Chapter Thirty-Six
MY DAD HAS a phrase that he uses all the time.
Whenever one of us finds ourselves in a pickle, he’ll sigh, put his hands on his hips, and say, “Well, aren’t you a rock in a hard place.
” I was in high school when I learned he’d been saying it wrong all those years.
The actual saying is “stuck between a rock and a hard place,” but English wasn’t my dad’s first language, and so the García family phrase is a little different.
As I say my goodbyes to Chris, Damian, and John, I am just that—a rock in a hard place.
I’m trying not to make it obvious that I’m rushing to get out of there, but I’m desperate to catch Oliver before he’s gone.
He didn’t speak to me at all after we ran into each other outside the bathrooms. All I got from him was a stare so icy I felt the chill in my bones.
By the time I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down, he was already shaking hands with Chris, one foot practically out the door.
Eventually I manage to excuse myself while still maintaining the facade of being totally fine, when in reality I’m freaking out.
Oliver overheard me talking to Damian. I don’t know what exactly he heard or what part he’s pissed about—that I denied being involved with him, or that Damian came to me about the Debra Cain project and not him.
If it’s the former, I have to apologize, have to make him see why I had to do what I did. If it’s the latter, well—he can fucking deal with it. He’s beaten me at this game for years. It was time for me to win one round.
No matter what, I have to salvage this. We still have work together, even if minimally, for another six weeks.
He’s not at the front of the restaurant, where I’m handed my coat by the same friendly porter from earlier.
I dig around in my purse for some stray cash and hand him a crumpled-up bill.
That might have been a twenty I just forked over, but I don’t care even though I’m verging on broke.
I’m out the front door and into the freezing New York night before the hostess has a chance to open it for me.
I whirl around so fast I almost hit a stranger with my arms. Panic fuels me as I scan the sidewalk, praying he hasn’t already grabbed a cab or started walking, when I see him—maybe twenty feet away, bathed in the dramatic orangey glow of a streetlight, he stands alone, head bent as he stares down at his phone.
I jog over to him and curse the heeled boots I wore with every step. “Oliver!”
He looks up when I call his name, frowns, and then returns to his phone. I slow to a stop when I’m less than a foot away. It’s clear he’s refusing to look at me.
“Hey,” I try, breathless, but that does not work. “Just—talk to me. Please?”
“Why?” he asks, eyes still trained on his phone screen. He’s watching his Uber make slow progress toward him; I only have a few minutes.
“You heard me talking to Damian.” I watch his face for his reaction. If I didn’t know him so well now, I might have missed the tiny tick of his jaw and the hitch of his breath. “You’re upset.”
He doesn’t respond, but he does pull his lips between his teeth. Just like before.
“Can you tell me what’s going on in your head?” I ask, more desperate than before. “I can’t talk to you if you don’t tell me what you’re feeling.”
That does it. He finally looks at me, that closed, cold mask firmly in place. This is Oliver at his most unreachable.
I wince.
“What’s the point, Celia?” The question is so quiet that I have to inch closer just to hear him. “The work comes first, right?”
I feel like he just shot me in the chest. My hot breath forms little clouds in front of my face as I struggle to form words. Tears pool at the corners of my eyes and threaten to spill over with every frustrated blink.
“I told you how much was riding on this dinner.” My voice is wavering and breaking with every word. “I—I told you we needed to keep it professional tonight. You know how much I need to find work.”
“Enough that you would lie to our producer?” he asks, returning his gaze to the Uber app.
I clear my throat and wipe the stray tear that slips out. “It’s none of his business. We haven’t even defined what we’re doing. What we are.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses, face screwed up like he’s in pain.
“Thirteen years. Thirteen years. That’s how long I’ve had a crush on you.
Fucking pined for you. I finally get my chance with you, make it clear that I’ll do this on your terms, and you drop me the first chance you get. ”
The sidewalk beneath my feet feels like it’s made of quicksand, like no matter what I do I won’t be steady. My knees buckle; I lock them just to stay upright. What he’s saying can’t be true.
A Honda Civic with an Uber sticker in the window pulls up to the curb. He shoves his phone into his coat pocket and wrenches open the door. He’s already got one foot in the car when I cry out, “Wait!”
When he looks at me, I can see the tears shimmering in his eyes. I don’t know what to say, how to fix this, where to even start. Those tendrils of warmth—all that love I feel for him—swirl around inside me so fast I’m nearly nauseous.
“Please don’t go,” I whimper. “Please.”
“That morning, by the water. What you said… I believed you. But I can’t be your dirty little secret.” He shakes his head, brows pinched together. “I have to choose me here, Celia. All that time in therapy can’t be for nothing.”
And then he’s gone, tucked into the back of a stranger’s car, and I’m left standing by myself, tears streaming down my face. No one pays any mind to the crying woman on the street, not for the entire twenty-five-block walk back to my apartment.
Welcome home: Someone is always crying in public somewhere in New York.
TODAY 10:01 PM
Celia
10:01 PM
can we please talk about this
what do you mean 13 years?
10:05 PM
i didn’t lie but i see how it looks that way. i was afraid if damian knew we were together in some way that he would judge me or blacklist me or just wouldn’t be able to see me separate from you. you know there’s like 3 women working in film composition right now? there’s only 1 latina
10:10 PM
it was a judgment call in the moment. i don’t know if it was the right one.
10:11 PM
i’m sorry. i really am
10:13 PM
i meant everything i said in maine. still do