13. Piper
THIRTEEN
Piper
JUST THE TIPSINESS
I can’t believe I was finally in an actual, physical room with Holden Everett Archer and I just froze, like Meg Ryan in the middle of oncoming traffic.
There were about twenty other girls rubbing up against him, but I just stood there staring, like a weirdo.
It felt kind of electric, though, when he was looking at me.
I mean, he was really looking at me.
I felt seen.
I felt like he really saw me being a frozen weirdo in the middle of an airport—but he wasn’t judging me for being a frozen weirdo. Like, he gets it. He gets me.
I don’t think any guy has ever gotten me before.
Besides Declan, but he’s not a guy—he’s a man, and now he’s my uncle.
And there was something electric between me and Holden. That couldn’t have just been my imagination. The way he took off his sunglasses in slow motion and looked right at me. Like he knew me somehow. And he looked so good. And it made me feel good, even when I was feeling bad about not being able to talk to him.
And who knows, maybe it didn’t read as me being frozen, maybe it just looked like I was playing it cool.
However it looked, I’ve felt all tingly ever since, and it’s been nine hours since Holden gazed into my soul.
And okay, I had half a glass of the white wine that was left in the fridge as soon as I got home. To celebrate. Cheers to me and the Universe and the Wishing Wall. Half of one wish came true. Or a third? I guess I didn’t meet him, but we were face-to-face.
I finish unpacking my suitcase.
I’m realizing that now would be a good time to make a diary entry again, when my phone dings with a Google Chat notification. I am only a little disappointed that it’s not a Backroom text from Holden, but I’m sure he’s busy.
JOURNAL GUY: Hi. I was thinking we should meet. Each other. In person.
Oh gosh.
That’s so sweet.
JOURNAL GUY: What are you doing tomorrow?
Wow. So forward. Why am I not more excited by this?
“Heyyyyy…” Tracy knocks on the open door to my bedroom, pouting at me.
“Hi! I didn’t realize you were here!” I give her a big hug.
“Hey, buddy.” She strokes my back and holds me longer than necessary. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I pull away and study her oddly concerned face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I just talked to Lainey and she said we need to get you drunk.”
“Really?”
“Oh, has Shay not called you yet?” She grimaces. “I’ll open a bottle of red.” She strokes my arm right before walking out.
I do not feel good about this.
My phone rings. It’s Shay. It’s Shay calling me from Sedona, and she didn’t even passive-aggressively text me to see if I’m available to talk first, which means it’s urgent. Which means it’s about New Year’s Eve. Which means it’s about Holden. Which means I’m going to need that wine.
I let it ring three times before answering—probably not because I am being passive-aggressive and enjoy making her wait, more likely because I am trying to hang on to one last moment of this part of my life where I don’t have to think about Holden Archer boning Shay Nicholls in a cabin because I made him like her.
“Hello?”
“Oh my God, I thought you’d never answer. Pay attention because this is important: Holden agreed to cabin with me tomorrow.”
“Wow. I didn’t realize it was a verb.”
“We’re going to cabin on New Year’s Eve, so whatever you said in Backroom—good work.”
I am racking my brain trying to remember anything I’ve said in Backroom between Christmas and today that could have dazzled Holden enough to agree to “cabin” with her, but maybe it was the sum of all the text parts.
“I need you to go to Big Bear Lake, to the cabin in the morning to get things ready. I’ll pay you an extra week’s salary as well as gas money. You can drive, right?”
“Yes. I just don’t own a car.”
“What?! Everyone owns a car in LA.”
“I either Uber or my roommates drive or I borrow their car.”
“Okay, well Lainey for sure won’t be driving for a couple of days, so take her car. And to be clear—I don’t need you to text with Holden for me anymore. I’ve definitely got this, so go ahead and sign out of Backroom. Although I might need you to do this for me with another guy at some point—we’ll see. Anyway, I’ll be flying in early tomorrow afternoon. I’m having some things delivered to your apartment by eight tomorrow morning. Things I need you to take to Big Bear and set up for me, okay? There’s new stuff I ordered from Amazon and stuff I told my sister to grab from my house. Make sure she gives it to you. I’m emailing you all the information, okay? Address, key code for the cabin, what to put where, and you need to be out of there by one at the latest.”
“Doesn’t it take over two hours to drive to Big Bear?”
“It does. It’ll probably take me longer to get there from LAX. Ugh. It’s going to be such a long travel day for me tomorrow. Okay. I have to get one last hot-stone massage—also, I’ve been working on a notes document for your script. I have some ideas for the second act turning point that I think you will love.”
“Great. I’m going to need an extra two weeks’ salary for the Big Bear assignment,” I find myself telling her.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve and it’s over four hours of driving. Also, it feels like you’re planning on trying to get me to do a free rewrite for you on my script, and I don’t feel comfortable with that.” Oh my God, I am so proud of myself right now. They don’t teach anything practical about being a professional screenwriter in my classes, but growing up in New York taught me a lot about not letting people fuck with me. Or maybe it’s the wine.
“Wow. Hardball. Okay, respect. No notes until we have a deal in place and after you’ve been paid the option fee for your script, and I’ll tell my business manager to pay you two weeks’ salary for your work at Big Bear tomorrow. Thanks—byeeee.”
Welp.
I guess it was just my imagination about Holden.
I unpack a few sweaters, put a few items of clothing into my laundry basket.
This hasn’t killed me and it will make me stronger.
So Holden Archer is going to cabin with Shay Nicholls. How did I think this would end? I’m the queen of getting other people together.
Sighing, I zip up my suitcase, because fuck unpacking.
I need one glass of wine.
But not to drown my sorrows.
To celebrate the open road ahead.
A wise girl once wrote in her diary Every crush door that closes just leads you to the door that the love of your life will be waiting behind. It was me. I wrote that. After Eddie and Birdie got married. And so I will close the door that leads to the actor with the initials HEA and lead myself to the door that my real HEA might be waiting behind.
So this isn’t a celebrity romance—big deal! Doesn’t mean it’s not a romance. Maybe it’s a friends to lovers. Journal Guy counts as a friend. I think. And he definitely emails like someone who has a nice butt.
I’m not sad.
I’m definitely crestfallen.
But still hopeful.
“I’m here! I’m here,” Lainey calls out, and I hear the front door slam. She runs into my room and wraps her arms around me. “I love you. This too shall pass. I brought a shitload of disgusting stuff from my sister’s house that I have to give you, including a thong the size of a toddler’s bracelet, and I’m so sorry for whatever emotional pain you’re feeling right now.”
“I’m not in emotional pain.”
“Awww, baby. You’re numb.” She leads me out to the living room area and sits me down on the sofa.
Tracy hands me a glass of wine. “We’re both here for you now, and there are five parties you’re coming with us to tomorrow night. We will find you someone who is not Holden Archer.”
Lainey turns on the old iPhone and Bluetooth speaker we use to listen to Spotify in here, and I already know she’s going to put on the “Girls’ Night In” playlist, which is a slightly different collection of Taylor Swift songs than the “Girls’ Night Out” playlist.
I take a sip of merlot and say, “I actually sort of have someone who’s not Holden already.”
“Did you meet someone in New York?” Tracy asks, and it’s weird that it didn’t even occur to me that I could have met someone over the holidays this year.
“No. Well. Sort of. I was in New York when we first started emailing. And so was he. And emailing counts as meeting online, so yes. I met someone in New York. Three years ago.”
“Wait. You’ve had an online boyfriend for three years, and I don’t know this?” Lainey seems offended. “I don’t understand anything anymore. Explain.”
“Well…I don’t know who he is exactly and we had no contact at all for almost three whole years, but it’s a really cute story because his little sister is a fan of my writing.”
Lainey instantly appears relieved to understand the world again. She and Tracy get comfortable on either side of me with their own glasses of wine and listen to the story of how I lost my Extra Super Secret Diary when I bolted out of a cab to try to get a glimpse of Holden Archer and Journal Guy found it.
They were quietly supportive and enraptured, even, all the way up until I told them he just messaged me to say that we should meet.
“You told him you want to meet him, right?” Lainey asks, squeezing my arm so hard it actually hurts.
“Ow. Not yet. Wait. Did I? Where’s my phone?”
“You two thousand percent have to meet him, Piper,” Tracy says, jumping up off the couch. “Tomorrow. Even if he isn’t The One, he’s A One.”
“Yeah,” says Lainey. “A bird in hand is worth way more than a movie star in my sister’s bush.”
I scrunch up my face and shudder at that image.
“Sorry. What I mean is—any guy would be lucky to be in your beautiful hand. You just have to give someone a chance. And it sounds like Journal Guy deserves one.”
I guffaw at that. Actually guffaw. I know fifteen different synonyms for laugh , and what I’m doing right now is guffawing. “Literally every guy I’ve ever met has had a chance with me.”
She shakes her head and chortles. Or maybe she’s chuckling. “You really have no idea, do you?”
“About what?”
“Oh, my dear, sweet Poops. So astute when it comes to other people. So blind when it comes to your gorgeous self.” She leans in, her face inches from mine, and says, “Guys have been tripping over themselves trying to get to you for years.”
Tracy giggles. “So busy checking out guys’ butts, you don’t even realize they’re ogling yours.”
“Exactly,” Lainey says. “You’re a smoke show, babe. When you finally realize it, the entire male population is going to be in so much trouble.” She sits back and pats my knee. “But first, you need to get into some trouble with Journal Guy.”
She takes the empty glass from my hand, pulls me up off the sofa, and points me in the direction of my bedroom, where my phone is.
This is it. I take in a deep, shaky breath. This is another character-defining moment in the story arc of my life.
I sit at the edge of my bed, pick up my phone, and open up the Google Chat app.
ME: Hi. Yes. I would like to meet you in person. Bit i don’t even know one if your named. E. Is that even teh fist initiative of one id your name? Or sid you accidently hit the e key once?
ME: Yikes. Typos. Sorry.
ME: Just a little bit tipsy. You are in my contacts as Journal Guy. frowning face emoji
JOURNAL GUY: “No specifics, remember?” —quoted from One of Your Favorite Movies That’s Not a Documentary.
JOURNAL GUY: Also, please refer to: “Well, it isn’t as romantic if there’s no surprise.” —quoted from a message you wrote to me on Christmas.
ME: face with rolling eyes emoji
JOURNAL GUY: Are you free tomorrow?
ME: I have to do something for work in the morning. And I’m supposed to go to some parties with my roommates tomorrow night. I’m in LA, by the way. How will this even work? Aren’t you in New York?
JOURNAL GUY: Thanks to an amazing new invention called the airplane, I will be in the Los Angeles area. I was planning on staying at my uncle’s cabin in Big Bear Lake for a few days, actually. Is that far from where you are?
Oh. M. Get the hell out of here.
It’s a sign.
It’s a sign that I can’t tell my parents where I’m going to be tomorrow, but it’s a sign.
ME: You’re kidding. I have to drive to Big Bear tomorrow morning for work! I could meet you somewhere around there.
JOURNAL GUY: Amazing. What a totally believable coincidence.
ME: Can we meet somewhere in public? Like a pretty garden with lots of flowers and people, or a restaurant? You know, in case I’m a creepy murderer?
JOURNAL GUY: There are a number of restaurants we could meet at. I’ll send you a link to the prettiest one with the most flowers and people. And I’ll give you my phone number—how’s that? Does 1:00 work?
ME: It does! Yes. And thank you for offering to send your number to a potential serial killer. I feel better about this already. I will meet you at 1:00 tomorrow.
JOURNAL GUY: I’m really looking forward to that. I’ll be the guy with the copy of Pride and Prejudice and a rose.
JOURNAL GUY: Just kidding. It was emasculating just typing that sentence.
ME: Once again, I am very impressed by your familiarity with a movie you claim to despise.
JOURNAL GUY: If I’m being honest, I did watch a lot of romantic comedies with my sister over the past few days. Like, a lot. It really messes with your head.
ME: Tell me about it.
JOURNAL GUY: I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow at around one. winking face emoji
Oh, that’s sweet.
I should just leave it at that.
I’m going to just leave it at that until tomorrow.
Except…
ME: I feel like I should tell you…Journal Guy, that while I am very single, there is someone that I’ve been kind of hung up on lately. But he’s taken. So. I don’t know. I just thought I’d be honest and let you know.
JOURNAL GUY: Taken, huh? Does he have a girlfriend?
ME: No. I don’t think so. Not yet anyway.
JOURNAL GUY: And does this person know how you feel?
ME: No. And he can’t. Ever. Or I guess he can know how I feel—he just can’t know that I’m the one who feels it.
ME: Never mind. It’s complicated.
JOURNAL GUY: Well, I’m sure he feels the way you hope he feels about you. Things aren’t usually as complicated as they seem. Maybe it’s just a plot complication. Which is a lot easier to work through. You just have to get to the next scene.
ME: I like you, Journal Guy.
ME: And I don’t even care if it’s too soon for me to say that. Or if you only like me as a friend or potential friend. I do like you. I just need to do a thing to get over this other guy I like, and then I’ll be free to like you more.
JOURNAL GUY: Not sure if I like the sound of that.
JOURNAL GUY: But I do like you, PiperThanFiction. Do what you gotta do. I’ll see you in the next scene.
I like that.
I like Journal Guy. I do. I just need to stop liking Holden so much.
I’m going to do what I gotta do.
I gotta get this out of my system.
Like writing in my Extra Super Secret Diary. Except it will be interactive. Hopefully. I will release this so it doesn’t have to live in my head anymore. Or in my heart. Or my belly. Or between my legs. I will do it because I know that if I don’t, I will always regret it. I will do it before Shay cancels or changes her password for that Backroom account. More importantly, I have to do this before Shay does Holden.
I’ll just have to keep reminding myself that the person Holden Archer really likes—or the personality he’s really responding to anyway—is me.
I lock my bedroom door and turn on a carefully curated private playlist on my laptop, the one I called “Ride the Storm . ”
I shrug off my sweater and shimmy out of my miniskirt, letting it all pool to the floor. Just kidding. I almost fall over when I’m taking off my tights. But then I put on something that I feel sexy in. And I check out my butt in the full-length mirror.
I gotta say…I do like what I see.