“Neal is not an asshole.”
“I know,” Seth said.
“And I hate that word.”
“I know.”
She wanted to rub her eyes, but she didn’t want to let go of the comforter.
“I mean, he is sort of an asshole . . . ,” Seth said.
“Seth.”
“What? That’s his shtick, isn’t it? You know that’s his shtick. He’s like a Samuel L. Jackson character.”
“I can’t stand Samuel L. Jackson.”
“I know, but you like that whole ‘You wanna mess with me, punk, huh? Do ya?’ thing. You love that.”
“Shut up, you don’t even know Neal.”
“I know him, Georgie. I’ve been sitting one seat away from him my whole fucking life. I secondhand-smoke know him. It’s like we’ve got shared custody of you.”
“No”—Georgie pressed her fingertips into her forehead—“this is why we don’t talk about this. You don’t have any custody.”
“I have some. Weekdays.”
“No. Neal is my husband. He has full custody.”
“Then why isn’t he here trying to figure out what’s wrong with you?”
“Because!” Georgie shouted.
“Because why?”
“Because I fucked up!”
Seth was angry. “Because you didn’t go to Omaha?”
“Most recently because I didn’t go to Omaha. Because I never go to Omaha.”
“You go once a year! You bring me back that Thousand Island dressing I like.”
“I mean, metaphorically. I always choose the show. I always choose work. I’m forever not going to Omaha.”
“Maybe you should ask yourself why not, Georgie.”
“Maybe I should!” she practically shouted.
Seth stared at his lap.
Georgie stared at hers. This wasn’t them—Seth and Georgie never fought. Or rather, they always fought; they bickered and they insulted and they mocked. But they never fought about anything that mattered.
She knew that Seth knew things weren’t great between her and Neal.
Of course Seth knew. He’d been sitting right next to her for twenty years. He’d watched it all go bad—at least that’s how it would look from his perspective—but he never mentioned it.
Because there were rules.
And because some things were sacred. Not Georgie’s life, but work—work was sacred. Seth and Georgie checked their lives at the door, and they worked. And there was something really beautiful about that. Something freeing.
No matter how badly they messed up their lives, the two of them would always have the show, whatever show they were on, and they’d always have each other—they protected that.
They protected work so they’d always have it there, an oasis that ate up their days.
God. God. This was how Georgie had ruined everything.
By being really good at something. By being really good with someone. By retreating into the part of her life that was easiest.
She started crying.
“Hey,” Seth said, reaching out to her.
“Don’t,” Georgie said.
He waited until she was just sniffling. “Did you get to work on the script last night?”
“No.”
“Are you coming in today?”
“I—” She shook her head. “—I don’t know.”
“We can work here, if you want. Change of scenery might do us good.”
“What about Scotty?”
Seth shrugged. “He’s already working from home. He even finished an episode. It’s . . . not bad. It doesn’t sound like us, but it’s not bad. It’s something.”
Work. Georgie should go to work. She was missing Christmas so she could work on the show. If she didn’t work on the show, this whole week would be a waste; Georgie would have destroyed her marriage for nothing. She was about to tell Seth, “Fine, fine, I’ll come in, I’ll work,” when the phone rang.
The landline.
She and Seth both looked at it. It didn’t ring again.
“Come on,” Seth said. “I brought coffee. I don’t know where it ended up—I handed it to your sister to get her out of my way. God, she’s protective, have you been getting death threats?”
Someone thumped down the hall, and the door opened. Heather shoved her head and shoulders through. “It’s for you.” She scowled at Georgie. “It’s Neal.”
Georgie’s heart skipped a beat. (Great. Now she was having heart palpitations.) (Wait. Neal could call the kitchen phone, too? This was out of control.) “Thanks. Hang up when I pick up?”
“You want me to hang up on him?”
“No,” Georgie said, “I’ll get it in here.”
“Can you do that?”
“Are you serious?”
Heather scowled some more. “Sorry I’m not up on your twentieth-century technology.”
“Go to the kitchen, wait until you hear me pick up, then hang up.”
“Just pick up now,” Heather said.
Georgie looked at the phone, just out of reach, and at Seth—and not at her mom’s pajama shorts lying on the floor. “In. A minute,” she said.
“Fine.” Heather watched Georgie closely, like she was trying to crack her game. “I’ll just go talk to Neal while I wait.”
“Don’t talk to him, Heather.”
Heather’s eyes had narrowed to slits. “I’ll just say hi to Neal, ask him about the girls. . . .”
Georgie kicked Seth. “Pick up the phone.”
“What? You want me to talk to Neal?”
“Nobody’s talking to Neal. Pick up the phone—” She kicked him again. “—then hand it to me. And you—” She pointed at Heather. “—are a terrible sister. And a worse person.”
Georgie kicked Seth one more time. He stood and picked up the receiver—holding it in the air for a few seconds, pinching the handle like it was a bomb—then tossed it to Georgie.
Heather waited in the doorway. Hang it up, Georgie mouthed. Now.
She held the phone up to her ear and waited for the click. She could hear voices at Neal’s house—his parents. She could hear Neal breathing.
Heather rattled the phone onto the hook in the kitchen.
“Hello?” Georgie said.
“Hey,” Neal answered.