The process on this one had been slower, though. More laborious. It hadn’t helped that Sam had been preoccupied with the dissolution of his three-year marriage to Beth Jordan, a socialite whose father had directed Sam and Ethan’s favorite action-comedy film series from their childhood. Neither Ethan nor Nora had been that fond of Beth—she had that glazed nepotism sheen of someone who’d never experienced the world beyond Beverly Hills and didn’t care to—but she’d made Sam happy, until she hadn’t. Ethan and Nora’s relationship was starting to show signs of strain by that point, too, and their work sessions had more often than not devolved into self-pitying, booze-fueled meditations on their floundering personal lives.
They’d barely even finished the first draft before Sam’s accident, and Ethan knew there was still a lot of work to be done. He had to finish it, though. It was the only piece of Sam he had left. Forcing himself back out in the world, on the arm of a woman who wanted nothing to do with him, was the first roundabout step to making that happen.
But for now, he put thoughts of Bitter Pill and the hurt in Grey’s eyes out of his head. He had his kids this weekend, so it would be a few days before he saw her again.
He pulled his car into the driveway of the house he and Nora had shared. While his own house definitely didn’t feel like home, neither did this, not anymore. As he walked up the immaculately landscaped pathway, flashes of memories accosted him: bringing Elle home from the hospital. Sydney learning to ride her bike. Waking up to Nora standing over him after he had passed out on the lawn. Time had dulled them enough so the twinges he felt were neither bitter nor sweet. They just were.
Nora opened the door before he even had a chance to knock.
“Girls ready?”
“They need a few more minutes. Come on in.”
He followed Nora into the kitchen, declining her offer of a bottle of water.
“You and Jeff got big plans this weekend?”
“Not really. Do you?” she asked, arms crossed.
“Uh…yeah…I have the girls,” he deadpanned.
She sighed, drumming her fingers on the countertop. “And will anyone else be joining you?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
He could do this all day. She sighed again, defeated.
“You don’t owe me anything. But I think I deserve more than finding out you’re dating someone from goddamn Instagram.”
He avoided her gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s…it’s still new. I should have told you. I’m just…we’re figuring things out.”
She softened a little. “It’s okay. I just want to see you happy.” Unbeknownst to her, she had almost exactly parroted Audrey’s words to him less than two weeks ago: people want to see you stable. They want to see you happy. She’d been talking about strangers, of course, but even his ex-wife, the woman who in theory knew him better than anyone, was so desperate to believe it that she was willing to overlook the battalion of red flags indicating that there was something suspicious about the situation.
Nora continued. “I approve, by the way. I used to watch her show, you know; have you seen it? It’s pretty stupid, but I got hooked. Total guilty pleasure. She seems like a sweet girl. Talented, too. Those writers threw some wild stuff at her.”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, she’s very…” He racked his brain for the right word. “Symmetrical,” he finished lamely.
Nora frowned. He blustered ahead before she could say anything.
“Anyway, I’m not ready for her to meet the kids yet. Still too early. I want to make sure it’s for real. I’d appreciate you not mentioning it to them, either.”
Nora nodded. “Of course. You know I can only protect them from so much, though. Kids talk.” She leaned forward on the counter, propping her chin on her hand. “So. How’d you meet her?”
As if coming to his rescue, Sydney and Elle barreled into the kitchen, oversized backpacks bouncing up and down on their shoulders.
“Daddy!” Elle yelled, throwing herself onto him. Ethan picked up the seven-year-old and nestled her onto his hip. “Wanna see my drawing? It’s in my backpack. It’s a dragon who’s a princess.” Sydney, just barely too old to be carried at nine but still buzzing for his attention, hovered next to them.
“Dad! Have you seen Beetlejuice? It’s my favorite movie of all time. Can we watch it tonight?”
“I thought Minions was your favorite,” Ethan commented, dropping Elle to the floor and ruffling her hair. Sydney rolled her eyes behind her violet frames.
“Daad. Minions is for babies.”
“I like Minions,” Elle protested.
“Well, you’re a baby.”
Elle stamped her foot. “Am not.”
“Are so.”
Nora raised her eyebrows at him over the tops of their heads. “Enjoy them.”
“Always do.” He crouched down to their level. “I think we have time to watch Beetlejuice and Minions. How does that sound?”
Elle pouted. “Beetlejuice is too scary. It gave me bad dreams.”
“Yeah, because you’re a baby.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” said Ethan, standing back up. “No more name-calling, Syd. Let’s get in the car and we can work it out on the way home. How do you guys feel about pizza tonight?”
They both squealed and nodded vigorously in approval. He began to herd them toward the car. Nora followed them to the door. She leaned in to him, murmuring so the girls wouldn’t hear.
“I’d love to meet her. When you’re ready, of course.”
Ethan jerked his head in something resembling a nod.
“You got it.”
* * *
—
GREY PUSHED HER shopping cart through Gelson’s, pausing to eye the antipasti bar. Heaping mounds of stuffed olives, marinated feta, and balsamic-glazed cipollini onions glistened back at her. Her stomach growled. She’d made the rookie mistake of going grocery shopping without eating beforehand. However, since the purpose of this trip was to stock up on snacks for a weekend on her couch with the complete Nora Ephron filmography, maybe it was better to let her whims guide her. She grabbed a plastic tub and started loading it with dolmas.
She was relieved to have a few days without Ethan while he was busy with his kids. Of course, not physically being in his presence didn’t mean she was free of him completely. The day after their dinner date, curled up in bed with a debilitating hangover, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Between napping, chugging coconut water, running to the bathroom, and brooding over every single thing she’d said and done the night before, she’d huddled under her comforter with her phone. Even though she was totally alone in the house, she felt like someone was about to burst in at any moment, rip off the covers, and expose her watching Ethan’s Oscar acceptance speech over and over. Maybe that was what fame did to you: made you paranoid that none of your private moments would ever be private again.
Of course, she couldn’t really call herself “famous” yet. Sure, her Instagram followers had already almost doubled, and their trip to the coffee shop would have quickly turned into a mob scene if there had been more than five people there at the time. Renata had even sent over a few scripts to look at over the weekend; not a mountain, but still more than the scraps she had been getting. But she didn’t delude herself that this was the result of anything more than the proximity to Ethan’s fame. He was the sun and she merely orbited around him, reflecting his incandescence.
It was all working out exactly according to plan. The queasy feeling she had watching twenty-four-year-old Ethan, shaggy hair falling over eyes wide with disbelief, embracing Sam, then Nora, before leaping onstage at the Kodak Theatre, was nothing to worry about. Probably just the hangover. He’d made it pretty clear that while he found her pleasant enough to pass the time with, any feelings she had for him stronger than polite indifference were decidedly unwelcome. Fine by her.
Grey circled around the bar, her eyes moving back and forth between the garlic and blue cheese–stuffed olives. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye: a middle-aged mother pushing a baby in her cart, who immediately turned to inspect the frozen sausages to hide the fact that she’d been gaping at Grey. Grey gave her a warm half smile, which emboldened her to abandon the sausages and make her approach.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I just…you’re Ethan Atkins’s new girlfriend, aren’t you?”
Grey nodded, still smiling, though her heart rate picked up. “That’s me! I’m Grey. How’s it going?”