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“Marriage.” I shake my head. “Yeah. No on that one.”
“Still terrified of it?”
“I was never terrified of it.” Allie and I didn’t out-and-out talk about getting married, but I assumed it’d happen eventually. Neither of us saw an expiration date back when a stint of four years seemed like a lifetime. Now that ten years have passed, she’s still the longest relationship I’ve had, so maybe it wasn’t that naïve.
Our food arrives and the conversation stalls long enough for us to tuck in.
“I was terrified,” she continues like there wasn’t a break in the conversation. She slices a boneless chicken wing into three chunks. She dips one in blue cheese dressing and chews thoughtfully.
“Of marrying or marrying me?”
“Of marriage, period. I thought it would mark the end of youth.”
“No. You’re mistaking that with kids.”
She eyes me carefully, swallows her bite, and proceeds with caution. “Are you…speaking from experience?”
“I dated a girl with a three-year-old for a while.” I miss her son, Dallas. I don’t miss his mom.
“Oh.”
“That was as close of a brush to fatherhood as I came.” Except when Allie missed her period once and we sweated out an at-home pregnancy test in her dorm room. Man. I’d forgotten about that until this very second. “Did you think I had one or two kids running around Ohio somewhere?”
“It could’ve happened.”
“It could’ve. But, no. Kids haven’t been in the cards for me yet.”
We lock eyes over our red plastic baskets of food before she explains what’s behind her stony stare.
“That could’ve been us. Imagine if I’d have ended up pregnant in college. If Hollywood had never happened.”
So her mind did go back to that moment alongside mine. I don’t think the wistful quality of her voice is her wishing she’d have ended up pregnant and married to me, though. I’m guessing it has more to do with regrets over how things have ended up since Tinseltown bit her in the ass.
“Wish you’d have stuck around Ohio?” I stab a boneless wing and gesture with it. “Stayed here and finished business school? Landed a job with a corner office? Avoided the bright lights and millions of dollars Hollywood had to offer?”
She pauses like she’s mentally considering an alternative scenario and then shakes her head. “No. I guess not. I love my job.”
Her beaming smile comes out of hiding. She’s alive—her eyes sparking with interest.
“This’ll go away and you’ll be back in the limelight soon enough. Everyone’ll say you made a comeback. They’ll realize the stolen Oscar thing was blown out of proportion. It’s a hunk of metal on a stand. It isn’t as if Millie lost her title because it’s not on her shelf. It’s not like she has to take her statuettes with her to auditions or anything.”
Allie surprises me by laughing.
“What?” If I’m not mistaken, she’s finding my midwestern lack of know-how charming.
“You’re so damn refreshing.”
“Uh…Thanks?” I’m not sure how to take being described like a soft drink.
“Everyone I’ve talked to in L.A. has been so, so, so serious. From my agent to my publicist and even my aunt. They’re talking about spin and lining up tell-all interviews with magazines.” She plucks a mozzarella stick from the basket. “My agent had this crazy idea…”
Rather than finish, she takes a bite.
“A publicity stunt of sorts…” She caps that partial sentence with another bite.
“Are you going to tell me or not?” I ask after waiting for her to continue.
Straightening the bill of her cap, she peeks at me from under it and says, “Yeah. I guess I am.”
