CHAPTER 43
REID
The last weeks of filming are moving in a blur.
According to the fan pages, Emma and Graham continue their morning runs and are rumored to be making out all over town—despite no photographic evidence beyond the hand-holding incident in Dallas. In private, they’re no different near each other than they’ve ever been. Easy familiarity, but no staring across the room as though they can hardly wait to get each other alone and no touching that I’ve witnessed or heard about. Graham continues to appoint himself as Brooke’s protector—which at least I get now. I still think they’re involved.
Emma was chosen to play Lizbeth because of the chemistry between us, which refuses to ebb just because we want it to. And oh, how I want it to. Delivering Will Darcy’s declarations of love to Lizbeth is torture. Touching her is torture. Kissing her is torture.
When possible, I bow out of any group social activities in which Emma might be involved. Tadd, of course, is the one who notices my discomfort. Or maybe he’s just the only one who gives a shit or doesn’t automatically think I deserve to reap what I’ve sown. “Almost over, dude.”
“What?” We’re on set, waiting to see if Richter wants any more takes on the argument between Will and Charlie, when Charlie figures out that his best friend sabotaged his relationship with Jane. I sense Tadd isn’t referring to today’s filming, though. The chemistry between us on film is as easy as our relationship has always been, so we’re probably good.
Swinging his hair out of his eyes, he levels a look on me, his mouth in that sarcastic twist I know so well. “I’ve never seen you so whipped, man. Why don’t you just give up and beg her forgiveness?”
My mouth drops open. “In one sentence you’re calling me whipped and in the next you’re suggesting I plead for mercy? What the hell, man. That makes no sense.”
He sighs noisily, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, it kinda does. You managed to be a dickwad to someone you were falling for. You could try apologizing. God knows you’ve given screwing her out of your head your best shot.” He chuckles softly. “So not working, by the way.”
I stare at the object of this discussion across the room where she sips from a water bottle and laughs at something Meredith just said, and my jaw clenches. “I’m not falling on my face at her feet so she can kick me more easily. That’d be f*cking stupid, not to mention degrading.”
“More degrading than it is for her to watch you bed every girl in the cast?”
I love the guy, but God, Tadd is a know-it-all sometimes. “She listened to Brooke’s side and didn’t even ask mine,” I hiss. “Where’s her apology to me?” When the production assistant looks over, I know this discussion has gone too far. I don’t want to debate whether or not I should apologize to Emma for some perceived thing I did to Brooke.
Tadd turns to me, his clear blue eyes unnaturally serious. “Dude, you’re miserable—”
“No. I’m pissed. But like you said, it’s almost over.”
“Good job, gentlemen,” Richter says then. “No more retakes, you can vamoose.”
As we turn, Tadd nods once, clamping his mouth shut and containing whatever he was going to say. I’m deaf once I’ve made up my mind, and I’ve always been good at shutting my emotions off. I’m getting better.
*** *** ***
Emma
I’m home.
The last weeks of filming were challenging, not because of the scenes themselves as much as what happened between them. When Reid and I filmed intimate scenes, staring into each others’ eyes and reciting the play of words between Will and Lizbeth as they fell in love despite all intentions otherwise, he was utterly convincing. But Richter’s “Cut!” shut off the passion and devotion in his eyes like a thrown switch.
I was afraid kissing him would be unbearable, but with preparation, once my eyes were closed, I became Lizbeth Bennet kissing Will Darcy, and Reid Alexander wasn’t there anymore. There were a couple of times I wasn’t prepared, and the trace of his mouth on mine constricted my breath. Both times, I could have sworn he was affected as well, until the inevitable end to the scene, when he blinked and the connection was gone.
On the last day of filming, the celebratory mood was shaded with the bittersweet grief of ending. Simultaneous laughter and tears, hugs and promises of keeping in touch were passed between all of us. Reid’s lips grazed my temple, briefly, before he turned away to do the boy-hug thing with Quinton. He and Richter left the hotel that night. The rest of us checked out the next day.
Graham and I took a taxi to the airport together; our flights were at the crack of dawn, departing within ten minutes of each other. We got through security more quickly than we’d expected, and decided to hang out at the cramped coffee bar. We sat watching the other travelers: some bleary-eyed, some lost, some type-A frustrated with all the others.
Graham tore off a hunk of the cinnamon roll we were sharing. “Have you applied anywhere yet?” he asked, consuming his sticky portion in one bite.
“Doing that when I get home. We’ve got everything organized—which schools want an essay, which have extensive applications, which require recommendation letters.”
He smiled. “That’s great.”
“What about you—after graduation?” I nibbled at a much smaller segment of our joint breakfast, licking my fingers reflexively. And then Graham was staring at my fingers and mouth, suffusing me with an unexpected warmth so strong it felt visible. As he lowered his gaze to the last bit of roll, I wiped my fingers on the napkin in my lap while struggling to stop imagining his mouth sucking the sticky sweetness from each one, slowly and thoroughly. “You can, um, have the rest.” I strove to sound impassive and heedless of the electricity zipping through my body.
He cleared his throat. “My agent called yesterday—I’ve got another indie film lined up for mid-summer, to be filmed in New York.” After looking at me for another long moment, he said, “If you decide on a university there, I’ll probably be around when you start next fall.” He clicked his phone, checking the time. “We’d better get to our gates.”
We stood at the same time and faced each other; our gates were in opposite directions. He reached for me and I walked into his arms. I pressed my face to his chest, breathed in his scent. He was going to walk away, and I was going to let him go without ever asking him why he’d kissed me. “I’ll miss you, Emma,” he said. Under my ear, his chest resonated faintly with my name.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
Relaxing his hold, he took my face in his hands and kissed my temple softly. “I’ll miss you more,” he whispered before turning to gather his bags. When he was fifteen or twenty feet away, he looked back, tipped his chin, and smiled at me. I gave a little wave and took a deep breath, memorizing his familiar gait. The way he paid no attention to the girls who turned to watch him pass. The way I felt the loss of him already, when he was still within my sight.
***
“So… I think he took that well,” Dad says after the phone call to Dan to tell him I would be taking a hiatus from blockbuster roles so I could go to college. Dad rubs the back of his neck with one hand while he stares at the phone in the other.
“You aren’t a very good liar, Dad.”
“Well, he’s received the news. I guess how he likes it is his problem.”
“Hmph,” Chloe says from the kitchen table, where she’s grading exams. She’s still disgruntled that I’m giving up my film career, possibly for good. Her dreams of being the mother of a huge star, jet-setting all over the world, rubbing elbows with celebrities, have been dashed. She didn’t speak to either of us for days, but she’s almost resigned herself to the idea now. I think.
Dad winks at me, leaning over her shoulder and telling her, “I thought you and I could use a weekend getaway. Visit a winery or two… stay at a B-and-B?”
“Really?” She brightens, and then her expression falls. “But what about—” she gestures towards me as I pour a glass of orange juice.
“Emma’s an adult now, Chloe. She can handle a weekend at home alone.” When he mentioned the idea last week, I assured him I was more than fine with it.
“Sure,” I say. “You kids go, have fun.”
I scroll through my texts as I walk to my room. There’s a thread with Graham from last night that I want to reread.
Graham: Hey, birthday girl
Me: You remembered
Graham: Of course. Doing anything special to celebrate being 18?
Me: Like what, voting?
Graham: HA
Me: Just going to dinner with dad and chloe
Graham: How is that going btw
Me: Really well, actually
Graham: Good. I just registered for my last semester. Heading upstate with my sisters for some r&r this weekend.
Me: Jealous. I always wanted sisters.
Graham: Trust me, it was the opposite of awesome for the first 15 years, until i was cool enough for them to know me in public.
Me: Lol. Enjoy your weekend.
Graham: Thx, you too
I move the text into permanent storage on my phone. I haven’t seen anyone from School Pride in the weeks since we wrapped the film. The new version of my old life has reabsorbed me. These few lines and a few weeks of memories—countless conversations and one unforgettable kiss—are all I have left of Graham.
***
The day I met Derek, he and Emily had both just gotten off work. Each was dressed to sell an image to their respective customers—most of whom wouldn’t be caught dead in each other’s social circles. From the violet stripes in her dark hair and her black-tipped fingernails to her biker boots with buckles running ankle to mid-calf, she couldn’t have appeared more incompatible with him—tan and lanky with short blond hair, dressed in a button-down shirt, untucked, skinny chinos and Sperrys. As I watched them from my bedroom, I couldn’t help the thought that they were doomed. And then, taking her hand, he pulled her to a stop and smiled down at her like she was everything in the world that made him happy. As he framed her face with careful hands and kissed her, she melted into him.
Emily confessed that they’re applying to the same colleges, mostly her choice. Derek’s aspirations include earning an English degree while writing a novel—and he says any decent academic environment will do. I’ve never seen her like this. My best friend, independent and uncompromising our entire lives, has fallen in love. Hard.
I’m still stuck on living in New York, though I no longer feel the need to escape my home state. Once the prospect of moving there lodged itself in my mind, everything else seemed inferior by comparison. Dad and Emily have resigned themselves to losing me to the east coast, at least for a while.
I did some community theatre over the holidays—a starring role in a low-budget production of It’s a Wonderful Life. Dad didn’t miss a single show. The thought of leaving him next fall stings, though I’ve been coming and going for years. But it’s good. The sting tells me I’ll miss him and the way he looks at me now—like he hasn’t seen me in years, like he can’t get enough now that I’m here.