Always My Forever

4. Gemma

FOUR

GEMMA

I don’t know why it took this to drive it home for me. It should’ve been clear to me years ago that there’s never been any interest in me as anything beyond his friend, but I kept holding out hope. Kept that flame alive, thinking surely after his next one-night stand, his next failed date, his next brutal breakup, he’d realize that it’s me he’s been trying to find all along.

But he never does. I just get to see his latest conquest in the pages of Us Weekly and sob into my pillow about it after I spend my days around him, pretending I didn’t notice the article, or that I’m happy for the impressive notches in his belt.

But hearing him say he thinks she might be the one, that did it.

That broke me.

That blew out the flame I’ve kept alight since my sexual awakening around the age of fourteen.

Message received, loud and clear.

It’s all I’ve been able to think about today.

Years of mental ping-pong as to whether or not he wants me. Months of convincing myself this spark between us was building, brewing, that I wasn’t the only one who felt it. That he might be ready to consider taking the next step with me. Weeks of bolstering my confidence. All of which culminated in my utterly embarrassing grinding on the couch, in my sleep-hazed state, only to have him push me to the ground before telling me he’s met the one.

I blame the dream I had for my reckless and shameless action this morning. Mortification isn’t a strong enough word to describe my current feelings about making a move on my very taken best friend. I can only be thankful he hasn’t brought it up since, but I need to be prepared for it if he does.

Maybe I can pretend I was still asleep?

You called his name, you fuckwit.

Maybe he didn’t notice?

In my sleepy, confused state, I thought I imagined his fingers drifting along my stomach, like he was as desperate for the contact as I was. What I would’ve done for those fingers to drift just a little bit farther south, just this morning.

Now I want to cut them off and jam them up his ass.

Seriously. How was I supposed to know he had a freaking girlfriend?

They’ve apparently been back together for six weeks! I feel pretty stupid for having missed that. We spend about thirteen hours a day together most days, though I guess I’m realizing we’ve been more distant than I thought. And he has been weird about his phone once or twice recently.

But still. I woke up with his arm around my waist, his hand on my bare skin, and his very aroused dick pressed into me. What the fuck was I supposed to think? That’s not exactly the international code for I’m taken, sweetheart.

And while I’m on the Aaron-bashing train, fuck him for that dig about not wanting to rub it in my face. Like I’m so damn pathetic in my perpetual single state that he doesn’t want to risk setting me off by sharing that someone else on this planet is getting laid regularly.

I’m not sure if he meant it as harshly as it came out, but it sounded to me like he was harboring some pity for my lackluster love life. And now that I know he has exactly negative three romantic thoughts of me on his radar, I’m done.

I really thought we’d turned a corner; after his last breakup, our physical interactions became more and more frequent, the brotherly teasing he always doled out seemingly eased up, and there have been way more than one or two moments of romance novel-worthy tension between us in recent memory.

But I guess that was all in my head. He couldn’t have made it clearer how uninterested in me he is.

I think she might be the one.

Well, good for you, buddy. I hope she is. Because you just lost the only one who’s stood by your side through absolutely everything.

If I start going down memory lane right now about all the things I’ve given up or missed out on to support him in his dreams, I might actually have a mental breakdown. I’ll save that for later tonight when I’m stuffing my face until I pass out in his old middle school drama tee that he outgrew at around age sixteen.

No. You know what? New and improved Gemma is going to pass out in her own shirt. Hah. Take that, ghost of what we could’ve been. Gemron is officially dead.

Something inside my chest has hardened, solidified into stone. It feels tight, and there’s a physical pain that wasn’t there yesterday. But this is good, right? The constant reminder of that pain means I won’t make that mistake again. This is surely the first step to moving on, right?

A hushed conversation nearby disrupts my train of thought, and my nerves are on edge when my ears make out what’s being said. I’m dangerously close to entering bitch territory , but I doubt there’s much I can do about that at this point.

“Did you hear he got cast as the lead in that movie being shot in Croatia this summer?”

It’s actually Romania , but who am I to correct them?

“Oh my gawd,” the screechiest voice I’ve heard since that time Aaron shot a couple episodes for a show on the Disney Channel feels like it’s piercing my ear drum as the girls, who can’t be much younger than me, freak out in a corner of the small cafe. Okay, maybe I’m being a little harsh on her, but I digress. “I would literally kill to get chosen as a gofer on a set where I can see Aaron fucking Stone in a love scene.”

The first girl fans herself and pretends to faint at the thought, and I turn my head so I don’t have to witness them fangirling over the thought of my best friend. The one I fangirl over at any given chance. But at least I do it silently. Like a classy creep.

I guess I roll my eyes as I turn my back to them, because the screechy one calls out to me. “What? You have something to say to us?” She sounds more bitchy than defensive, but I’m not about to start something with this rando. I’m just having a pretty damn bad day thanks to the object of her obsession.

Her friend pipes up, quieter than Screechy, “Um, you, not us, Sal.”

“Shut up!” Screechy Sal hisses at her before turning her attention back to me. “If you have a problem with me, just say it.”

Oookay then. I’m not exactly what you’d call confrontational, but this seems like too perfect of an opportunity to pop her bubble and take out my resentment on Aaron in a particularly petty fashion, and who am I to snub Fate?

“You realize that he’s just a guy, right?” The irony of what I’m saying isn’t lost on me, even as my gut clenches at the thought of writing him off as the same as every other male on this round rock floating through space. He’s far from the rest of his species in my eyes, but he does have a lot of similarities to them, and those are what I’m focusing on as of right now.

It’s her turn to roll her eyes, and she looks like she’s going to brush me off, so I toss another line at her before she can. “He farts, and burps, and makes dumb jokes, gets too excited about really dumb fantasy shows just like the other nerds you know.”

This time they both seem to take offense at the less than flattering, but not at all untrue picture I’ve painted, seemingly shattering their perfect vision of him.

“Like you’d know,” the first one scoffs at me before they link arms and storm out of the cafe together.

Sigh . And here is the crux of my life. As Aaron’s best and kind of only friend, he’s been at the center of my life and, therefore, most of my memories since seventh grade. As his assistant for the last five years, I basically have no aspect of my life that doesn’t involve him. However, the number of people who know me and know that? I could count them on one hand. We have a small—okay, more of a nonexistent—circle. He has trust issues, and rightly so. I haven’t ever really had the time (or the desire) to create much of a life outside of him. But it does make any ventures into the real world without him interesting.

It’s not that often I walk into a conversation about the man like he’s some sort of demigod, but it’s kind of impossible for him to not come up when talking to me. I’m starting to realize how pathetic it sounds—trust me—but you can’t ask me about my job, my friends, my life, my hobbies, what I do with my free time without Aaron being mentioned. Obviously, I rarely share anything about that with strangers, but when his name does pop up, I usually get the same response.

Men tend to get a little excited, talking about whichever role of his was their favorite. I get a lot of disbelieving looks throughout, as if they’re gauging whether or not I’m telling the truth, but they usually ask me something stupid about him. What’s his workout routine? How much protein did he eat in a day before filming Rough and Tumble ? What’s his favorite sports team?

I could answer them in my sleep, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Aaron told me I do from time to time. High-intensity interval training or weights, depending on the day of the week. He shoots for at least ninety grams per meal, four times a day. And on that last one? I just make a different one up every time. It might hurt their feelings to find out Aaron would rather watch a Marvel movie marathon for the seventy-third time than a single sporting event. Sometimes I scroll the Reddit subs on celebrity gossip, hoping someone starts a thread one day where all of his “favorite teams” come out. Minor chaos, but major fun for me.

Like I said, the guy’s a giant fucking nerd. But then again, so am I. Aside from the occasional Bruins game—and let’s be honest, I never watched hockey until a few good books opened my mind to it—I couldn’t care less about sports either.

Women, on the other hand, almost always tend to look me up and down, deeming me unfit for his company and, therefore, a liar. To be honest, it’s getting kind of old. I thought we were in our female empowerment era? Sadly, I don’t seem to experience much of this in real life, and that’s something I’d really like to see more of on a day-to-day basis.

I’m not sure what the physical requirements are to work for or befriend a B-list celeb—harsh, maybe, but he’s got a ways to go before he’s Ryan Reynolds for crying out loud, and I try not to let his ego go to his head—but apparently it’s not a gangly chick with minimal makeup and mousy brown hair, who’s almost always clothed in a boxy tee and comfy jeans with a pair of well-worn Toms.

Maybe I’m not fashionable enough for people to take me seriously? Well, that’s a given. I’ve never really had much female influence in my life to learn from, and the one time I did try to amp up my style, well, let’s just say I still haven’t recovered from Aaron’s response.

Maybe I’m supposed to wear makeup? Style my hair in something other than a haphazard topknot? Magically grow curves? Is lip filler a requirement?

Look, no one handed me a guide when I bonded with this kid as seventh-graders over fantasy books and became his only lifeline as he started landing increasingly major acting gigs shortly after. We kinda just clung onto each other for dear life and hoped for the best. And until this morning, I thought we’ve done pretty damn well together. Now I’m starting to wonder if these naysayers have been right all along.

Who am I kidding? Why do I think I still belong in his life? The more his life changes, the more I stay the same, the less I fit into it all.

After the first year as his assistant, I stopped placing orders in his name. The responses were either insultingly incredulous—which I can handle—or they thought it was a prank and wouldn’t deliver whatever product or service I’d ordered for him. His food, a house painter, furniture for the house, it didn’t matter the scale. When the catering for a holiday party never arrived because they thought it was a joke, well, that’s when he got me a credit card on his account in my name for buying him all his shit without the hassle.

I rarely have to drop his name anymore, but I’m honestly not sure why it’s so hard to believe when I do. We’re on a fucking production lot, for fuck’s sake. Even if we weren’t, the whole six degrees of separation thing is kinda crazy. Someone you know knows someone else who knows the singer of your favorite 80’s hair metal band, or your ex’s new Bulgarian wife, or the president of the country, or some crazy shit like that.

Not sure why it’s so hard to believe that I’m one of those links that knows Aaron fucking Stone. It’s just a little thing, but it’s something that’s eaten at me every single time it’s come up since he’s gotten more and more famous, and it feels like it’s been slowly eroding the foundation of my self-confidence until I’m a hair’s breadth from caving in, with nothing left to support me in place. One or two more hits to my ego, my certainty of belonging in this man’s life, and I’ll crumble.

It’s—he’s—all I’ve built my world around. If I don’t belong in his life…if I’m not his best friend, his assistant, his everything, who even am I?

I let out a sigh and tap my foot, waiting for the teenager who’s currently texting to finish their very important conversation. Or maybe stop scrolling through TikTok? Hard to tell from this angle, but I’d really like them to finish up this smoothie right about now.

The teenager eventually remembers they have a job to do, and they turn the blender on, letting the green drink take shape.

A few more rudely impatient taps of my foot later, and I remind myself to calm down. It’s not like I’m in a hurry. I certainly don’t want to run into Aaron when I drop his afternoon shake off in his trailer. Checking the time on my phone, I realize he’s not due out of the shot they’re working on for another forty minutes. I’ve got time. Don’t be a fucking heifer to this worker. You can do it, Gemma. My bad mood isn’t this guy’s fault. But, on second thought, would it kill him to pay attention?

A new text comes in just as I’m slipping my phone into my back pocket, so I pull it back out to see a message from Alex, the sometimes assistant to the director, sometimes the right hand of the production manager, and absolute lifesaver of the line producer. Basically, a lot of the key crew would be fucked without her saving their asses.

Alexandra the Great

You around?

Me

Be back in less than twenty, what do you need?

The boss wants to swap around this afternoon’s sequence. Can you make sure he’s ready for 418-62 by 4? You’re a real gem ??

A snort comes out at her very unoriginal joke, but she makes herself laugh with it, and it’s hard not to love her. I triple check the time, and I’m confident that prepping him for that scene should be no problem.

On it

Wanna grab a coffee once they’re underway?

Grab a coffee is her code for shoot the shit . She must have some tea for me.

After reacting to her message with a thumbs-up, I pocket my phone and, thank the good Lord above, his majesty’s green gooey protein smoothie is finally ready. A mental slap in the face reminds me to try to be kinder, not to take my newfound irritation out on people who don’t deserve it. I put a pin in my aggression, shelving it for the one person on this planet who does deserve it right now.

A review of how prepared he is versus how prepared he should be for scene sixty-two keeps me busy as I make my way back to the soundstage, and by the time I leave his smoothie on the small desk in his trailer, a flavored Pellegrino out and ready for him next to it, I know I need a better plan in place for being face to face with him and not turning into a tomato. He’s going to want to run lines with me, because he didn’t think he was filming that scene until tomorrow, and he’s not ready yet.

Unfortunately for me, before I can come up with one, the trailer door blows open, and he steamrolls in like he owns the joint. Well, I guess he kinda does, but whatever. So much for avoiding the kid all day.

Does every actor on set have an assistant? Most of the bigger ones do, yeah. Does Alex like any of the others? Not so much.

I try to keep my grin to a minimum, but sometimes I feel a hint of self-satisfaction at how good I am at my job. The fact that she insists on working with me when she won’t deal with any of the other assistants drives that point home pretty damn clearly. On a day where my self-confidence has taken a big hit? I’m relishing in anything I can right now.

It’s now seven minutes past four, my actor was drilled within an iota of his lung capacity on his lines and was to the right soundstage two minutes early. Because Alex is amazing, so were the rest of the cast, despite the last-minute change of plans. Now the shot is underway, her presence (temporarily) no longer needed, and she and I are sneaking out the backlot to go to one of our favorite hangout spots for times like this. When everything on set is rolling smoothly, she and I can kill some time together. She’s probably the closest thing to a friend I’ve made in the three seasons Aaron’s been on the show, and I wish we spent more time together, because she is goals . When I grow up, I wanna be Alex, that’s for sure.

“I heard your boy is getting serious with that Instagram model.” She starts off strong, going right for the jugular. Guess the cat’s out of the bag. Alex doesn’t beat around the bush too often, either, and she’s not cutting me any slack today.

That bitter part of me—abnormally active today—wonders if I’m the only one in this town who was unaware that the love of my life has fallen for someone else.

My throat seems to have closed of its own volition, and I struggle to remind the muscles how to move and create sound. “Mmm,” is what comes out. Slack ass throat. That didn’t even involve you.

Her dark eyes have stayed trained on me as I’ve battled with my own vocal cords, and I’m pretty sure she’s seen everything she was looking for with that little ambush of hers. Clever bitch .

“Stop looking at me like that,” I manage to get out, a little quieter than I’d hoped to sound.

“How do you even know what I’m looking at you like if your eyes haven’t left your shoelaces, hmm, Gemma?”

“I don’t even have shoelaces,” I protest weakly, but honestly, I’m not up for arguing with her logic, so I force my gaze to meet hers. Relief floods my chest when it’s not pity that greets me there, but understanding.

I head her off, before she can start asking me questions I’m not sure how to answer. “Look, it took me by surprise, is all. He sprung it on me this morning, and it seemed like it came out of nowhere.”

Not a single muscle on her gorgeous face moves, not so much as a twitch of a black eyebrow, but I feel her stare burn into me, and I’m pretty sure she’s got some sort of vaporized truth serum in that look, as I crack, instantly.

“I’m working through it, okay? I might have been…harboring some lingering hope for us…” I trail off, never more appreciative of Alex’s friendship than this moment, when she chooses not to snort at my statement, or make me feel stupid for keeping this flame alight for so long. “But I am coming to terms with the fact that it’s not going to happen. I’m just trying to get my smile on in time for our first meeting tonight.” I throw her a dry look with several rapid blinks that tells her exactly how excited I am for said meet up.

“Honey, I’m amazed you put up with his ass as long as you have. He’s a sweet kid, but he is blind as a badger.”

My face screws up in confused thought. “Are…are badgers blind?”

“I presume so. Why would they eat all those gross bugs and shit if they could see? Anyway, my point is, this man is off hunting for bugs when he’s got a prize meal right in front of him, he’s just never opened his eyes to see what’s there.”

A weak smile lifts the corners of my mouth, and I appreciate her trying with me.

“Okay, that was a terrible metaphor, but look, my point is he’s a fucking dumbass, okay?”

That makes a laugh crack out of me, and her shoulder nudges mine comfortingly.

“Men can be actual dumbasses. Thank the Lord some of ’em make up for it in other ways, otherwise we’d have no damn use for their shit.”

I jerk my chin up in amused agreement, as if my inexperienced ass has any grasp on all the things a man can bring to the table.

“Listen, I’ve seen you with him five days a week, forty-plus weeks a year, for three years now. It was obvious to me on day one, but after all these years, if he hasn’t figured it out yet…honey, it’s time to change something. And I don’t mean try to break him and his girlfriend up, that’s so 2007.”

God, does she know I practically humped him and his morning wood this morning? “I—I don’t want to break them up.”

“Good. Because from the outside looking in, I think it’s time you move on. You deserve someone who sees you for the woman you are, and appreciates all you have to offer the right person.” Her warm smile is so reassuring, I don’t even hate the idea.

“Yeah?” Hesitation muddies my tone, my self-confidence lacking in this department. When it comes to my job? I know I’ve got this shit under control. When it comes to the prospect of finding someone to spend time with, to make a romantic pass at—and God forbid, hook up with—I genuinely don’t even know where to start. How do you meet people these days? Is there somewhere I’m supposed to go? Please tell me I don’t have to download an app. Am I supposed to look like the girls on social media to make this work? I probably need interesting topics to discuss and answers to his questions that won’t come off completely secretive, or just plain lame. What about ? —

“Yeah.” Her firm voice pulls me out of my internal spiral and near-freak-out over all of the things I have to figure out in order to even find someone to move on with. Never mind it being a person who would actually be a good match for me, and me for them, and let’s not bring physical attraction into it?—

“Gemma!” She snaps her fingers in my face, pulling me back out of a second epic mental meltdown in even fewer minutes (a new record), and my eyes shoot back to hers.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “I’m not opposed to the idea. I think it’s about time. I just—I’ve never really dated much. I wouldn’t really know where to start.” Understatement of the year, but no need to make myself sound as pathetic as Aaron clearly thinks my dating life is.

“Well,” she says gently, clasping my hand in hers as we finally make it to the little independent coffee shop she prefers, even though it’s an extra couple of blocks farther away than the Starbucks. “Take your time. No need to rush into it. You want to be truly ready to move on before putting yourself into that rodeo. Otherwise, you’ll wind up with a broken back and no clue how you got there. And I don’t mean that metaphorically. Some of the kids these days are batshit crazy in bed. Can’t get off unless the risk of death is involved. Stay safe.” She shoots me a reassuring wink that says she’s only half kidding, but my thighs tighten instinctively, protecting my more vulnerable parts automatically.

A deep breath helps me feel slightly more confident about this plan, and I let some of my insecurities show. Getting past them might be a two-woman job. “Once I’m ready…what do you even do to try to date these days? I have no life outside of this place. Unless one of the gaffers and I hit it off at craft services, I’m pretty much out of luck in the meeting viable men department.”

She shoots me a sly grin and holds open the door to the coffee shop for me to head in first. “I may have someone up my sleeve for you.”

Now that takes me by surprise.

“Seriously?”

She nods at me, smiling. “I’ve had my eye on him for you for a while now. I’ve been…reserving him for when you were ready. We worked on a show together.”

A gasp leaves my lips, and the barista looks at me expectantly, but I’m not ready to shift my focus just yet. “ Game o —” She slaps a hand over my mouth, cutting me off mid-sentence, and looks at me expectantly.

“Yes.” There’s a bite to her tone, but it’s still kind. She places our order, treating me to the pick-me-up while she attempts to scrape my femininity off the floor after the mindfuck I’ve been in all damn day. “Anyway,” she starts back up again as we wait at the end of the counter for our drinks. Her elbows bob on either side of her head as she adjusts the messy ponytail that would make me look like Phil from Rugrats (not even Lil), yet looks chic on her. “You let me know when you’re ready to let someone in whose name isn’t Aaron ‘sleeps-on-what’s-right-in-front-of-him’ Stone, okay?”

It’s at this exact moment that I notice the magazine sitting face-up on the table closest to us. Guess who’s one of the guys on the cover? Yup. America’s Most Eligible Bachelors, Hollywood Edition . Number seven. He was pretty proud of that ranking. Beat out Tom Holland!!!! his text to me said when he got the news from his publicist.

His effortless charm is radiating at me even in two-dimensional black and white. That face that’s so strikingly handsome, all rugged lines, hard angles, uniquely full of character. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to picture his stupid face for once.

If the world could just let me move on from my best friend, that’d be great. But with Alex’s help, maybe I stand a chance at it.