Page 39 of Take 2

Chapter Thirty-Six

M om’s voice comes through the phone as I pace Cece’s living room. “Oh, hi Cece. What’s going on?”

I sigh and shake my head at my own pitifulness. “It’s me, Mom. I’m at Cece’s, and my phone … is dead.” That’s less embarrassing than the truth.

“You’re here? When did you get into town?”

“Just a few hours ago. I wanted to check with you before I show up at your door.”

“That would have been quite the shock. Do you have a rental? Need me to pick you up? Have you eaten dinner?”

“Um, I think those are all no’s. I’ll get a Lyft, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll come get you and we can—”

“It’s already ordered, Mom.” I point to the phone in Stephen’s hand so he can turn my lie into truth.

“All right. I’ll go run to the store then to get something for dinner and the cinnamon rolls you love, and do you want—”

“You don’t need to fuss over me, Mom.”

Cece laughs from the other side of the kitchen island, where glasses of all shapes are going into the dishwasher.

“Try to stop me,” Mom says. “Okay, I’m going. Your dad is out, but you know the garage code.”

Everyone in Madison knows their garage code. They haven’t changed it for twenty years. That’s something I can’t get away with in LA.

“All right. I’ll see you soon.” I end the call and put Cece’s phone on the counter.

Stephen leans on his elbows across from me. “You’ll get me banned from Lyft for switching the rider.”

“Better than getting you fired for getting a DUI when you had called out sick for work.”

“That’s fair.”

Cece dries her hands and hangs the towel on the range. “You can’t leave your phone off forever.”

“I probably could. The bigger challenge is that pretty much all the notifications I’ll have on it will show up on my computer when I open it up.”

“And not even the avoidance of personal drama is enough to thwart the true workaholic.” Stephen smirks and bobs his eyebrows.

“We all need a line we won’t cross.”

“What are the possible outcomes?” Cece asks. “It seems like he’d be trying to apologize …”

“I don’t want him to. We don’t work in real life. Our relationship can’t survive LA. The fact that it went up in flames while we were still in Monaco doesn’t affect that. It was inevitable.”

Cece and Stephen share a frown. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “We just want you to do whatever will make you happy.”

Now, if only I had any idea what that would be.

My parents’ house is empty when I get there.

I leave my suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and trudge up to my former room.

The fitful sleep I had in Nice wasn’t particularly helpful.

I dozed off a little on the flights, but I haven’t gotten any decent sleep in a timeframe I cannot wrap my mind around due to travel and time zones.

When I collapse onto my old bed, my exhaustion is such that I can’t dwell on thoughts of the last good night’s sleep I got.

It’s deep enough to drop my well-built defenses and blur the lines between Preston and Ryan.

Only a fleeting image of curling up to Ryan flashes through my mind before I pass out.

Cinnamon and Café Bustelo fill my senses, and I wake up more than a little confused as to where I am.

I sit up and rake my fingers through my hair.

The green scrunchie comes out with my hand, and my hair falls around my shoulders.

I slip it around my wrist by habit … and because I’m a masochist. A laundry basket filled with the folded contents of my suitcase sits on the dresser.

How long have I been wearing this outfit?

Tempting as the smells wafting up from the kitchen are, I need a shower desperately.

Despite myself, I can hear Preston’s mocking concern over me showering without any food in me.

Hotel Sheridan has provided me with bottled water on my nightstand, so at least I get a little hydration.

My memories are a bigger problem than low blood sugar as I try to wash off every touch from the last two weeks.

Afterward, I find a pair of leggings from my freshly washed laundry and an old Badgers T-shirt from my dresser.

I go downstairs with my hair twisted into a towel.

“There she is!” My dad puts down his newspaper and rises from the kitchen table to give me a hug.

“Hi, Dad.”

“You must be starving.” Mom pulls me from Dad to give me a hug, then shoves me into a chair. A massive cinnamon roll is placed in front of me, along with a steaming café con leche in a CalArts mug.

“Thanks.” I cut into the dessert masquerading as breakfast. “Sorry I ghosted you last night.”

“It was a long day of traveling,” Mom says.

“Yeah. You didn’t have to do my laundry, by the way.” Shit, I don’t remember if I tucked my vibrator away with my toiletries or if it was just thrown in with my clothes.

“Isn’t that why you packed dirty clothes?” She arches an eyebrow at me in accusation.

“No. I’m a big girl now. I don’t bring my laundry over for you to do. It was because I wasn’t home. I stopped here on my way back from another trip.”

“Oh,” Dad says, “where were you?”

“France.” To groan out that I was in France is so absurd. I think Preston ruined the whole country for me.

“So sorry for you.” Mom reminds me of where I got my sarcasm. “I didn’t know you were going to France.”

“Monaco mostly. Anyway, I didn’t either. It was last minute.”

“Are you making a movie out there?” Dad asks.

I take a huge bite to buy time to formulate an answer.

No, but also, yeah a little. My goddamn ex-husband was making a mini-movie of us stupidly pretending we could get back together.

What kind of Truman Show meets Bowfinger crap was that?

I swallow down the gooey perfection and say, “No, I was hanging out on another film’s shoot.

Trying to work-flirt with a director who might be interested in one of my screenplays. ”

“Flirting with a director?”

“No, Dad. Luring him to my work, not me. Anyway, he’s gay.”

He nods and directs his attention to his newspaper. He’s mostly given up on understanding my career.

“Well, that’s exciting.” Mom sits on my other side with an omelet and toast. “And I’m glad you came to visit on your way back. How long will you be here?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t supposed to be back in LA until Sunday anyway, so probably at least until then.” Though I’m sure Ashleigh would be willing to watch the cat for me a little longer if I asked. James is probably my bigger responsibility.

“We’re happy to have you here as long as you want,” Dad says.

“Thanks.” I sip my coffee and wonder if it’s a new sugar substitute or a different kind of milk Mom is using now. “What do you two have going on today?”

“I’m free to do whatever you want,” Mom says.

“Great.” Although I can’t imagine anything I want to do besides avoid the world.

“I have to get to the office soon.” Dad puts down his paper as if my question has reminded him of that.

“Hope traffic isn’t too bad on the stairs.”

“At least I have to climb a flight of stairs to get to my home office.”

“I was just working in France!”

He stands and bops me on the head with the newspaper. “Yes, I know. You’re always on the move. It’s impossible to keep you still.”

It sounds like I’m living the dream, and I am, but the price for it is hefty.

What if there was someone who understood?

Why did Ryan have to transform to be someone who understands, though?