But maybe we can meet for coffee.
Less than a minute goes by before he answers.
Tarek Oliver
Sure. When?
Giselle Bisset
I’ll talk to Marissa.
Tarek Oliver
???
Giselle Bisset
See when she’s available too.
Tarek Oliver
?
Giselle Bisset
Friends getting coffee, right?
Shutting my laptop, I find my hands are shaking. I chew on my thumbnail and think about when I’ll be available. It will take a couple of days to write a script and workshop with Lexy Pygmalion-style. I’ll need to call Brandon and see if he’s up for getting coffee with a bunch of crazy people—some of whom won’t even be playing themselves—before he and I go to dinner together next Friday night.
It’s going to be one eventful week.
Chapter Ten
I don’t think this is healthy,” Kya says, but she hands me the giant LED flashlight anyway. Dressed all in black, she certainly looks the part of enabling best friend.
I, too, am dressed all in black. I tuck the flashlight in my backpack and usher us out of my apartment, locking the door.
“How did Blaire find out about Liam?” she asks.
Blaire called me last night to relate the reappearance of Liam and the stripper, and, after crying a lot, I called Kya with a plan.
“She said she ran into him—and the stripper—at the bar. You know, the one with the huge coconut margaritas?”
Kya nods. She knows places by the alcohol they serve. “Oh, yeah.”
“She said they looked like a regular couple.”
Kya hesitates before pushing the elevator call button. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That’s exactly what I would like to know.” We step onto the empty elevator car, and I’m suddenly glad none of my neighbors are there to see me in my breaking and entering outfit.
“So why didn’t Blaire confront them? It’s not like her to walk away from a challenge.”
I roll my eyes. “She was with Troy. She couldn’t go crazy with him around.”
We step off the elevator and walk through the lobby, Kya dragging her feet. “Makes sense. And I’m helping you tonight because…?”
“Because you’re more sane than Blaire. I’m pretty sure she’d land me in jail.”
Her feet pick up the pace. “Valid point.”
We take my car, and I drive us up to Liam’s place, but I park two houses past his so we don’t draw attention.
Sneaking up to his house, Kya giggles, and I’m reminded of ten-year-old us and our very first adventure together. My mom was driving us to Heather Lassiter’s slumber party, and Tarek told us if we soaked someone’s hand in a bowl of water overnight, it’d make her pee in her sleep. Kya and I snuck into Heather’s kitchen, filled a bowl with warm water, and Kya giggled the whole way. We were more in danger of peeing ourselves with laughter than Heather was from the prank. When we got the bowl to Heather and managed to dip her hand into it, Kya was giggling so hard she woke up Heather. Heather was so mad she dumped the bowl of water on us, and Kya and I stayed up most of the night shivering.
Now I tell Kya to shush. I don’t want Liam catching us before we even see anything.
And what exactly am I expecting to see? Maybe some sexual Olympics that would blow the likes of medium spicy out of the water. I want to see hyperextended legs in the air, knees bent backward, riding crops whipping up delicious rapture, something horrifying and shocking to justify the pain that rips through me with every post-Liam breath.
We creep up to Liam’s front window. Kya’s giggles have faded, and she has her serious face on. We position ourselves below the windowsill and look at each other, count to three, then pop up enough to see into the living room.
The living room’s blinds are open, but the lights are off. No one’s in there.
I make some Navy Seal-like tactical hand motions to indicate we should circle to the side of the house. Kya shrugs and follows me. I head to Liam’s bedroom to the left, but it, too, is dark and unoccupied. I lead Kya to the back of the house. As we tromp through the wet, clinging grass and round the corner, light hits us, all ablaze on this side, practically lighting up the entire backyard. Kya and I stalk closer to the house so we won’t be visible if anyone looks out the window.
Under the window to the kitchen, just past the back door, I signal to Kya, and we pause, silently count to three, and peer into the kitchen.
What I see takes my breath away.
It’s not that Liam is here and unrestrained and unharmed. It’s not that he’s obviously in perfect health and freedom and could’ve contacted me at any time in the last three weeks to offer me some kind of explanation for leaving me like he did. It’s not that he filled my life with warmth and love and the strange conviction in my core that I was worth loving. No. It’s that what I see is so ordinary that it leeches the passion from my still-dying heart.
Liam and the random stripper are cooking. He’s chopping vegetables on a cutting board while she’s got a pan sizzling on the stove. They sway to music I can’t hear. They’re smiling. Their cheeks shine with rosy-apple glow. As if by mutual consent, they pause their chopping and turn to smile at each other. Liam holds his arms out, and she glides into them. He takes her hands, twirls her around, and then dips her, supporting her back with his arm.
A wave of nausea rolls over me. In that frozen moment I see the life we never had together. Had Liam ever looked that happy with me? Not that I can recall. Or even imagine.
I sink back below the window. Kya commiserates with a look, flattening her lips into a straight line of grim acceptance. I nod and move away from the window. This is what Tarek took from me. This is what Liam and I could have had. This is how it could’ve been for us. But not now.
There’s no room for me in this kitchen, no empty space for me to fill. Their joy stretches to the corners and squeezes out any hope that I could be there with him ever again.
I motion to Kya that we’re leaving. There’s nothing for me here.
∞∞∞
It’s Friday night date night. Lexy and I have been workshopping all week her characterization of Giselle and the script for tonight, and now we’re walking from our cars to the coffee shop. We park side-by-side. I even have her follow me from my house so we arrive at the same time. I’m so nervous I can feel my knees knocking together above my stylish Italian leather boots.
“Now, remember,” I tell Lexy, who looks about as green as I think I must, “You won’t be able to see any of the cameras, but they’ll be on you at all times.”
She nods, her head bobbing up and down quickly while her eyeballs swivel in an attempt to glimpse the invisible cameras.
“There are no second takes and no cuts. We’ll keep rolling no matter what. The first take is all you get. Just like life.” Really just like life. I stop on the sidewalk and face her. “And what are your two most important objectives in this scene?”