She does, before heading into the kitchen and opening a cupboard.
I hear the sounds of her pouring wine and grabbing spoons as I head to my bedroom to shuck my dress and slip into pajamas. I make a pit stop in the bathroom to scrub my face clean of my makeup and take down my hair.
Plopping onto the sofa, I accept a glass of wine and a spoon. First a large gulp, then a big bite. Okay, two big bites. And then another gulp.
“You want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Liz asks after a minute.
“Grayson fucking West is what’s going on.”
She swigs her wine. “Ah, we’re back to full-naming him. What happened?”
“Well, earlier tonight he asked me to move in with him.” I ignore her eyebrows as they shoot up practically to her hairline. “And then later I overheard him talking with his manager about how our whole relationship is fake and he only started dating me because he thought it would improve his reputation and he would have the chance to audition for roles that don’t require a six-pack and a penchant for blowing shit up.”
Liz sets her wine down on the coffee table as if she can’t possibly drink and sort out my life at the same time. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Yeah. Basically.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense, Emmy. How does dating you lead to more serious roles for Grayson?”
I shrug, finishing off my wine. “No idea, but apparently it worked because apparently he has a big audition next week for some movie that’s apparently going to be a major awards contender.”
“And apparently this guy has robbed you of your vocabulary.”
“Apparently.”
Liz leans over and refills my wine glass because of course she brought the bottle into the living room because she is both wise and kind. “I didn’t even know Grayson was interested in exploring those kinds of projects.”
I know exactly why Grayson is interested in exploring those kinds of projects, but I don’t tell Liz that. He’s anasshole, and I hate him, but he still deserves to have his family drama kept private. I shovel another bite of ice cream in my mouth before I blurt out something I shouldn’t.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I thought he really loved you, Em. He seemed so real and so genuine; I have a hard time believing that was all fake.” Liz takes the ice cream carton from me, digging out a bite of her own. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you heard?”
“Yup. I guess he’s a much better actor than any of us gave him credit for.” I pause for a minute, letting every one of our interactions from the past couple of months run through my mind. “Thinking back, I guess I did overhear a weird phone call once, and he wasn’t ever concerned about the two of us being caught in the press. In fact, the first time we were mentioned in the blogs, he wanted to go out to dinner that same night.” The evidence is weak, even in my addled state of mind, but coupled with what I overheard tonight, it paints a pretty compelling picture. I pull a blanket down from the back of the couch, even though I’m not cold. “He made me believe what we had was real. I actually thought I fell in love with him.”
“What did he say about it? Did he have a good explanation for why he said that?”
I shove a huge bite of ice cream in my mouth so my answer is muffled. “I didn’t talk to him.”
“You didn’t talk to him?”
I shake my head. “I left as soon as I heard enough.”
Liz reaches for her wine, taking a large gulp before facing me. “Emmy. How can you claim to love this man and not even give him a chance to explain?”
“What possible explanation could there be? I knowwhat I heard.” I pull the blanket up over my shoulders, burrowing down to try to hide from her penetrating gaze.
“I’m not saying what he said was okay, or that you shouldn’t be upset.” She hesitates for a second before continuing. “I just want to be sure you’re not pushing him away because it’s easier that way.”
I’m quiet for a minute as I try to ignore the implications of her words. “Nothing about this feels easy, Lizzie.”
Liz reaches over and squeezes my arm. “I’m so sorry.” She studies me for another long second but seems to realize it’s not the time to push the subject further. “Will it make you feel better if I tell all my friends never to cast him in anything ever again?”
“Yes.” I flash her a smile so she knows I’m mostly kidding.
“Is it stupid of me to ask you if you’re okay?”
I snuggle farther down into the blanket. “I think you’re obligated to ask me that at least once a day for the next two weeks, according to the best friend code, section 213.”
“Are you okay, Em?”
