34. Jenna
Chapter thirty-four
Jenna
“I already told you, I didn’t watch it. It’s none of my business what he does or who he sees,” I lie easily, shrugging my shoulders.
I’ve always prided myself on my ability to be honest, but lately, it’s been easier to lie to everyone around me than to tell the truth.
Because, yeah, I watched the interview.
I watched it live with everyone else.
Then I watched the replay.
And then, I turned my phone on ‘do not disturb’ and watched the stupid interview again and again, like my life depended on it.
I don’t even think I blinked.
It ended up killing the battery on my phone. Once I’d plugged it in to charge, I watched it again. By that point, I’d fully accepted that I’d had a problem and just went with it, mouthing the words as they spoke them.
Pathetic, I know, but like I said, I’d accepted it.
“I call bullshit, but whatever you want to tell yourself.” Lizzie sips her pink cocktail, eyeing me over the rim of her glass.
“I also call bullshit, but I won’t pry. Mara is clearly just doing it for publicity on the movie, so I wouldn’t sweat it. Her team was probably behind the whole thing,” Olive says casually, flicking through her menu.
“Do I look like I’m sweating?” I pat my napkin all over my face, showing it to them to prove a point, and—thankfully—it’s dry as a bone. “Like I said, it’s none of my business.” I pour myself a fresh glass of wine from the complimentary bottle Bea left on our table. We’ve been at Bridie’s since Tahnee and I got off set this afternoon, and the girls finished up at work. They both teach at the school here in town, and the timing just worked out for us to meet for a quick drink.
“If you really don’t care, why haven’t you spoken a word to him since he got back from New York? You can’t even look in his direction without turning red,” Tahnee asks, thinking she’s pointing out something groundbreaking.
It’s not true, though. I just avoided telling them he and I spent a lot of time together holed up in my apartment because my heart was a little bit broken, and he was there to pick up the pieces. Even after he’d put the pieces back together, he only left my place when he had to.
I also failed to mention that he showed up on my doorstep last night before he flew out to California, planted a hot and heavy kiss on my lips, and I all but begged him to fuck me.
Because if I told them any of that, they would get the wrong idea. They’d try to convince me that maybe, just maybe…I might be falling for him.
But I’m not.
Lie .
“I’m busy, and he’s busy. We know our roles to play in this job. Just because we occasionally sleep together doesn’t mean we have to be down each other’s throats every second of the day.” I mean, that’s not a lie. But just because I said those words out loud, doesn’t mean I don’t want them to be true.
I don’t know when it shifted between us, but after I opened up to him about my mom, I felt myself inching closer to him, and he wasn’t pulling away.
Almost like he was searching for it.
The next day, the word ‘friend’ was used by each of us way too many times. But I had to force myself to say it, like I was trying so desperately to convince myself and him that friendship was all I wanted, because friendship is all I’ve ever known—all I’d ever allowed myself to feel.
Sure, I thought I was in love with my high school boyfriend, but looking back…I don’t think I even know what love felt like.
I grew up with it until the age of five, then suddenly it was just…ripped from me. Which meant I didn’t know what it felt to be in it or fall out of it.
“You know, he called me last week to ask for a favor?” Tahnee says, and my eyebrows pinch together as I nibble the inside of my cheek. “He asked me to cover you for a steamy scene he had to shoot with Mara,” she tells me.
When he told me he had a scene to shoot with Mara, I didn’t really question it, even though I should have. I’m the head of hair and makeup, but didn’t get a call to tell me that I would be required, so I shrugged it off. Now I know why.
But he told me it wasn’t an intimate scene.
“Oh, he totally didn’t want you to see him slobber all over Mara and her naked body,” Lizzie says, her words not helping to ease the heavy pit in my stomach. I know she’s trying to lighten the mood, but now I have the image of Cole’s lips in places on Mara’s body that I don’t want them to be. “I guess that’s kind of sweet, though. He didn’t want you to get jealous.” She pouts, her eyes glimmering with mischief.
Zoning out, I lift my phone off my table to send a text to Tahnee, even though she’s sitting right beside me.
Me: Was it actually a spicy scene?
I look at my colleague, and she shakes her head in response to my message.
Me: No, as in you don’t want to tell me, or no, as in there was nothing intimate about it?
Tahnee: No as in no intimacy whatsoever. It was supposed to be, but Cole made sure to limit any sort of physical touching.
I sigh a breath of relief, giving Tahnee a weak smile, and placing my phone back on the table.
“Didn’t you say you saw him the night he got back from New York and he ignored you? Maybe he felt guilty?” Olive says. I forgot that I mentioned that part and not what followed after.
I shake my head in response. “No guilt necessary. I told you guys, he and I are friends, and we’re fine.” Now he’s in California looking for a new place to live. While I know Mara is here in Grangewood Creek, I can’t get the image out of my head of her on the TV, looking at him like some lovesick puppy who had just found its new owner.
He’d only given me the ‘I don’t share’ speech after going on national television, admitting to being in a relationship with his co-star.
Well, he didn’t admit anything. She did. He never corrected her, though. Not when he knew the whole of America would be watching. He’d never embarrass her like that, because like I keep telling the girls and myself, he owes me nothing.
But he made sure to tell me he hadn’t been with anyone else since the night we met, and while that didn’t sound believable, every part of me wants to trust that he was telling the truth.
Is it really so hard for me to accept that a man could want me for me?
That someone out there would choose to want me?
“Did you see him go live from Cali this afternoon?” Lizzie asks Olive and Lizzie shake their heads, and I just stare at her with my eye twitching.
No, I did not, and now I want to go home and watch it until my phone goes flat again.
“No,” Tahnee shouts, frantically scrolling through her phone to see what Lizzie is talking about.
“He basically called Mara out in front of everyone. Said they were just friends. Nothing more,” Lizzie says, watching and waiting for my reaction, but I don’t give her one.
Tahnee turns her screen toward Olive so they can watch it together with the volume up the loudest it can go.
I hear his voice, but don’t see his face.
‘I just wanted to set the record straight. Mara and I are colleagues who happen to get along as friends off screen, too. My private life is for me to enjoy, and I’d like to keep enjoying it without everyone wanting to know who I’m dating.’
“Did he just admit he was dating somebody?” Olive gawks at me, and I bury my hands in my face.
“We’re not dating,” I say from behind my palms.
“I feel like you’re hiding something,” Tahnee says, right as a Bea brings our burgers and fries over, placing them on the table. “You’re being awfully shady.”
“It’s nothing, seriously. We’re friends. Can we drop it?” I assure them, my fingers tapping my thighs under the table, away from prying eyes.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I rarely blush when I talk about a ‘ friend ’,” Lizzie remarks, making air quotes while Olive and Tahnee nod in unison.
“Guys, come on . Do you really expect me to fall for an actor who’s about to have millions of women throwing themselves at him? If I were to ever actually meet someone, I would want to be a priority. Not be with a man who has women throwing themselves at him every chance they get.” I shrug, and they sigh in agreement—even Tahnee, the married one.
“You totally watched that interview,” Olive says, straightening her back in her seat, causing the rest of the table to laugh. I can only keep up this charade for so long before I break.
“Fine. I did. Are you happy?”
“Ecstatic.” She smiles, lifting her glass of water and clinking it against mine.
Out of all my friends, Tahnee and Cassandra are the only married ones. Olive, until recently, I assumed was just anti-love and anti-anything that involved her stepping out of her comfort zone. But now I know she’s just a private person, and doesn’t want anyone to know about the people she dates.
Lizzie, on the other hand, desperately wants to meet her knight in shining armor, but I think by now she’s dated every eligible bachelor in Grangewood Creek, and comes up short every time.
“So, what’s going on with the music, Ol? Any updates on the soundtrack? Maybe even a potential album?” I ask, changing the subject away from me and the shitshow that is my love life, steering it to the only person on this table who has something exciting to talk about.
“I’ve been in and out of the studio that the label has given me access to, with a bunch of different producers.” She smiles. “It’s been cool working with people who take my ideas seriously. Watching them work off a chord progression or a vocal run has been fascinating. I’m really excited to show you guys what we’re working on,” she says with a content sigh and a gentle smile, her hazel eyes filled with pride.
“Have you heard anything about any of your songs being chosen?” Lizzie asks, dipping her fries in ketchup.
“Oh, yeah, I have. They’ve offered me a three track deal, and are organizing for me to go on tour and open for Akira Rain.” She sips her water.
The three of us stare at her, jaws on the floor. It feels like we’re staring at her in silence for hours until Lizzie says what the rest of us are thinking.
“Akira fucking Rain ?” She nearly chokes on her fries. “This is so unfair. First Cassandra marries an NFL legend, Olive’s going on tour with arguably the most popular musician of our generation and, Jenna, you’re basically dating an ex-model and Hollywood’s next heartthrob.” She slumps back into her chair, and I snort, while Tahnee sips her drink with her eyes darting between us.
“And here’s little old me just living a regular life while married to a boring accountant.” Tahnee sticks her tongue out at me, and I laugh, shaking my head.
“I’m not dating anyone,” I say as my phone vibrates on the table in the middle of us.
“I bet that’s lover boy now,” Tahnee replies, and I flip the phone over to see ‘Becky’ on the screen.
“Who’s Becky?” Lizzie and Olive ask in perfect harmony, you’d think they did it on purpose. Olive probably did.
“Her mom,” Tahnee answers for me.
Three pairs of eyes on me while I stare at the screen, not moving an inch to answer it.
“Are you going to get it?” Olive asks. I shake my head.
“She’ll call back if it’s important,” I say, flipping my phone over on the wooden table. It stops ringing, only for it to start back up again.
What if she’s dying? My brain goes to the darkest place automatically, but I ignore it, because she isn’t dying. Her doctor sends me updates to let me know her progress.
No guilt.
No guilt.
No fucking guilt.
“I think it’s important,” Lizzie says after Becky’s fifth attempt, and I groan when I see she’s left voicemails with each try.
“God dammit,” I whisper under my breath. “I’ll be back.” Pushing my chair out, the legs screeching along the rustic, wooden floor. I head for the exit, pushing the door open, and I stare at my phone in my trembling hand, accepting my mom’s sixth–and hopefully final—attempt to reach me.
“Hi,” I say, keeping my voice calm. It’s taken a lot of practice to get to this point, and I still don’t think I’ve mastered it.
“Hi, Honey,” she says, too cheery for her usual self. My steps falter on the gravel beneath my feet. I hate that all it takes is one silly nickname, and my mind tries to recall only the good, never the bad.
There is no good, there is no good.
There. Is. No. Good.
“Are you OK?” I blurt out, suddenly desperate for her to talk and tell me absolutely everything and anything she’s willing to.
“Let me talk to her,” I hear Mark’s voice in the background, and suddenly the nickname makes sense.
Of course it’s all for show.
“I’ve got it,” she tells him calmly. “We’re coming to town!” she exclaims, and I hear her hands clap together in the background.
“You’re…what? Why?” I croak out.
“Mark…well, we have something to share with you, and things he wants to talk to you about.”
I mute the phone, and sigh.
“Oh, and he’s heard that there are a few famous basketball players that live in the town, so he wants to try to meet them.”
“Football players, baby.” I hear his voice again, and the sounds of kissing and her high-pitched giggles
Gross.
“Have you been drinking?” I ask on instinct, and she gasps as though something so terrible should’ve never even crossed my mind.
“Give me a moment, honey,” she says to Mark, and I hear the echo of a closing door through the speaker.
“Listen to me,” she spits, her tone instantly changing to something I’m more familiar with, and for some unsettlingly toxic reason, I find comfort in it. “You’re a fucking brat. Don’t you dare ruin this for me, do you understand? After you cut my insurance off, I had no fucking choice but to marry that man. If you ruin this, I will have nothing.” She seethes.
Her words are vile, but they’re a wonderful reminder that me leaving her the way I did was the best decision I could’ve made for myself.
“Are you finished?” Don’t cry, don’t break, don’t give in.
“God, I don’t know how I raised such a monster,” she whispers through the microphone. “No, Jennifer. I haven’t touched alcohol since the day you left for that stupid job.” She sighs as though it’s been the hardest thing she could ever do. “It turns out I only need to drink when I know I might see you.”
Don’t cry, don’t break, don’t give in.
“Are you done?” I ask again, hating that my lip trembles, but I keep my voice steady.
Lizzie sticks her head out the front door of Bridie’s pub. “You coming back inside?”
I nod. “I have to go, Becky. Take care of yourself, OK? But please do it in California, and not here. I know you never cared about your health for my sake, but at least care about it for yours.” I hang up, gripping my phone in my sweaty palm, and follow Lizzie back to our table.
I know if I let the conversation linger, things would’ve gotten heated.
And if things got heated, I would’ve cried. I would’ve broken. I would’ve given in.
I refuse to be ‘weak’ — as she calls it—in front of her.
That woman has seen, heard, and disregarded my tears for a long, long time, and I think I’ve finally had enough of being second to her.
But I will never be second to me, and that’s all that matters.