Tell Me How You Really Feel

NINE

Before the Streamify contract

Finn

“On this week’s episode of Tell Me How You Really Feel , we’re going to be spilling our guts about the one that got away,” Maeve says with a smile at me from her side of the couch.

I don’t want to hear about Maeve’s one that got away. Hearing about dates and one-night stands is one thing. It won’t be as easy to hear about some guy that Maeve still has feelings for. But I play along. “Ooof, this will be a tough one. What are we calling your guy? Mine can be … the girl next door.”

Maeve snorts. “As though you’ve ever dated the girl next door. We should be calling her Miss Dior.”

I roll my eyes good-naturedly for the camera trained on my close-up. We’ve only been doing Tell Me How You Really Feel for a few months, but in that time our setup has gotten significantly better. We have a lot more time now to focus on creating high-quality episodes, since Maeve was fired from her job at Columbia and I quit mine under duress from my manager, and we also used our first brand sponsorship check to buy used cameras off eBay. I would have been happy to buy us new cameras months earlier, but Maeve insisted that we only pay for show-related things with show earnings. Regardless, now we have a wide shot, plus close-ups on each of us to capture any particularly funny facial expressions.

Maeve’s right, though; anyone with access to the internet will be able to find out that the ex I’m referring to is Cassidy Cross, my childhood best friend, who is an It girl and much more famous nepo baby, and currently the face of the Miss Dior perfume line, among other things.

Maeve’s ex, on the other hand, is a total mystery. “So? What are you calling yours?”

She tilts her head thoughtfully. “The homeroom charmer.”

“He sounds like a real guy next door.”

Maeve nods, a small smile playing on her face. “Oh, he was. Generically good-looking. Kind, with these deep green eyes and long lashes. He’s a catch.”

“So? Why didn’t you catch him?”

Maeve draws her feet up onto the couch and I pull them into my lap, adjusting a blanket over us. My hand rests on her bare calf and I can tell she must have shaved this morning, her legs are smooth and still slightly sticky from lotion. “Well, we went to prom together. We had a great night, we actually—”

“Did you lose your virginity to him?” I interrupt. “On prom night? Like in a movie?”

Color rises on Maeve’s cheeks. “Finn! I was getting there.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just got excited that we’re basically in a Hallmark movie right now.” I squeeze her leg reassuringly under the blanket. If she decides she doesn’t want her virginity story on the podcast, we can always cut it later.

“They don’t have sex in Hallmark movies,” Maeve corrects me authoritatively. “They just kiss, chastely. Anyways, we did have sex on prom night, after the most perfect night. And I thought we were losing our virginity to each other. But it turned out he’d had sex with my friend literally two weeks prior.”

My heart drops for her. I know how inferior Maeve always felt to her siblings as a child, and even though this was a friend, I can’t imagine it helped. She was just telling me the other night that it’s only now that she has her master’s and is the one living in New York and starting a podcast that she’s starting to actually feel like she measures up. “How’d you find out?”

Maeve scrunches up her face in a cheesy “woe is me” expression, but I can see in her eyes that the memory really is painful. “He had a birthmark. Like, right above his dick. And I was so excited to tell my best friend about losing my virginity. She was my only friend that I didn’t share with any of my sisters too. And before I told her my big news, she told me about a guy she had sex with at a party, and when she mentioned the birthmark, I just knew. I didn’t tell her for years. I didn’t tell him back then either; I just blocked him. But a few months later he showed up at my summer job at the ice cream shop, which was in our small town, not Pittsburgh, where he and I were both moving for different schools. I called him out, he apologized, said he really liked me, that it was just sex at a party with her, yada yada. But I didn’t want to hear it. He chose her over me for that big moment, and I just didn’t believe him about actually liking me at the time.”

I pause before speaking, to make sure she’s finished. “So why is he the one that got away? He doesn’t sound that great. Was the sex that good?”

Maeve exhales strongly. “No. He does not pass the clit test. But also, we were eighteen and hadn’t discovered lube. But he’s the one that got away just because I really did like him. He was the first person I’ve had that head-over-heels feeling for. We had not just homeroom but almost every class together, and we really did have a great time. I wanted to be around him all the time. He was smart, and funny, and I’ve always kind of wished I’d given him another chance. My friend had even said the sex was just sex, that they wanted to lose their virginity with someone they trusted but didn’t like so they could get it over with. Maybe he was telling the truth. But also, like … he knew she was my friend.”

“Do you know what he does now?”

This brings a change over Maeve. She actually bites her lip to keep from laughing. “It’s too identifiable. You’ve actually seen him.”

My jaw drops. “Did he go to CMU with us?”

She shakes her head, eyes dancing. “No … but remember that guy from Pittsburgh who was on The Bachelorette ?”

It takes me a minute, but suddenly I do know, because I watched every episode of the past season with Maeve. “No! The professional walker?”

She nods gravely. “Yes. He’s doing the very important work of getting people in Pittsburgh to walk more. The gym? It’s too big a goal. Just put that beer in a coozie and walk . And don’t worry, at home walking in place in front of the TV still counts.”

Now I’m the one who can’t hold it in. I start laughing and Maeve joins in until we’re both tearing up. “He is, like, superhot, I’ll give you that,” I say finally. “But trust me, you can do better.”

“He is who I still think about, though!” Maeve exclaims, more lighthearted now that we’ve broken the tension of the story. “Like, I think if I met him now, we wouldn’t have anything to talk about. But also in high school? He was every girl’s dream. I hope he’s found love. He actually lasted a long time on the show. But anyway, tell us yours. It’s a sweeter story.”

“I guess I can let you off the hook this once,” I tease. Maeve and I have talked about Cassidy off the podcast several times, so she already knows all the details. “So mine is also my first love. But I wasn’t such a late bloomer—I first fell in love at nine years old.”

“I’m sure you were a heartbreaker even then,” Maeve remarks with a grin.

“I can’t confirm or deny. I’m not that vain. But anyway, the girl next door—”

“Miss Dior.”

“Fine! Miss Dior.” Everyone knows exactly who we’re talking about when we talk about our exes. Fans have compiled relationship timelines for everyone I’ve ever dated, and done their best to cobble together Maeve’s dating history. “Miss Dior and I were in Croatia, costarring in a movie with our mothers. So romantic, I know. Our moms were playing former best friends that had a falling out and then are brought back together when their children fall in love in the beach town they spend summers in.”

“Weren’t you nominated for an Emmy for that?” Maeve interjects.

My stomach twists. “I was.” That Emmy nomination ruined everything. Until then, acting was something that was so pure and fun for me. I wanted to be just like my mom and loved every second of doing that movie with her. But after the Emmy, the paparazzi were relentless. I was asked to leave my Little League team, I was excluded from every birthday party and afterschool hang because me being there caused a disturbance, and I couldn’t do anything normally un til I’d hidden away for years, getting homeschooled with Cassidy on set while she and our moms filmed movies.

Maeve must be able to tell I’m reluctant to talk about it because she presses her foot into my stomach gently to show she’s with me, but she doesn’t ask anything. “Just start again. I’ll edit out my question.”

I nod gratefully. “The movie was set in the beach town they were supposed to have grown up in, and it was Miss Dior’s and my first time acting. The whole movie was a family affair, since her stepdad was the director and my dad wrote the script. I’d known Miss Dior my entire life, but because we were that little, and the movie was with our real moms, the lines started to feel … blurred. Like between reality and the movie.

“But we knew that for this one scene in the movie we were supposed to kiss. And Miss Dior came to me and said we needed to practice, so we didn’t ruin the movie with our bad kissing.” I smile now just thinking of it. “She brought me a Hershey’s Kiss and asked if I would be her first real kiss before we do it for the Academy.”

Maeve can’t help but laugh. “That should’ve been in the movie. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It really is. But anyway, I agreed, obviously, and I told my mom I had to take her on a real date. So our moms took us to a fancy restaurant and sat at the table next to us while I ‘took her out to dinner’ at nine years old. We had a blast. Honestly, best dinner date of my life, and then when I walked her to her hotel room, our moms hung back at the elevator and I kissed her. It’s still the most romantic night of my life, I have to say. I peaked at nine years old.”

Maeve reaches out and squeezes my hand, her eyes wet. “Finn. You hadn’t told me this whole story! What happened after that?”

“Oh nothing. I mean, we were nine after all. We just went back to being friends and finished the movie. I think the next day on set I asked if I was her boyfriend now, and she was like, ‘No way, silly. I’m nine.’”

“That’s crushing. Wow. Have you ever talked about it?”

I shrug. “We’ve joked about it over the years. We’re great friends, and our families are still super close.”

Maeve frowns. “Why have you never gone for it with her? You obviously like her. And come on, she is drop-dead gorgeous.”

I hesitate, considering. “I haven’t really considered it, I guess. We’re still young, and she is definitely the one that got away, but I haven’t felt like our time is up, you know? Like, if I got together with her, I think it would be endgame, since we are such good friends. I mean, she’s the perfect woman, right? I could never do better than her.”

“What if she’s the one, though? You’re not going to try?” Maeve’s voice is barely a whisper, her eyes wide.

“I really don’t think she’s interested,” I say lightly. Why have I never tried with Cassidy? I feel almost stupid for not trying, but it’s never really occurred to me to. She’s been such a supportive friend over the years, and our lives look really different now since she’s leaned into the spotlight and I ran away from it. “I mean, her most recent ex is Ja—Oscar-winner-whatever-fake-name,” I fumble. “Let’s bleep that out. But talk about high profile. I heard he keeps his three Oscars in the bathroom.”

“The only word I just heard is ex . Real talk for a sec: I say go for it if you have the chance,” Maeve says firmly. “The whole point of our show is to help each other date to our fullest potential so we can find the one! You should at least try. I mean, I would date Miss Dior if given the chance! She’s literally the coolest woman ever.”

“I’ll see if she wants your number.”

“We’re back, back again with another episode of Tell Me How You Really Feel , and this week we will be getting into it , because both Maeve and I went on dates last night.”

I grin at Maeve. We’re sitting in my living room, mic’d and recording. In the last nine months the show has only gotten bigger every day. It would be almost scary, but since Maeve is alongside me the level of success barely feels real, like this is some inside joke between us that we could call off at any time. But more often than not, when we step outside together, someone recognizes us, and networks have tried to buy the podcast IP from us for sizable amounts of money.

“That is right ,” Maeve agrees. “And as much as I want to hear about your date … I need to tell you about mine, like, urgently, before he becomes a Netflix special in the next five hours.”

“Don’t tell me you went out with Jeffrey Dahmer. Or a Trump?” I talk a good game, but hearing about Maeve’s dates, which more often than not are awful, makes the hair on my arms stand straight up and something twist in my gut. I worry about her going out with guys we don’t even know.

“Not quite. This guy, let’s call him …”

“Netflix Special?”

She nods, smiling widely. “Netflix Special. He calls me a car, good, takes me to Nobu, great, and everything is going well. He doesn’t have, like, a third eye, or a penis tie, or anything strange. He’s even employed! He’s an exec for a bank or something. And, obviously, he claims he hasn’t heard of the show, but then lets slip that he listens every week.”

“So pretty standard.”

“One hundred percent. But the date goes well .” Now this is something she has not said before. And even though I should be happy for her, my smile suddenly feels very forced. “So well that I agreed to a nightcap.”

“No. Really? I thought you said, and I quote, ‘Basically, if you want to date, go without sex as long as humanly possible so that he falls in love’?”

Maeve nods, dead serious. “And shame on you, Finn, for thinking that a nightcap automatically means sex.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, you got me.”

“Anyway,” Maeve continues, with a dramatic hair flick and a grin. She thinks that people watch for me, but I know approximately all of our male listeners are tuning in just to watch her flick her hair, adjust her tank top straps, or cross and uncross her legs after we’ve been sitting for too long. Men are disgusting. “He calls an Uber Black, and it takes us back to his place on the Upper East Side. He’s been shockingly interesting to talk to, he likes Nathan Fielder, is well-read, athletic, all the things. And then when we get to this place … it’s nice . Old money nice. And you know all my other dates have sucked, so I’m thinking, ‘Oh shit, what if he’s Mr. Right? What will we talk about on the show if I find the one right now?’ And so we go inside, I’m looking around, and he shushes me in the living room.” She pauses for dramatic emphasis, her eyes huge. “Because he’s thirty-six and lives with his mom!”

“No!”

“Yes! And she heard us come in, and she walks out of her bedroom holding this cat, that’s, like, a jungle cat? You know those cats that are, like, illegal to have? Like celebrities can still get them for a ton of money, then get canceled for it? Anyway, she recognizes me! And tells me that she bought the vibrator I recommended last month.”

My jaw is on the floor. I would have shriveled up and died. “What did you say?”

“I thanked her, and this morning I mailed her a Tell Me How You Really Feel bottle of lube!”

The laugh I’ve been trying to hold back bubbles over, and I can’t stop. “You didn’t,” I choke out.

“I did!” Maeve insists. “I’ll show you my credit statement, seriously. She deserves lube!”

“What did you say to Netflix Special? And wait. Why is he called Netflix Special and not Momma’s Boy?”

“Aha! Great question!” Maeve grabs my forearm and looks into my eyes. “Because I did not make my exit then. I had to see what his plan was! After this whole situation he’s clearly embarrassed, and when his mom won’t leave, he takes my hand and, like, leads me away. Down the hallway. To a fire escape. Which can be romantic!”

“I don’t like the sound of where this is going …”

“We got out on the fire escape, but instead of sitting, talking, opening a really nice bottle of wine (because I need it at this point) … he starts climbing up. Like, to the apartment above us. And so I follow him!”

“No! No, Maeve. You can’t follow men into strange apartments up fire escapes! It’s so creepy. I’m going to have to, like, watch from outside like a stalker or your security each week.” Not a bad idea, now that I’m thinking about it …

“I had come that far … So, I follow him upstairs to the next apartment, and it’s completely barren. Except for a cage.” The way every inch of my body gets a chill when she says “cage” is uncanny. But before I can jump in, she holds up a hand. “The cage was full of cats that he was illegally breeding. For Mother’s Day. But next to the literal cage of sad, sad wild cats … he had laid out a blanket and charcuterie board, like five hours earlier, before he left. And next to that … was another empty cage, that he claimed was for the kittens, but who really knows … So then I basically sprinted out of there. Now. Tell me how you really feel. Let’s go.”

“Well, one, terrified that you would follow him up that fire escape into his room of cages. Please, never again. Literally just call me and I’ll kill off one of my already deceased grandparents so you have a reason to leave to comfort me in my time of need. Two, disgusting. Everything about it. That cheese could have killed you after sitting out that long, even if he decided to wait a few hours. Three, good job on sending the car man; you know you need to do shit like that since you live at home.” I sound lighthearted, but the thought of Maeve being around men like that is horrifying to me. Especially because I know she’s partially doing it for the show. This week is the first time, though, that for a moment I thought she might actually like the guy, and that pull in my gut when I realized it was a bad date … I think it might be relief.

Which I probably shouldn’t think too hard about, since our show is dependent on us dating other people for content. Something Maeve wouldn’t have suggested as the premise if she wanted to date me, like, at all. I need to get my head on straight and just be grateful that I get to be the one to do this with her.

“All fair points,” Maeve responds. “Now, tell me. How was your date?”

“You know, mine was much less eventful. But there was something strange, once we got to the bedroom.” I flush. I feel strange talking about sex with these women. I’m not typically one to kiss and tell. But I try to do it in the most respectful way possible, and let Maeve be the one to poke fun if something is really ridiculous. And mainly, we’re using these escapades we share as teaching moments.

“What’s her code name?” Maeve interjects.

“The choker,” I say immediately.

“Ooooh, I like it. A little spice!” This makes me blush even harder. The thought of Maeve getting choked out, or having sex at all, is too much for me. I’ve seen her in her bikini, and there is so much good stuff happening under all her turtlenecks and long sleeve shirts that I have to seriously focus on maintaining professionalism.

“We were starting to hook up, and everything was normal. The date was good even! And she initiated the hook up. I’m going downtown, when all of a sudden she yanks me up by the hair and tells me to tie her up and choke her while I fuck her.”

“Wow. She knows what she wants! I think that’s kind of nice.”

I frown. “It is! If she finds someone who’s into all that. But I’m a bit more … vanilla. And I wasn’t comfortable with that stuff. And I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard her, since she literally pulled my face off her clit to tell me.”

“Finn, you can’t pretend not to hear her. That’s, like, so childish.”

“It was awkward!”

“Well, what did you say? I hope you didn’t make her feel bad about it.”

“I said, ‘On it,’ then went to the other room to pretend to get rope or whatever, and then came back and said I had to go, my mom just called and one of my grandparents has died, could I call her a car?”

Maeve shakes her head and laughs. “Finn, your entire family history is on the internet. Next time, I give you permission to pretend I’m having an emergency. But not a dead grandma! I’m trying not to jinx mine like that.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. Now tell me, how did I do?”

“I’ll give you a solid five for dishonesty. Want to know what I would have said?”

“Uh, obviously.” And I really do. Maeve is a genius with relationships, which is why it’s so baffling she’s not in one. She’s literally the perfect partner. She’s not just talented, smart, funny, and caring, she’s also a knockout. The whole package.

“I’d say, ‘Baby, thanks for telling me what you’re into. I haven’t done anything like that before, and I’m not ready to jump into it tonight, but I think it’s so fucking sexy that you know what you want, and if you’re open to holding off on that stuff for tonight, I’d still love to try and make you feel good.’ It sets a boundary for that night, but doesn’t make her feel dumb, and leaves the door open for the future. I think it’s a good compromise.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And when I never want to do that stuff after thinking about it?”

Maeve laughs. “Text her. Way less awkward, for everyone involved. ‘I had a great time the other night, but I think we’re looking for different things. I wish you the best!’”

“How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“Eight years of overpriced education.”