Chapter 2
Lana
I spent more time at the library than I planned.
The book on Billy Wilder was three hundred pages, and I read almost all of it.
I had come there for a chapter or two, to make some notes, but the more I read, the more I didn’t want to stop.
Wilder had a way of explaining filmmaking that felt different from others.
He wrote about characters that felt real, and he cared about human behavior, not camera angles.
If I wanted to follow in his footsteps, I needed to learn from the best, and everything I read today confirmed that I was on the right track to becoming a great screenwriter.
By the time I looked up from the book, the library was half-empty, and the sun outside had started to disappear behind the buildings.
My stomach growled, reminding me that the only thing I’d eaten since morning was a handful of pretzels from my bag.
I closed the book, returned it to the front desk, and walked out into the warm Los Angeles evening.
Traffic was heavy, as always, but I didn’t mind. I had nowhere to be except the Griffith Observatory.
I wasn’t in a rush to get back home tonight, and I would take the city’s noise over the noise at Callan’s house any day. Getting away from there also allowed me to think of something other than the constant awareness that I was living somewhere I didn’t belong.
The parking lot was almost full, but I found a spot farther down the hill and climbed the path to the main terrace. The air was cooler up here, but I was smart enough to bring a sweater for later. Even if LA never really got cold, I was someone who got cold as soon as the sun didn’t shine.
I looked around for a good place to sit and eat, found an empty bench near the edge, and sat down. Groups of people stood near the railing, taking pictures of the view. A couple was kissing next to the coin-operated binoculars, and two kids chased each other across the pavement.
This was normal.
Normal people doing normal things.
Unlike Callan and his freaky friends, who had sex every damn day.
Honestly, how do they even do that?
Not that I knew what sex felt like, or ever had the pleasure to get addicted to it like Callan, but how good could it actually be?
Wouldn’t that start hurting with time?
I mean, you surely get sore with time, no?
I shook all those thoughts aside and let out a heavy sigh before focusing on me and this moment.
My sandwich was squished from being in my bag all day, but it still tasted fine. Cheese, tomato, and a bit too much mustard to make up for the lack of turkey. I ate it slowly, savoring every bite as the sky grew darker.
I thought about the money Callan had thrown at me this morning. Two hundred dollars for a missing pack of turkey. It wasn’t generosity born out of guilt. He was just being a rich, careless asshole, thinking that giving me a large amount of money would’ve been enough of an apology.
A simple sorry would’ve done it.
But no…he solved everything with money.
I hadn’t touched it. The bills were still folded in my bag, right next to my notebook. I planned to give it back to him because I didn’t want to owe him anything, and I had no clue what to do with that much money anyway.
Sure, I could’ve gone to one of those fancy places in the city where they made Poke bowls for twenty bucks, or smoothies that cost more than a full bag of groceries, but it felt wrong spending that much money on myself.
When the sun and my sandwich were gone, I walked inside the observatory to get a quick look through the telescopes. People stood around the exhibits, reading plaques about stars and orbits, and I just walked around for a while, enjoying the quiet.
Upstairs, the line for the Zeiss telescope was short.
I waited for my turn, hands shoved in my sweater’s pockets, and when it was time, I went up the few steps and looked through the lens.
The volunteer next to me said it was aimed at Saturn, and I could clearly see the planet’s rings brightly.
I could see four more tiny moons around it, glowing dots in the black.
It looked far away and unreal, but what struck me was how still it was.
Nothing like the constant noise of the house or the mess of people that came and went every week.
“Living up there would be so peaceful,” I whispered.
“Yeah, until you realize there’s no Wi-Fi, and your snacks keep floating away.”
I took a step back from the telescope and looked at the volunteer. Pursing my lips, I decided he was just trying to do small talk. And I could do small talk.
I laughed softly. “Right, but it would still be peaceful.”
He smiled. “Yeah, for sure.”
The small talk was over when another woman started asking him questions, and so I left, heading back outside. The parking lot had thinned out, and only a few people were still around. I wasn’t ready to go just yet, so I sat back down on an empty bench to enjoy the rest of the quiet night.
The silence didn’t last long when it got interrupted by my phone ringing.
There weren’t many people who could be calling me, and I always turned it into a game.
It was either my mother or my best friend, Holland, and tonight, I was hoping it would be Holland.
Okay, I hoped it was Holland every time my phone rang.
I reached into my tote bag and pulled out my phone, whispering, “Please let it be Holland, please let it be Holland.” But when I looked at the screen, I was disappointed to see my mother’s name at the top.
“Son of a biscuit,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes. Before picking up, I took a deep breath to prepare for the conversation I was about to have with my very egotistical mother. I accepted the call and lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello.”
“Lana,” she said, her voice too cheerful. “How are you, honey?”
“I’m fine.”
She paused, expecting me to ask how she was doing, and when I didn’t say more, she lowered her tone in that fake casual way she used when she wanted something. “How’s Callan? Have you seen him around?”
I stared out at the city, wondering why every time I was in a state of peace, she somehow knew and ruined it. “Yeah. He’s home.”
“Did he ask about me?” she said quickly. “Does he miss me?”
I closed my eyes, deciding to ignore her questions. “Mom, where are you?”
“Why? You sound like my mother now,” she replied, her voice annoyed and mocking.
Deep breaths, Lana. Deep breaths.
“Because you left me there,” I said quietly. “And you haven’t called in four weeks.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. You’re not a kid. You’re in college. You’re fine.”
I said nothing because, well, what was I supposed to say to that?
You’re right, Mom, I’m all good living alone in a house where your still-husband films his porn movies and steals my food?
Nothing would change this situation.
“Anyway,” she continued, “tell him I’m doing well. Maybe…slip it into conversation.”
“I’m not doing that,” I said flatly.
She sighed, and for a second, I thought she might sound like a real mother, but then she said, “You always make things harder than they need to be.”
I watched the city again, the lights blurring as my eyes watered.
Stop that.
No crying.
Not over her.
I clenched my jaw and gripped the phone tighter. “You could’ve just told me where you are.” That would’ve made this conversation more bearable.
“I’m staying with a friend here in LA,” she said nonchalantly. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“I wasn’t.”
Silence again. This time, she didn’t rush to fill it.
I could hear people talking faintly in the background.
There was music and laughter. Wherever she was, not much had changed for her.
She liked parties and big crowds. She loved being in places where she could show off and get attention from whoever was willing to give it.
Mom never called to ask about me. She only ever called to ask about Callan. Because why would she want to know how her daughter was doing?
“Well,” she said finally, “if Callan asks, tell him I said hi.”
“He won’t ask.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.”
“But I’m right, and you know it. Why would he ask about you, Mom? You left him.”
“I didn’t leave him—”
“Yes, you did.” Just like you left me.
“I shouldn’t have called,” she murmured, sounding more annoyed now. “Every time I call, you ruin my good mood. We can never have a normal conversation because of you.”
Right.
I shook my head to stop myself from telling her exactly what I was thinking. Instead, I asked, “Do you want to know about college?”
Stupid question.
Of course, she didn’t want to hear about college or anything I was doing in life.
“I have to go, honey,” she said, sounding all apologetic. “Maybe another time, okay? All right, bye-bye.”
She hung up before I could respond.
Lowering the phone to my lap, I sat there on the bench with my heart aching in the worst way.
For a few seconds, I just stared at my phone, waiting for it to light up again, even though I knew it wouldn’t. She never called back. Never texted after hanging up. Never apologized for the way she treated me.
The ache in my chest grew heavier, and I pressed my palm against it like that would stop it from spreading. I blinked hard to clear my eyes as they blurred again. No. I wasn’t going to cry, not over her. She didn’t deserve that kind of space in my head.
I sucked in a breath through my teeth and let out a quiet, angry laugh. “Unbelievable,” I muttered. My voice cracked, and that made me even more furious. “Every damn time.”
It wasn’t even what she said. It was how easily she brushed me off, like I was some random person bothering her at the wrong moment. Like she didn’t even realize how much damage she’d done.
She never did.
A tear slipped down anyway. I wiped it away fast, shaking my head. “Nope. Not doing this.”
But another one came, and then a few more until I gave up trying to blink them back.
I sat there crying quietly, watching the city below me.
When the tears finally slowed, I reached for my phone again and scrolled to my recent calls.
Her name sat there at the top. I thought about deleting it.
I thought about blocking her. But I didn’t.
I just stared at the screen, jaw tight, and whispered, “I’m just fine on my own. I don’t need you.”
I put the phone back in my bag, then stood up to head to my car. But not before taking one last look at the city. Somewhere down there, my mother was laughing with strangers, pretending her life was perfect. Acting like she didn’t leave her daughter behind.
Let her, I told myself. You’re better off without her.
She’d already taken enough from me.
I wouldn’t allow her to take my peace, too.