But I quickly made the post, sent it to the studio to approve, and then coordinated with the social media team, and it was up within the hour.
I sent him a text letting him know it was done and then stared at my phone, willing him to write me back. Stupidly hoping that this would be some sort of bridge to get us back to where we were before we blew it all up.
I jumped when my phone beeped.
Jerkwad:Thanks
Just the one cold-sounding word. Maybe if it had been any other time, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But I scrolled up through our previous texts, and that was never the way he responded:
Jerkwad:Thanksfor doing that
Jerkwad:You nailed that one
Jerkwad:Couldn’t have done it better myself
I couldn’t look at the nickname anymore after that, after everything. It just felt wrong. So I clicked on Luke’s contact info and changed it.
I’m still not used to it. I had to think for a minute when I woke up to a text from him this morning while I was getting ready for media day.
Luke:What time will you be at the studio
Me:Planning to get there by 7
There was no follow-up. NoGreat, see you then.No winking emoji. Nothing.
We’d talked previously about carpooling, and I thought about reminding him but then decided against it. Sitting in a car together for that long feels like a lot right now.
So I drove myself. And now I’m standing in front of the studio doors, taking a couple of deep breaths before I tug on the bottom of my plum suit jacket and walk inside. I give my name to the guard, and he waves me through to security.
This is going to be fine. Probably.
After meeting with Bailey in her trailer—running through today’s questions and practicing our signal system, a slight shake of my head when she needs to redirect—I head to the studio space we’ll be using for the interviews.
Bailey and River’s room is the largest—they’re the reason most people are here—and it’s set up to look relaxed and intimate even though it’s essentially a set.
When I walk in, several people are spread around the room, adjusting lighting, arranging chairs for the interviews, and positioning cameras to record footage. In the center of the room are two director’s chairs, and behind that, a backdrop with large posters from the show and the studio’s logo.
I’ve done these events before—not at this level, of course—but I’m feeling extra nervous today. I’d love to think that it’s just because I’m anxious for things to go well for Bailey, but I know that’s not why.
Standing in the back corner of the room, I scroll through my phone, barely even taking in what I’m looking at, while glancing at the door every few seconds.
Luke walks in a few minutes later, wearing a dark-gray suit, the top button of his white shirt undone, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. It’s such a difference from Friday night when he was barefoot in casual clothes. I’m not sure which version I like best.
“Hey,” I say when he sees me. I give him a little wave that I hope he knows meansCan we be cool about this?
He gives me a thin smile that saysWe’re not cool.His lips barely curve upward. “Hey,” he says back.
We stand there for a few beats, with the sound of the crew readying the set echoing in the background.
“Is River ready?” I ask, unable to stand the silence between us.
He nods, turning so he can look at the room setup.
“Bailey too,” I say, even though he didn’t ask.
Oh gosh. This is worse than I thought. I half expected him to come in as his full, boisterous self, pretending like Friday never happened. Or maybe that’s just what I was hoping for. This quiet version of him is so much worse.
Stupid curse. The ironic thing is that it’s done its work, even without the kiss.
