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“Movie?” I ask, coming out of my reverie. After my brief visit to the past, I can’t remember exactly what his question entailed. Did he mention our promise to marry each other if I starred in one of his movies, or did he simply stick to the nepotistic idea of bringing an old friend with no experience into Hollywood? Either way, the moment the glitter of being a celebrity falls away, I open my eyes to the real world. The one where I have a ten-year-old daughter and all the responsibilities that brings along.
“Already daydreaming about your victory speech when you win that Oscar, huh? Just hold your horses a bit, because we actually have to make the thing first. And I want you to be my lead,” he says like it’s as simple as ordering more cheese rolls at Red Lobster.
Why me? Why now? These two obvious questions stir up all the others lingering in the back of my skull. I must be shaking my head, because Cory reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“I know this is all a lot to take in, but it’s not like I’m trying to sell you on some pyramid scheme or something. I’ve already got a script. Filming is set to start next week. And while I should be back home, tying up about a thousand loose ends, I came here to keep a promise to my oldest friend.”
I can’t even look up at him, and the thing is that I don’t even know why. If even I can’t unravel my emotions right now, how in the hell can I explain them to Cory?
First up, I’ve got excitement that should be unbridled and wild, but is held back by worries only a parent can understand. If I didn’t have a kid, I would be leaping at this chance. I’d hop on the next flight and throw myself into learning my lines. It's so easy to close my eyes and imagine myself attending parties where servers carry around trays with things such as profiteroles and tiny portions of wild salmon topped with Himalayan yak cheese. My face would be on the sides of buses. I’d have my own Wikipedia page, which is a weird thing to dream about, but it’s something the geeky side of me would adore.
But reality—as wonderful as the life I’ve carved out with Lizzie has been—is a weight around the ankles of any dream this wild. I can’t just pack up and leave my life behind. I have a job. Lizzie has school. I have a mortgage payment.
A seductive voice in my mind whispers simple solutions to all three of these problems. First, summer vacation is just a week away. Which means Lizzie will be home, and my filming schedule will be cut in half. I bet I could even work out a deal with my boss to take an unpaid vacation.
Then there’s the money I’ve been saving for four years now. We were planning to finally cash in that piggy bank and make a trip out to Disneyland, but if we’re headed to California anyway, that would certainly cut down on the travel costs. As long as I got paid a portion of my contract upfront, I could use the Disneyland money to keep the mortgage afloat while we’re gone.
So this is possible. It might even be perfect in a way, because Lizzie would be able to spend the summer with her father. But is that the best thing for her?
Here my thoughts take a dive, because as steamy as Cory looks—and as much as my libido is certain he’s improved in bed since the night we conceived Lizzie—the fact is that he left us. Sure, he was in Witness Protection, and I can excuse those years. But what about after that? He made a life for himself in California. Directed movies. Became a household name. All while I put my dreams on hold to raise Lizzie.
“Why didn’t you come back until now?” I blurt out. And I don’t even care about the accusatory undertones in my question.
“I might have made a few good movies, but back then I wasn’t well-known enough to bring on my best friend to star in a movie. I’ve finally got the clout to pull something like that off, so here I am!”
My next words wipe the happy-go-lucky smile off his face.
“Best friend? How can you call me that? We haven’t spoken in eleven years. You could have called, you know. Phones are a thing. So is the Internet. I told you I tried looking you up, but what about you? Is your Hollywood life so packed with glamorous after parties that you don’t have five minutes to call up your so-called best friend and find out how she’s living?”
“That’s not exactly fair,” he comes back with, his demeanor now defensive. Which isn’t a pretty color on anyone, but least of all on Cory. He was always the one talking shit, but he could never stomach when others came right back at him with the same foul-smelling words. “You’re not exactly a prolific blogger or anything. I’ve looked you up before, but all I found was a short introduction on your public television site. You don’t have a Facebook account or anything else I could find.”
He’s right about that. After high school, it’s not exactly like I had anyone to connect with online, so the only social media I ever had was a short-lived dating profile that I deleted after the first two guys I met turned out to be creepier than twins in horror movies. So, I shouldn’t blame Cory for something I made impossible, but at the same time, he should have found a way.
“You could have hired a private detective or something. I mean, weren’t you even curious about me?”
“You think I should have hired a detective to follow you around and send me pictures of you drinking coffee and stuff? How is that the better option?”
My heart is beating a thousand miles an hour. I feel like inside of me is boiling, and something has to give. I stand up so suddenly that I startle myself when my hands accidentally knock my unused silverware to the table.
I’m not forming coherent thoughts anymore. Everything is melted emotions bubbling over. Where I’m going and how I plan to get there are such trivial matters that I don’t pay attention to the path my feet follow. All that I know is that I need to move.
There’s a rational part of my brain that says I have no right to be this upset with him. He didn’t know I got pregnant from that night. And had he known, I bet he would have been by my side the moment it was possible. But this voice is hoarse and out of breath. It doesn’t stand a chance against the choir singing chants against the man who changed the course of my life and then left it all in a single night.
“Agg, wait,” Cory calls out. He’s lagged behind because he had to frantically pay for our meal on the way out while I just marched straight through the doors. But he’s caught up now and he’s at my side, begging to know what has gotten into me. “I get that you’re mad about me not checking in on you, but are you seriously going to let that hold you down now that we’re back together? I mean, we used to be insepa
rable.”
“And then you left,” I spit out. “I woke up the next morning, and you weren’t on the couch. You were gone and I never heard from you again until tonight. So you’re going to have to fucking excuse me if I’m not welcoming you back with open arms. Because that’s what you expected, right? You’d just waltz back into my life, the high and mighty director who made it in Hollywood and now has come back to rescue his pathetic childhood friend from a life of monotony.” I stop abruptly and turn to him. I have no problem looking in his eyes now, because I want to rip them out. “Well, guess what. If you wanted to show off how amazing you are, you should have stayed back at Applebee’s. I’m sure they would have worshipped the ground you walk on if you’d just told them who you really are now, Cory Flint.”
Cory was never good at playing the apologetic role, and some things never change.
“You’re talking all pious like you didn’t show up at the reunion for that exact purpose. So I don’t see where you have room to talk.”
“I didn’t leave. You did.”
Not even I know how that was supposed to be a rebuttal. All I know is that it's the only thing that really matters right now.
He left. I stayed behind.
