Everything Leads to You

“Of course,” I say. “Of course you are.”


Everything feels fuzzy. Like there’s humming all around me, and there is no way that she is saying these words to me but here she is, saying them, looking at me with those green eyes that I’ve been trying not to look too far into for all the weeks I’ve known her.

“But, wait,” I say. “What about if you get famous?”

She shakes her head and laughs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When everyone knows about Clyde and—”

“I’m not going to tell people about Clyde. I got some answers, and I got the inheritance and for those things I’ll always be grateful. But I don’t want anything else out of it. I don’t want the world talking about him and my mother.”

“Okay, but this movie is going to be big. I know it will be. And then where will that leave me? Even without Clyde, you’ll be on the cover of Vanity Fair, and I’ll still be behind the scenes while the whole world falls in love with you.”

“So I’m in Vanity Fair,” she says. “Which I probably won’t be, but for the sake of this conversation, we can pretend that I am. This is what, a year from now?”

I nod.

“Okay. A year from now. And the interviewer comes over and we’re there together. And her piece begins with something like, Ava Garden Wilder and her girlfriend, production designer Emi Price, sit drinking lemonade on her rooftop deck.”

I don’t even know what to say to that.

“It sounds good, doesn’t it?”

I nod. It sounds good.

“Last time I did this, I was in a terrible place, and I wasn’t very kind and I wasn’t ready to love anyone. You were right to say no and I’ll understand if you say no again but I hope that you won’t.”

She takes a step closer to me.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” she asks.

She smiles just a little, a hopeful, sweet smile, but somewhere buried in it is that confidence that slays me.

I say yes and she says yes? and I nod and she touches my waist with one of her hands and I touch her face with mine, that spot where the sunlight landed on the day I really saw her.

We don’t kiss right away. Instead, there’s a moment when we just look at each other, the moment where, if this were a movie, the music would start. And surrounded by all of my careful details, everything still just a little more perfectly placed than it would be in life—the plants that cascade down the wall in their charming pots, the deep-sea curtains and the colorful jars, the fairy-tale sofa with its gold vines and plush cushions—and Ava’s movie-star face, her Clyde Jones nose and her freckles and her beautiful green eyes, this could be the scene in the movie that everyone aches for. The moment where the thing that you wish for becomes the thing that you get.

When we tip our faces to the side, we do it in the perfect movie way—no awkward repositionings, no pressed noses. I swear: I can hear the music swelling.

But then.

Our lips touch. The imaginary music goes quiet. The room is only a room and we are the miracles. Her mouth is warm and human and soft, her hand presses hard and insistent against my back, her breasts press against mine. My hand grazes the delicate line of her jaw; there’s the whisper of her hair against my fingers as we kiss harder.

We love films because they make us feel something. They speak to our desires, which are never small. They allow us to escape and to dream and to gaze into eyes that are impossibly beautiful and huge. They fill us with longing.

But also.

They tell us to remember; they remind us of life. Remember, they say, how much it hurts to have your heart broken. Remember about death and suffering and the complexities of living. Remember what it is like to love someone. Remember how it is to be loved. Remember what you feel in this moment. Remember this. Remember this.

Outside, cars are approaching, their engines cutting off, one after the next. And there is the shutting of doors and so many familiar voices, and everyone sounds excited and anxious but happy. Soon they’re streaming in, and Ava and I are no longer alone, but the room is alive with beginning.

We step away from each other and Ava smiles, and her face is flushed and I feel this elated twist in my stomach when I realize that I will be able to kiss this face again when our day of work is over.

I will be able to hold her hand.

I will be able to talk to her whenever I want.

I will be able to want her without wondering if she wants me back.