Page 105 of Now Their Starlet

I reach for her, my hand flexing right above her shoulder. I want to comfort her. Every single cell in my body is screaming at me to hold her, to tell her everything will be alright, to keep those tears from falling.

“Can—can you—can you hold me like you did in that bathroom?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper as she wipes her cheeks.

“Of course,” I nod.

She immediately stands from her own office chair and takes a single step towards me. It’s a little awkward, especially since she sort of collapses in my arms, going completely limp, but I’m able to arrange her so she’s seated in my lap, her legs hanging over the armrest of the chair and her upper body cradled against my chest. It makes the borrowed t-shirt she’s wearing ride up her thighs in a way I do my best to ignore, considering she’s also crying in my arms.

“Sorry, I’m a mess,” she sniffles.

“No, you’re not,” I murmur.

“Yeah, I am.” She lifts her head from my chest and gestures at her face, as if that serves as some sort of explanation. “I should be happy. This is—this is a goldmine of good memories.”

“It’s okay for you to have emotions, Sweet Tea.”

“Yeah, but I should be having good emotions.”

“You know, I don’t know if I like the word should, especially when you use it in this context.”

She tilts her head as she blinks up at me, her brows drawing down in confusion. “Look at the journalist getting all tied up in semantics.”

“I mean it. I don’t like the word should. I feel like it imposes these unfair standards. Sometimes it’s okay to just be, without telling yourself you’ve got to be something else you’re not. That doesn’t mean you’re never going to be that. I just personally think it’s okay if you’re not there yet.” I wince.

Shit, am I talking too much? She’s obviously going through a really hard time, and the last thing she needs from me is a lecture.

“Yeah, I—I guess you’re right. I’ll ban the word from my vocabulary, then.”

“You don’t have to go that far.”

“Go big or go home, right? Plus, I can use other words.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I guess... I’m just sad I don’t really remember any of this. I was reading through all the file names and—and nothing came to mind. Isn’t that so sad?”

It is. Not necessarily the fact that she can’t remember—if you asked me what conscious thoughts I was having before the age of maybe seven or so, I wouldn’t be able to answer—but that not remembering bothers her so much.

I struggle to figure out what to say. For the life of me, I can’t figure out any words to emotionally reassure her that don’t feel a little empty.

“You know,” I say softly. “If you want to work with me on the docuseries, you’ll probably rewatch this footage enough that it’ll be like you remember it.”

Her lips quirk up, and she lets out a soft huff.

“You’re really willing to let me work with you?”

“Of course. One, I think you’re far better than me when it comes to video editing. Two, your story is one that deserves to be shared, and who better to tell it than you?”

“Am I really that interesting?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, I get it now. You’re so intrigued about me that you’re letting me sit on your lap, even though you thought I was a bitchy, airheaded bimbo when we first met,” she teases.

“I didn’t—don’t put words in my mouth!” I gasp. “And—and you sitting in my lap isn’t exactly a hardship.”

Her eyes twinkle as she wraps her arms around my neck.

“Glad to hear,” she breathes out.

God, she’s so close I could kiss her⁠—

Wait a second. Is that why she’s blinking up at me like that? And leaning closer?