Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
By the time Bryn’s coach said, “Again,” she had already delivered the same line four different ways and hated each one more than the last. “Cleaner this time.”
It took all of Bryn’s self-control not to call for a break. Not to push aside the blankets lining the half-empty closet—half-empty because she’d moved a mountain of clothes to her bed—and crawl out to breathe fresh air.
Sitting cross-legged and sweating, Bryn adjusted the mic attached to the portable desk over her lap. On her tablet screen, Zora Carter peered at her through black-rimmed glasses. Zora was calm like she always was. Giving Bryn lessons while in a gorgeous booth that cost more than Bryn’s car.
Bryn chugged some water and tried to pretend she was working in Vivian’s booth, where she had room to stand and unlimited oxygen.
“Again,” Zora repeated.
Bryn adjusted her headphones to reset herself in the scene. She steadied her breaths and read. “Did I wake you?”
“Not faster,” Zora said, firmly but not unkindly. “Cleaner. You’re thinking about sounding good instead of making an in-character choice. Stop trying to evoke the feeling and feel it.”
Since she’d started taking lessons with Zora six months ago, Bryn had learned that everything she did was wrong. Her breathing, her speaking, her blinking, her moving. Sometimes it felt like the more she learned, the less she knew, but she wasn’t giving up.
“I am making a choice,” Bryn insisted and tried her best to sound like a professional on equal footing rather than a petulant student.
“That’s exactly it. Bryn is making the choice, but it’s Kiersten in the scene.”
Bryn took another inhale of stagnant, sweltering air. She wanted to ask how she was supposed to hand over her decision-making function to an imaginary person, but knew that Zora was trying to help.
Bryn tried the line again, this time aiming for natural with underlying surprise. “Did I wake you?”
“Stop.” Zora raised a hand before Bryn got to the prose. “Close your eyes.” She waited, then, “Where are you?”
Uncomfortable and frustrated and sitting in my closet. Bryn resisted the urge to be playfully sarcastic.
“The kitchen,” Bryn replied, imagining the ski lodge in the middle of the night. The one her character was sharing with her former sorority sisters during a ten-year reunion. “It’s… it’s late. There’s only the light from the clock on the microwave. I’m… I’m barefoot.”
“Why are you barefoot?”
“Because I couldn’t sleep, and I was annoyed about that. So… I guess I wasn’t even thinking about leaving my room without slippers or a robe.”
“Good. Now who are you talking to?”
She wanted to be literal. To say: myself because this isn’t a duet and acting alone is like having a hand tied behind my back.
Despite her best efforts, she conjured the image of Vivian in her booth. Her dark eyes fixed on her screen, posture poised, elegant mouth moving.
“I’m talking to Kiersten’s—my ex.” She tried to feel the cold floor on her feet and the flutter in her chest at seeing a former secret lover walking into the kitchen. To be standing together in the low light and not enough clothes.
“Where is she?”
Bryn could almost see her there. Tall, blonde, in nothing but a T-shirt. Dark eyes unsure and her body struggling to stay neutral. Struggling not to telegraph how nervous she was to say hello. How unsure that she should’ve said goodbye. The same doubt and longing burned in Bryn’s belly.
“She just walked in.” Bryn swallowed to move the lump forming in her throat. She couldn’t stop seeing Vivian.
“Now, say your line again.”
Bryn moistened her lips before she leaned closer to the microphone. Arms wrapped around herself like she was in a wintery lodge rather than a suffocating closet, she let her voice break when she breathed, “Did I wake you?”
“There it is,” Zora said, prompting Bryn to open her eyes.
If Bryn didn’t know her already, she would’ve missed the understated praise.
“You look nice and disoriented.” She glanced at the corner of her screen.
“We’ve got five minutes. Let’s do one more with a different aim.
This time you’re angry but can’t show it. Go.”
Bryn chuckled. “That seems… healthy.”
“It’s acting,” Zora replied without the slightest hint of a smile. “Not therapy. Okay. From the top.”
* * *
An hour later, Bryn was basking in the AC, wrapped in a damp towel and splayed across her bed. She’d only meant to check her recent Siren post and like any new comments, but she’d ended up scrolling on socials.
Her weekly sessions with Zora were incredible, but they always left Bryn totally empty. The emotional equivalent of leaving it all on the court. She wasn’t sure she was getting any better as an actor, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.
With plant deliveries starting at noon, Bryn gave herself another minute to check emails before getting dressed to head to the nursery.
She skimmed her inbox until her heart stopped when she saw the one from the American Voice Actors Association.
Other than the automated reminder to pay her dues, AVAA had never emailed her. She stared at the subject line.
Congratulations! Magpies is a Finalist for Audiobook of the Year.
Her eyeball and brain connection faltered. She reread the line. She understood each word, but they were so improbably arranged.
When she checked that the sender was legit, she gripped her phone harder and opened the message. We are delighted to inform you… and your title has been selected… and please see attached details regarding the ceremony in New York…
Mouth dry and racing pulse deafening, Bryn forced herself to read every single word. She read down to the nominee line. The author’s name. The publisher. And then, in black and white and squeezing Bryn’s heart: Narrated by Vivian del Castillo and Bryn Garbo.
Bryn read the nominee line again, slower this time, like her brain would suddenly discover a hidden “just kidding,” or a request for money, or some other indicator that the email was a scam.
Narrated by Vivian del Castillo and Bryn Garbo.
Her name sat beside Vivian’s like it belonged there.
Like she hadn’t spent her adult life one overdraft notification away from selling feet pics.
Rolling over, Bryn reached for a pillow and screamed into it.
She kicked her feet, letting the rush of adrenaline make her stomach soar and her pulse race and her heart believe this was really happening.
Just being able to add Platinum Voice finalist to her resume was more than she could have ever imagined. Normal people just didn’t get nominated for those, and they definitely didn’t make a short list.
Vivian had been nominated before, of course, but she hadn’t won. Bryn closed her eyes and thought of Vivian like she had a hundred times since she saw her last. She couldn’t remember exactly what her kiss felt like, but she couldn’t forget the aftermath it left in her body.
I should message her. That’s totally a normal thing to do. We were both nominated. It would be rude not to.
Without letting her stupid ego talk her out of it, Bryn scrolled down further than she liked and found her last message.
Well, message was generous. The last time Bryn had tried to make contact, it had been when Magpies released.
She’d typed out a cheerful little congrats like a normal person who hadn’t been waiting for any plausible excuse to reach out.
A normal person who wasn’t absolutely haunted by a devastating kiss.
Vivian had responded with a single thumbs-up.
Not even the blue heart emoji. Not even a “congrats” back.
Just a thumbs up on her message like she was acknowledging a delivery confirmation.
Like they hadn’t shared a kiss that Bryn was so sure meant something.
A person like Vivian had boundary lines clear enough to see from the damn space station.
It explained her hard out, but it also convinced Bryn that Vivian wouldn’t just kiss her for no reason.
Taking deep breaths, Bryn focused. This wasn’t about their personal connection. It was about the work. It would be weird if she didn’t say anything about the extremely prestigious award nom.
Bryn sat there, staring at Vivian’s initials as her contact photo because of course Vivian didn’t have some cute little selfie as her icon. Even that would reveal too much.
She opened the texts, was accosted by the tiny ego-eviscerating thumb pointing right into her orbital socket, and closed it again.
Bryn leaned back and stared at the ceiling. If only the textured popcorn had any words of wisdom.
It wasn’t just about having an excuse to talk to Vivian. Bryn wanted Vivian to care. She wanted Vivian to look at her again. Look at her like she had over their first dinner together. Look at her like she really saw her just before she kissed her.
Bryn groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Get a grip,” she begged herself and got up to get dressed.
* * *
By late morning, Bryn was sitting in her Plantamonium van waiting for a dozen hibiscus plants to be loaded in the back. She should’ve stayed in the office with her mom celebrating the nomination that felt like a win, but there she was with her phone in her hand.
Bryn pulled up her email drafts.
There it was. The email. The one she had started the week she got home from Vivian’s and then kept working on like it was her freaking diary.
It had engorged over months into something horrifically long, alternating between “hope you’re well!
” and “I think about your mouth” depending on what time of night she couldn’t sleep.
The subject line read: Hi Vivian
Real bold.
Bryn opened the draft and immediately wanted to crawl out of her skin.
Vivian, I hope you’re doing well. I wanted to thank you for—
She groaned. Yeah, that was the way to Vivian’s heart. Professional politeness.
Bryn scrolled through a dozen abandoned drafts. There were versions of gratitude. Versions of honesty. A version where she confessed that she hadn’t stopped thinking about her. One particularly mortifying iteration where she asked Vivian on a date like a ninth-grader.
Bryn dropped her phone into the cupholder instead of flinging it out the window because she was a grown-up and no longer on her parents’ plan.
At a red light, Bryn unlocked her phone again because she couldn’t help herself. She abandoned the email and went back to her messages.
A text was breezy. A text was casual. A text was what colleagues did. A text didn’t imply that Bryn had spent months replaying a week of her life like it was a favorite song.
She typed and deleted every message. Too enthusiastic. Too exclamation-pointy. Too emoji-ridden. She tried again.
Bryn: I can’t believe we’re up for a Platinum Voice! Congrats, Vivian. Guess I’ll see you in NYC.
She stared at it and then added a little apple emoji. And then a microphone. And a book. Her thumb hovered over a winky face like she was deciding which wire to cut on a ticking bomb.
It was breezy. It was easy. It was Bryn, but not too Bryn. It didn’t say I miss you or, your mouth ruined my life, or I make licorice tea and pretend I like it because it reminds me of you.
A horn honked behind her.
“Oh, it just turned green, buddy, calm your tits,” she groused before hitting send without talking herself out of it.
Off the message went, and Bryn immediately regretted the emojis. Vivian probably thought emojis were ridiculous. She heard Vivian’s voice, silky and smooth when she looked Bryn dead in the eye, chin up and expression nearly unreadable. “I do not communicate in cartoon.”
Bryn laughed to herself and then dropped her head against the steering wheel.
“I’m losing my mind.”
After making her last plant delivery, Bryn picked up three food orders that would carry her up to Gloria’s condo.
It was after sunset when Bryn pulled into the retirement community’s guest parking lot.
When she picked up her phone to see whether Vivian had found time to respond in the last seven hours.
When she saw something worse than a yellow thumb.
Under Bryn’s text was the tiny, vicious status update: Read at 2:12pm.
No reply.