19. ARIA
19
ARIA
T he silence in the car feels heavy as we sit parked in front of the airport terminal entrance, the bustling activity of travelers a grating contrast to the somber mood filling the air. In the aftermath of Monday’s blowout with Pedro, the harsh consequences of my choices have come crashing down, sweeping me up in a tidal wave of regret and uncertainty that threatens to drown me.
I stare out the window, watching as people hurry by with their luggage, their faces a blur of excitement and anticipation. Quitting my job was like hitting eject when you’re not sure if you’re wearing a parachute. It felt brave, like I was finally breaking free from the Groundhog Day of lies and manipulation I called a career.
But now, with the future as empty as my bank account, I’m second-guessing every decision. Was it worth it, trading the devil I know for the devil I don’t? Can I really make it out here without Full Circle’s safety net that’s more like a spider’s web?
“Are you okay?” Sara’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, her hand reaching over to give mine a gentle squeeze.
I turn to face her, my eyes meeting the concern in hers. I answer frankly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just...I can’t believe this is really happening. I can’t believe you’re leaving.”
Mark leans forward from the backseat, his usually playful expression tinged with worry. “Girl, why are you acting like this is a funeral? Sara’s leaving, which means you finally got me and all my rizz to yourself! The universe is clearly blessing you right now.”
I nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over. “I know. I'm just gonna miss you so much, you know? Who’s gonna leave their toenail clippings all over the floor now that you’re leaving?”
Sara shakes her head, her grip on my hand tightening. “Please, Mark’s got enough disgusting habits to keep you entertained for years. You ain’t ready for his ‘special' chili nights. You’re about to be in for some culinary adventures that'll make you wish for my toenail clippings.” She wrinkles her nose, her face a mix of amusement and revulsion. “We all know what this is really about. You think that because I'm leaving, and after…you know…you’re afraid you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life. And you’re right. But—” She paus es, waiting for me to react to her joke, but I can’t muster anything more than a half-hearted smile. “Are you gonna make me cancel my trip?”
“No!” Mark and I exclaim in unison.
“’cause I will. To see you snap out of this. You have this incredible chance to hit reset. How many times did I say I wanted to ditch med school and just major in something frivolous, like…philosophy?”
“I think it was something like fifty-three times,” Mark replies in a bored tone. “I don’t know. I stopped counting.”
This gets a small chuckle out of me. “You don’t have to cancel your trip. And you should probably head in there now before you miss your flight.”
“Promise me you'll answer when I call you later from my new apartment,” Sara demands. “Don’t go ignoring my FaceTimes just because you’re too busy moping and listening to Phoebe Bridgers on repeat.”
The mention of Sara’s new place reminds me of the leap of faith I took last night. I think back to the script I sent off to WME in a moment of reckless desperation, the story that’s been burning inside me for so long. “I sent my script to an agent,” I confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I don’t know if anything will come of it, but...I had to try.”
Sara’s eyes widen, a smile spreading across her face. “That’s incredible! See, you’re moving! You’re doing the things!”
Mark nods in agreement, reaching over to give my shoulder a squeeze. “There she is, my superstar friend. The world’s not ready for you.”
I look between them, my heart swelling with gratitude for these two beautiful, ridiculous souls who have stuck by me through thick and thin.
Sara, who agreed to be my roommate after I left Google when Pedro and I broke up and my prize money ran out. Who didn’t judge me when I told her about the crazy job I’d found on Craigslist with a company called Full Circle Consulting. We both thought it was a front for an escort service at first.
And Mark, who has offered to move in with me and cosplay as Sara until I can find another job.
“I'd be a mess without you guys.,” I manage, my voice thick with emotion.
“Bitch, you already are a mess!” Mark cracks, collapsing into giggles at his own joke. “But lucky you, we’re here. And hey, wait till I introduce you to the world of cursed memes. Gonna haunt your dreams, girl.”
Sara rolls her eyes, but I can see the fondness in her expression. “What he’s trying to say, in his own bizarre way, is we've got you. Always.”
I nod, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “I love you, too. Both of you.”
Sara glances at her watch, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. “I should probably head in. Don’t want to miss my flight and get stuck re-watching Sister Act 2 on the struggle bus to Cleveland. ”
We climb out of the car, the weight of the moment settling over us. Sara pulls me into a fierce hug, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “You've got this. You’re stronger than you know.”
I cling to her, the tears gushing in earnest now. Mark wraps his arms around both of us, his eyes suspiciously bright.
“Group hug!” he declares, his voice wavering with emotion.
We stay like that for a long moment, holding onto each other as the world rushes by around us. And for a moment, surrounded by the warmth of their love and support, I allow myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. It’s easy to get caught up in my own self-doubt, but these two always find a way to counteract my negative self-talk.
As we finally break apart, Sara shouldering her bag and heading towards the terminal entrance, I take a stuttering breath as I feel a tiny spark of hope amidst the darkness that threatens to consume me. A little glimpse of the old me, the self-assured woman who went after what she wanted, pokes through the thick cloud of insecurity.
Maybe, just maybe, with a little bit of luck and a lot of hard work, I can turn this blank page into a story worth telling.
When Sunday rolls around, and Gretchen and Tío Juan are tying the knot at City Hall, I'm a no-show at the informal reception they’re holding at The Cheesecake Factory. The thought of potentially facing Pedro and all that guilt has me curled up on my couch stress-eating Flamin' Hot Cheetos.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at my door. I open it up to find the blushing bride herself, looking radiant in her Gucci pantsuit. Gretchen takes one look at my tragic appearance, the dark circles under my eyes, and that judgmental brow of hers softens just a little.
“Damn Aria, you look rougher than the sex I had last night,” she says, pushing past me into my apartment. “May I come in and promptly snap you out of it?”
I nod, too stunned to protest as she settles herself on the couch, patting the spot beside her. “Have a seat. We need to have a little heart-to-heart.”
I close the door and join her on the sofa, silently cursing Mark for pushing his move-in date back another week, leaving me to fend for myself in the jungles of Manhattan.
“I've been where you are right now—a hot mess, drowning in my own self-pity,” she begins, her usual blunt delivery on point. “Feeling like I’d never recover from getting my heart crushed into a million jagged, tiny, little pieces. Choking on emotional tear gas. But here’s the deal—love comes and goes, but life keeps moving forward whether you’re ready or not. ”
I swallow hard. “How do you do it? How do you live with yourself after hurting someone you care about?”
Gretchen smiles wryly. “Easy, I stay petty as hell,” she replies without an ounce of shame. “You make amends where you can. You forgive yourself for the rest. And you remember that your worth, your value...it’s not defined by your mistakes. It’s defined by your growth.” She takes my hand firmly. “Which is why I'm closing down Full Circle Consulting once and for all,” she reveals, her tone serious despite the absurdity of the situation.
My jaw drops. “What?”
She nods solemnly. “Yep, Juan and I are packing our bags for Utah. We’re gonna have a proper wedding ceremony on the ranch, where we can chase the MILF and Mormon retirement fantasy. It’s time for a fresh start.”
I shake my head as I try not to laugh at the image of Gretchen and Tío Juan living the Sister Wives life. “I...I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’re gonna stop wallowing and go take a shower!” Gretchen demands, turning up her nose at my stench. “It’s time to stop focusing on what went wrong and start looking toward all the things that can go right. It’s all up from here, baby.”
We talk for hours, two women bonding over our shared tastes in terrible life choices and fabulous fake lashes. And as Gretchen finally heads out to re-join her new hubby, I feel a surprising sense of calm wash over me.
I know the path ahead is going to be rocky as hell, with plenty of challenges and setbacks and moments of doubt. But I also know that I’m not alone. I have the support of friends who see the best in me, even when I can’t see it myself. My friends will be there with the emergency peanut butter pretzels and snark, ready to remind me of my worth after every tragic situationship.
I take a deep breath and look around my apartment, no longer seeing this space as a depressing reminder of what I've lost, but as the blank canvas Mark would see—full of potential, ready to be transformed into something beautiful and uniquely mine. He’s always been about finding beauty in the mess, whether it’s through his art or his life philosophy. Mark approaches the world like a painter eyeing an unfinished masterpiece, confident that even the ugliest parts can be redeemed with the right attitude and Korean skincare products. It’s hard not to be inspired by his relentless optimism, even when I’m tempted to wallow.
It’s time to build a new life, to chase my dreams and make them a reality. So what if I’m writing soft-core erotica to pay the bills—I’m also finally taking a shot at getting one of my actual screenplays produced.
One step at a time. One submission at a time. One “thanks, but no thanks” at a time until I finally get that yes.
As I scroll through my laptop, reviewing my latest script one more time, I feel a surge of determination course through me. This is good. Like, better than that glorious fever dream that was “A.N.T. Farm” good. It’s exceptional. Exceptional.
And even if the industry tries to shut me down at first, I'll just keep knocking on doors until they have no choice but to let me in.
The path forward is daunting, but finally I feel ready to embrace the challenge and all its messy ups and downs. Because at the end of the day, I'd rather live my truth as a struggling writer than keep pretending to be someone I’m not.