Hot tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I rapidly blink themaway. I don’t allow myself to think about Jesse. Not anymore. What we shared was transformative. It was everything. But it’s also over. Not every love story lasts forever and that’s okay. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself, hoping if I say it enough, it will become true. Maybe one day I’ll wake up, and it won’t hurt so much to think about him. But the only way forward is to put the past behind me. The sooner I can move on, the better off I’ll be.
The sound of Bree clearing her throat jolts me back to reality. She’s pinning me with an expectant look, and I realize I never answered her question.
“I’ll be sure to let the casting director know,” I manage. Luckily, the school doors have burst open again and I am saved by Isla heading toward the car. My daughter gives me a knowing look as she slides through the passenger door, and it’s the empowerment I need. A reminder that I am no longer willing to give my energy to people who don’t deserve it.
I turn back to Bree, my smile no longer polite. “I’d better get going so I don’t hold up the carpool line. I’d hate to become the subject of another PTA meeting.”
Her cheeks flush to match the tomato red of her lips at the reminder of last spring’s fateful meeting. Bree had delivered a heated tirade about disrupting the flow of the carpool line, only to later find herself the subject of an equally heated group chat that went viral after someone posted it to Reddit.
Bree Sherman, you are, and always have been, the asshole.
Rolling up my window, I pull out of the line and we make our way home. I am anticipating one more confrontation tonight and I have no intention of being late for it.
I hear Rocky’s car before I see it. No doubt because his M series has a stupid fake engine-noise setting that’s audible from half a mile away. Rocky says it enhances the driving experience, but I’ve always seen itfor what it really is: a series of bells and whistles designed to mask a less-than-impressive product. In other words, my ex-husband in a nutshell.
I’m sitting on the front porch, waiting for him. Since arriving home two months ago, I’ve held on to the simple luxury of being outside at sunset. The sun is just starting to disappear over the horizon, and the sky is melting into a cascade of pinks and purples. It’s not the same as a Poconos sunset: The dense oak trees have been replaced with narrow palm leaves, and the stars have been replaced by the tiny pinpricks of neighborhood lights. It’s certainly not the same experience as sitting on Jesse’s front porch.
Then again, I’m not the same either.
Rocky’s car door slams and then he’s stomping up the front walkway. I take a deep breath, steadying myself for the confrontation. I’ve been steadfastly ignoring his calls and texts all afternoon. The two of us need to hash this out face-to-face.
Speaking of faces, Rocky’s is not looking its best. His forehead is creased and there are thick bags under his eyes. He looks exhausted. I can’t imagine things have been going well at home with Rayna. They’re still living together, but the press has already sniffed out that there’s trouble in paradise. They’ve been following the two of them ravenously, desperate for yet another photo of their strained expressions to add to their archives.
As Rocky gets closer, I can also see the anger in his expression. His caramel skin has turned beet red, and his green eyes have gone flat and hard.
“What thefuckdid you do to my movie?” he growls.
I swipe idly at the beads of condensation forming on the goblet beside me before answering. A tall glass of lemonade really does add something to the sunset.
“It sucks to be the last to know something, doesn’t it?”
Rocky’s face turns an even darker shade of eggplant and damnif I don’t revel in the satisfaction it elicits. For once, he knows what it feels like to be on the other end of this.
“Damn it, Marissa!”
He slams his palm against the porch’s white pillar, and I nearly flinch. But then I remember that any damage he inflicts will soon be someone else’s problem.
I gesture to the empty chair next to me. “You’re more than welcome to sit down and have a conversation with me like an adult,” I say. “But if you’re going to just stand there and scream, I’ll have to ask you to leave. This is my house, and when you are a guest here, you will treat me with respect.”
Rocky’s eyes go wide, and I register disbelief behind them. I have never spoken to him like this before. I watch as frustration gives way to reluctant resignation, and he slides into the vacant seat.
“Marissa,” he tries again slowly. His voice is a low growl, and I can hear the effort to keep from yelling behind it. “Would you please explain why you got me kicked off the project?”
“Well, it wasn’tmydecision,” I say. “Once the author, Alix Levy, sold the rights, the new production team agreed that Lina Romano was the better choice.” I can’t help but grin as I say the name of the director Pooja wanted from the very beginning.
“They weren’t her rights to sell!” he spits. “A deal was already locked in at Netflix. And Netflix wanted me.”
“Turns out that the contracts hadn’t been signed,” I say. “Alix was nervous about an adaptation, so her film agent negotiated short-term shopping rights instead of selling. It gave her more control, allowed her to ensure that her work got into the right hands. Someone who really understood her vision.”
I pause, giving him a meaningful look. “And once those rights expired, she decided to withdraw them from Netflix and hand them off to a different buyer. Specifically, Not-So-Little LLC Films. Pooja’s new production company.”
Some of the tension melts from his shoulders and his face relaxes into a patronizing smirk. “Pooja started a production company on her own? With what seed money?”
“Oh, I didn’t say she started it alone. She has a partner.”
“And who might that be?”
I tilt my head and smile, watching with satisfaction as the smirk melts off his face.
