. No one will ever see it.”

Except, yeah, if prompted I’d 100percent show Valeria and Brendan the D.P. And Romy and Wyatt if it’s funny enough.

“I want the first tray out,” Noam says. “And you’re gonna end up a weird perfectionist endangering your actors like Tarantino.”

I give a wry smile. “Thanks, Noh.” I pour the brownie batter over the layer of Oreos.

“Did you get fired from your job with the crazy lady, or are we just not gonna talk about that?”

My stomach pinches at the mention. “I quit for this P.A. job.”