7
Tuesday, December 10
14 days until the wedding
Gwen
That flight took forever,” Wayne grumbles as we exit the plane. He winces, rubbing his neck.
“I’m surprised you noticed, since you slept the entire time.” Rising onto my toes, I peer over the crowd in front of me, searching for a bathroom. I spy one ahead. “Hang on. I’ve got to stop. I drank three iced teas back in New York.”
“Me too,” says Alvina.
Together, we duck into the restroom. After a few minutes, we come out.
Wayne’s waiting right by the exit. “Okay, ladies,” he says in an overly bright tone that immediately makes me suspicious. “Baggage claim is this way. Hurry up.” He takes my elbow in one hand and Alvina’s in the other and drags us along, which is odd because Wayne doesn’t usually initiate touching.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my feet stumbling over each other as I attempt to keep up with him.
“Nothing!” His voice is high and harried. He tightens his death grip on my arm and tugs me forward.
“Wayne.” I pull back, wrenching my arm out of his grasp. “What are you doing? Why the rush?” I take in his agitated expression, wondering why he’s acting so weird.
A television screen at Gate 11 catches my eye. It shows a photo of Caleb, a head shot from his movie-star days. Drawn like a magnet, I wander toward it.
“Gwen, wait,” Wayne says from behind me, a warning in his tone. “I don’t think you want to see that.”
“What do you mean?” I ask over my shoulder, stepping closer to the TV. “They’re talking about Caleb. Of course I want to see.”
I can hear the announcer’s voice now. He says, “These photos taken earlier today have the Internet buzzing.” The image changes to a photo of Caleb. He’s outside on a patio with twinkling Christmas lights strung from tree to tree until they make a canopy over his head. A light snow is falling. Snowflakes land in Caleb’s hair. They dust his shoulders and gather on the collar of his jacket.
The man continues, “As we all know, Caleb Lawson is currently engaged to Dr. Gwen Wright, but now everyone’s wondering if that couple will make it to the altar.”
In the photo, Caleb’s not alone. A woman with long black hair and curves for days stands before him, her hands on his cheeks. My mind stutters, unwilling to grasp what I’m seeing. My mouth falls open and an unintentional whimper comes out, the sound of an injured animal.
Alvina moves up next to me. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I spin in a slow circle, taking in all the TVs in the airport. There are a lot of them, one at every gate and in every restaurant and store. All are watched by travelers who stare with unwavering attention. The same image is displayed on each screen, over and over and over again.
It’s a picture of my fiancé kissing his ex-girlfriend.
The click of the hotel door closing wakes me up. I scoot up onto my elbows and stare blearily at the clock on the nightstand. Eleven forty-five p.m. I’ve been asleep for a little over an hour. We had a late dinner at a nearby restaurant. Turns out Helen is staying here as well, so we invited her to join us. She was a nice addition to our group. Quiet but kind.
Since registration for the conference opens early tomorrow, we’d gone to bed shortly after we ate. Alvina’s sharing a room with me, two queen beds with a nightstand between them. Wayne’s right across the hall. I yawn and stretch, then snuggle back under the soft, white covers, still tired. I had a hard time falling asleep.
The image of Caleb and Lola kissing kept me awake, even though Alvina repeatedly assured me that Caleb would have a good explanation once I talked with him. I’d called him twice before I fell asleep, but no answer, a fact that only added to my unease.
The thought of Alvina makes me sit up again. I peer through the darkness, trying to make out her shape in the bed across the room, but the blankets lie flat against the mattress. She isn’t there.
That’s odd.
I rise and pad to the bathroom. She isn’t in there either. The murmur of voices from the hallway draws my attention. I move to the peephole in our door. Rising onto my toes, I can barely see out.
The scene before me rocks my world. It’s Alvina…and Wayne. They’re embracing and are they kissing?!
Yes. Yes, they are.
Not just any casual smooch. This is a passion-filled kiss, like they’re trying to suck the air right out of each other. They pull apart and—wait—they’re beaming. I’ve never seen either of them look so happy.
What the heck is happening?
Wayne holds his door open, and Alvina walks into his hotel room.
I think I might puke.
It’s not that I don’t want to see them in a relationship. They deserve love, but I never thought it would be with each other.
On the nightstand, my phone rings with Caleb’s name on the screen. A tremor of apprehension runs through me as I accept the call.
Caleb greets me, his voice deep and raspy. “Hey, I’m glad you’re up. Sorry I missed your message earlier. I stayed late at rehearsals, helping orient Justin. He’s still settling in.”
“Oh yeah. How’s he doing?” I had almost forgotten. Caleb’s old understudy for his Broadway musical, Crazy for You, had gotten a starring role in a different production down the street. Justin was hired a few weeks ago to replace him.
“He’s fine. Super-grateful. He said as soon as he got this understudy position, he quit his old job, which he hated. How about you? How was the flight?”
“Long.” I climb into bed and sit cross-legged.
“Hang on,” Caleb says, “let’s FaceTime. I need to see you.”
“Oh, good idea.”
We end the call, and I redial. There’s a chiming sound as our phones connect and there he is, sitting in his bed with the phone propped in his lap. The lights are turned off, leaving only moonlight and the glimmer of stars outside the window to illuminate the room. That mix of silver and gold reflects off the sharp angles of his cheekbones and adds a metallic glint to his skin. He’s gorgeous, almost too handsome to be real. I drink him in. Caleb looks at me the same way, staring like he hasn’t seen me in years rather than hours. My eyes drop to his full lips, and it comes back to me that earlier today that mouth was pressed to Lola’s. The glow that was lit in me from seeing him fades, replaced by an inky darkness.
“How was your day?” I ask, on the hunt for the truth. I expect to have to ferret the information out of him, but I should have known better.
Caleb’s not a liar.
He says, “It was okay, but I need to warn you about something.”
“What?” I lean against the padded headrest, already guessing the answer.
Caleb clears his throat and says, “There was an…incident when I was leaving lunch today. I bumped into Lola.” He pauses, braces himself, and plows on. “The press was there, and they took some pictures—”
“The ones where she’s kissing you?”
Surprise ripples over his features. That clearly wasn’t the response he was expecting. “You saw them?”
“As soon as I got off the plane.” I struggle to keep my voice neutral. “They were everywhere. All the headlines said you two are getting back together.”
Caleb’s cautious, looking at me hesitantly as if I’m a bomb he needs to defuse. “Are you mad? It wasn’t anything. I swear. We bumped into her and before I could stop it, she kissed me. It was over in like five seconds. I pushed her away, then left immediately.”
He’s telling the truth. I already knew it from the photo. I saw the stiffness in his shoulders. How he averted his face from hers. I also know because I know him. Caleb is a good man. He wouldn’t cheat on me the minute my back was turned. I understand these truths, and yet it had been awful to see him in another woman’s arms.
“I’m not mad,” I say, working to keep my tone light. “I knew what happened right away.”
He squints at me with suspicion. “Really?”
“Of course.” I laugh and wave my hand in dismissal. “It’s no big deal.” That your ex left her lipstick all over your face. “It didn’t bother me.” Except that it felt like someone stabbed an ice pick in my heart.
There’s a long pause where he stares at me with a doubtful expression, like he doesn’t believe me. I keep my face calm, smiling pleasantly at him, while inwardly I beg him to accept my lie and move on. This is my chance to prove I can handle all the bumps that come along with his fame.
It must work because Caleb breathes out a relieved sigh. “I was worried.”
“I trust you. I wouldn’t marry you if I didn’t.” This, at least, is true. I do trust him to be faithful. “The most important things in a relationship are love, trust, and honesty.”
“And fantastic conversation,” he teasingly adds, relaxing slowly.
“That too.” Tension leaks out of me, but it comes rushing back when Caleb drops his head with a sigh. He runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it.
“Something else happened today,” he says in a tone that lets me know this isn’t good news.
I sit up straight as my heart picks up speed. “What?”
He shifts on the bed, rearranging his legs until he finds a comfortable position. “I’ve mentioned it before, but I have some…overly enthusiastic fans.”
“Yeah?” I draw the word out, not sure where this conversation’s going.
“Stalker fans,” he says with a wince.
“I remember. You showed me that website where they keep track of you. That Secret Santa page.” My heart kicks into overdrive, pounding with apprehension. “Why? Did something happen? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He puts his hand up, like he’s testifying in court. “One of them sent me another of those gifts at the autograph signing.”
“How?” I ask, tilting my head. “Did you see them?”
“No. They gave some random guy money to drop it off. He got it from another person, probably someone they also paid.”
“What was it? The present?” Alarm bells ring faintly in the back of my mind. I’ve known Caleb has these kinds of fans. It’s part of his job. Like the need for getting new headshots once a year or paying dues to the Screen Actors Guild. When you’re as famous as he is, stalkers go with the territory.
He doesn’t answer for a long minute. He stares out of the bedroom window with shadows in his eyes. It reminds me of when I first met him. When he came to hide out at my mom’s house in L.A. because he was tired of his celebrity lifestyle, exhausted from being hunted.
He sighs. “I don’t want to frighten you. Also, I don’t want to scare you away. I love you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Caleb,” I reassure him.
This earns me a small, sad smile. “Thanks, love.” He blows out a breath and with more strength says, “It wasn’t a big deal. They sent me a shirt. It…” Another pause. His eyes shift, and I get the sense Caleb’s hiding something from me, but that can’t be correct.
Right?
“It was a shirt with red lipstick on it. Stupid, really. I wanted to tell you, though.” He stares at me through the phone screen. More urgently, he says, “Some of these people are mentally unstable. They might get jealous—especially with the wedding coming up. Please be careful, just in case. Okay?”
A knot of worry winds in my throat. I swallow past it. “Of course. I don’t think they’d come after me, though. It’s you they’re fascinated by. Not me. I’m a boring regular person.”
“There’s nothing boring or regular about you.” He sighs and shakes his head. I know he’s thinking about our fight over the jet plane. There’s an echo of it in this conversation. In so many of our talks recently. Is it because he’s famous or do all couples have this conflict when they get married? This push and pull of how does “me” and “you” turning into an “us” fundamentally change who we are?
“How was your day?” Caleb asks, abruptly changing the subject.
“Well,” I say and then hesitate, debating how much to tell him about Skylar and Hannah. “I met a couple of your fans at the airport today.” I think I’m doing a good job of keeping my tone neutral, but Caleb knows me too well.
“Were they mean to you?” he asks, immediately on the defense.
“Not too bad.” It’s alarming how easily the lie slips out. I justify it by telling myself that I’m protecting him. Saving him from the stress of worrying about me. “They asked a couple of personal questions, but I deflected.”
There’s a stubborn set to his jaw. “This is what I was talking about, why I wanted you to take the jet.”
“You can’t protect me, Caleb. You can’t lock me up in a tower like Rapunzel.”
“Why not?” he argues. “Why can’t I put you in emotional bubble wrap, so you don’t get hurt?” A tiny hitch in his voice, so quiet most people would miss it. “I would have loved that, if someone had done it for me when I was younger.”
That gets to me. I flash back to a photo that sits on the mantle in his mother’s house. Seven-year-old Caleb getting his first star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Grinning with his front teeth missing. A gap-tooth smile that would fool most people, including his mom since she proudly displays it. It didn’t trick me, though. I saw how the light didn’t reach his aqua eyes. How those baby cheeks didn’t fully round out.
It’s merged in his mind, young him and me. He wants to save me, but there’s a shadow behind me he’s also protecting. That of his younger self. I understand his pain, and I empathize with it, but it’s not logical. I can’t live my life trying to heal hurts so deeply buried that they may never scab over.
“Because that’s not sustainable,” I say as gently as I can manage. “I have a life. A job. I don’t want to live in your tower. No matter how fancy it is.”
“What if I’m in the tower with you?” he asks, so plaintively it makes me want to cry.
“That makes it better,” I tell him, further softening my voice, “but we have responsibilities. Goals we each want to accomplish.”
There’s an extra-long silence after that. So long that I ask, “What are you thinking about right now?”
“Nothing,” he answers way too quickly.
Uncertainty sinks its teeth into me. This isn’t what I’m used to. Caleb and I share everything. I can usually guess what’s on his mind just by looking at him, but he’s opaque to me now, and I’m hiding too. Is it because we’re apart?
Unease stirs in my stomach. “What else went on today?”
He tells me about lunch, all that he learned about his grandfather and why his mom wanted to move away.
I tuck the comforter over my legs. “Your poor mother. It sounds like going to L.A. was what she needed. I’m impressed by how much she’s opening up to you.”
“It’s better now, with her.” He laughs ruefully. “It only took us 30 years, but I think we’re finally figuring out how this whole mother-son relationship is supposed to work.”
“Well, I’m glad. I wish my mom would work on things with me,” I say, thinking about the sometimes good and sometimes contentious way my mother and I interact.
I straighten, suddenly remembering Wayne and Alvina. “Caleb! You’re never going to believe what I just saw.”
He hears the excitement in my voice. “What?”
“Wayne and Alvina are in a relationship!”
“Really?” His jaw unhinges, and he sputters.
I relay everything I witnessed. It’s satisfying to see that his shock matches my own. “You didn’t know?”
He shakes his head. “No. I had no idea. What’re you going to do? Confront them?”
I twirl a lock of long, blonde hair around my finger, a habit I picked up from Jenny. “I think so? I’m not sure. Why’re they keeping it a secret?”
“Probably embarrassed. Remember when they met at that karaoke bar? They both made a big deal about how they weren’t interested.”
“Alvina said she wasn’t interested,” I correct him. “Wayne was the opposite, like he was definitely into the idea.”
“Guess he convinced her.”
“Which is impressive, considering Alvina is rarely swayed.”
We both laugh at that because it’s true. Our laughter fades slowly until it settles into a silence where we stare intently at each other. The air around me thickens with longing. Even though he’s far away, Caleb must feel it too.
“Hi,” he says, his voice husky. There’s so much contained in that small word, so much love and tenderness and happiness.
“Hey,” I say, unable to hold back my grin at how his eyes trace the contours of my face.
“I miss you, Gwen. It’s like my heart got ripped out of my chest and stuffed into your suitcase.”
There it is. The special way he says my name.
GweN. Round G, flat N.
Each syllable vibrates with emotion.
“I know.” I lift my fingers to the screen, wishing I could touch him. “I’m the same way.”
“Let’s never do this again. Okay?” He drags a hand through his hair, making it stick up all spiky. “I don’t want to be away from you. Next time I’m coming along.”
“That’s nearly impossible,” I say, laughing softly, secretly pleased by his earnest expression. “You have the theater, your restaurants—”
“Forget them.” Caleb interrupts me, all bossy and confident. “I’m going with you, and that’s final.”
Happiness expands my chest, filling it until “I love you” bursts out of me.
“Love you, too. Forever and always.”
There’s no explaining it. The effect his words have on me. How they make me feel like the world is exactly as it should be. Like the sun and stars and moon are in perfect harmony. Like our love is a physical force, so strong it can withstand anything.
I echo back, “Always and forever.”