“Mom.” Dash rubbed a spot on his forehead. His mom really had no way of turning her professional side off. Her time was valuable, and the way her brain worked meant that there was always an opportunity for a potential new deal.
She exhaled sharply as she leaned back into the booth’s leather seat. “Okay, you don’t want to talk about work. Do you want to talk about what happened at the premiere?”
No, he did not want to talk about that either, not at all. But he leaned forward and exhaled a rattling breath, because there was no more running from the fact that his mother probably already knew all the details. “What do you want to know?”
“I know about your rehab stay. I know it was booze...” Her voice was low as she crossed her arms. “Is there still a problem?”
“Not anymore.” And that was his truth. He’d had a problem, but now he was sober. His mom knew his secret, and he should feel relieved...but he sensed this wouldn’t be the end of the conversation.
“I’m your mother, and half of you is me, and even though you don’t talk to me about these things, I know something is going on. It’s fine if you want to keep whatever that is to yourself, but you’re my child, and believe it or not, I do care about you.” Her expression visibly softened and turned to something akin to concern.
Dash scratched at his neck and looked off as he weighed his options. “I don’t want to do the speech. I can’t. I’m trying to stay focused on my sobriety, and the speech—”
“Are you telling me the speech would cause you to not be sober? Dash, do you have a problem or not?”
He clenched then unclenched his jaw. The answer to her question was complicated. Sobriety was complicated. But he sensed that trying to explain those things to her wouldn’t be well received. So he simply replied, “No, I don’t have a problem.”
“Then, can’t you do this one thing for your father? The press release has gone out, and the event is in two weeks. Sitting around and doing nothing with your life is not an option. And now that someone out there knows about your...past problem, getting back to work will be the easiest way to stop any further questions from popping up. If you’re working, they won’t wonder whether or not you’re on the wagon.”
“Working on set is what led me down this path in the first place.” He sat back and let his fingers nervously tap the sides of his thighs underneath the table. He’d never stood up to his mom in any kind of way. She’d always known best and made it clear that he wasn’t invited to disagree when it came to what she wanted for him.
“Being an actor is a gift. Millions of people want the kind of career you could have. Do you think if you worked a nine-to-five job like your sister that you’d be happy? Everything your father and I have worked for is so that you and Reece and Poppy will be taken care of. That doesn’t mean you get to just retire at thirty-six. And if you’re having a problem staying sober then you need to tell me so we can get you the help—”
“I’ve been working since I was eight,” Dash interrupted her. “You had me going to film commercials instead of going to school. Did you ever stop to think that I might just want some time to figure out what my life should be?”
But as his mother’s eyes dug a hole through him, he knew that being vulnerable in front of her wouldn’t achieve anything positive.
Dash stood from the table, even though his mother’s jaw was so tight he could almost hear her teeth grinding. She did not like scenes, or anything that could make their family look bad, so he knew she wouldn’t try to follow him. Especially not at the Beverly Hills Hotel, which was always a place where celebrities—and some of her clients—could be. She would sit and pay the bill, and if anyone asked, she’d say Dash had to go to an audition. She’d make up her own reality, the way she always did.
“This lunch is over,” he said. “Unless you have any notes on the speech.”
His mother refolded the napkin in her lap, as if calming herself, before answering. “Lose the bit about your father being afraid of sharks. That’s not the image I’ve created for him. Unlike you, your father’s career isn’t done.”
The part of the speech that was most personal to Dash, and revealed something he admired about his father was, of course, the one thing his mom wanted to remove from it entirely. Still, he wasn’t going to fight. He didn’t care if she watered it down to something more palatable. He wasn’t doing this for himself. He’d do it because he had no other choice.
“And, Dash?” She dabbed the napkin at the corners of her mouth, barely looking at him. “I need you to promise that nothing will go wrong at this event.”
Of course his mother would say that to him—always assuming he’d be the cause of some kind of trouble. Dash wanted to leave, though, so he nodded as a kind of answer.
He was practically vibrating with anger as he turned and walked toward the doors that would take him out of the restaurant and back to the safety of his car. He didn’t want his mother’s words to affect him: Unlike you, your father’s career isn’t done. But his eyes burned as he lowered a pair of sunglasses onto his face to hide any potential tears spilling out as he handed his valet ticket to an attendant.
He knew he was the most disappointing of the Montrose children. Even without his mom explicitly saying so, he’d understood his place in the pecking order at every dinner and family function. Still, her words caused his chest to tighten as he got into the car.
Before pulling away to drive home, he took out his phone. There was only one thing that would potentially interfere with the speech for his dad.
He typed a new message to @craftycindy. Can we talk?
23
SOPHIE
Sophie had never been good at puzzles. She didn’t have strategies—like, corner pieces first—to finish them. But still, she’d taken out her notecards and done her best to piece together all the information she’d received.
Across her kitchen table was a makeshift puzzle of neon-green cards for Carla, neon-pink for Ned, and neon-blue for Jewel. She’d written down all the reasons the relationships hadn’t worked out, along with what her obvious issues were (the word trust was circled on several of the notecards). But maybe because she didn’t have all the pieces, she just wasn’t seeing how they fit into a solution.
The last and final piece of her ex-periment was Kyle—an ex she truly did not want to see based solely on the fact that he was an absolute nightmare person. He’d catcalled a woman (terrible enough) while on a date with Sophie, for example.
Sophie would need to see Kyle before she could draw any final conclusions. So she scooped the cards up and tucked them into her desk drawer. Then she opened a text and typed in Kyle’s name, which is when she saw what she’d saved him as: Unfunny Kyle. She cringed at the accuracy because he was the least funny comedian she’d ever met.
Sophie: Hey, it’s Sophie. Would you be open to catching up soon?
She didn’t have to wait long for a response.