THIRTY-THREE
Finn
I am so happy for Maeve. That’s all I can think about in the days following our big win. I got a sizable raise too, but it doesn’t mean all that it does for Maeve. I’m just making more money. Not history.
I’ve been trying to dream up a way to show Maeve how much I care about her. How special she is to me because I know saying it only means so much. I always notice she’s used to having to do everything herself, or at least having to take point on it to make sure it’s done right, and I have a surprise in mind that I think will really show her that I see and appreciate her.
“Do you think he’ll be able to do it so last-minute?” I ask my mom.
“Honey, he’s a friend. I’m sure that if it’s at all possible, he’ll do it. Or at least have his assistant do it.” My mom sounds mildly exasperated. Her new movie is lacking a male lead, and I can tell it’s wearing on both her and my dad. She’s costarring in the movie with Cassidy, and my dad wrote the script during the brief period in which I was dating Cassidy. It’s a movie about a mom who pays a young woman to date her son, because he’s never had a girlfriend that they like. Lots of great actors want the role, but my parents have been disappointed with all of the screen tests and chemistry reads.
Before I can ask more questions, my mom’s interior designer, Luca, walks in with an assistant in tow. He kisses my mom once on each cheek, then shakes my hand. “Evangeline. It is always my pleasure. And Finn! You look … dare I say … grown up!” We exchange pleasantries, then all sit back down. “Now, what is this emergency?”
My mom raises an eyebrow at me. “I want to build my girlfriend, Maeve, her dream podcasting studio,” I say. “I know exactly how she envisions it, more or less, but want to add a light-up floor that has testimonials from fans. Or something like that, anyway.”
I thought it would be nice to add a more personalized touch. But the moment I say light-up floor, both my mom and Luca flinch. “I see!” Luca says politely. “Do you have sketches? Swatches? A location? Anything like that?”
“So, not exactly … she has described what she wants to me, and I wrote down a list of the color chairs and brand of the rugs she likes and all that. And I found a few Tell Me How You Really Feel mood boards she made for the studio this year in our old emails. But she hates the studio Streamify made; she thinks it’s super tacky.”
“It is, honey,” my mom interjects. She looks knowingly toward Luca. “The table … it’s a vagina. An obvious vagina. So tacky.”
Luca throws up his hands and shakes his head in horror as he looks through the papers I’ve passed to him. “And the … light-up floor? And location?”
This is where things get tricky. “Well … I want it to be a surprise. So I was hoping we could make like a shed-type thing that we can just cart over to her place afterward? Like those Home Depot sheds that get delivered?”
“Where in the world did you learn about Home Depot sheds?” Luca asks witheringly. “Because I know it wasn’t from your parents.”
I press on. “Pittsburgh. People love them. But anyways, I wanted the floor to be normal-looking at first glance … but maybe if she flips a switch, she can see testimonials from fans about how much the show means to them.”
Luca and my mom exchange glances. “Why the floor?” the assistant asks suddenly.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t really care where it is; I just want it to have a personalized element.”
The assistant nods thoughtfully. “What if we lose the light-up floor idea. And instead, we make a custom desk with the quotes on it. Or put them on the ceiling? It could be in the handwriting of the person who said it.”
“That works,” I agree readily. “Really, I leave it to you guys. I just want to make it as close to what she described as possible with the personal touches added, and then if there’s things she wants to change, obviously help her do whatever she wants. Does the moveable shed idea work?”
Luca flinches again at the word shed . “We’ll look into what’s possible. Just stop saying ‘shed.’” He chokes out the word as though it’s poisonous and sighs heavily. “Maybe … an elevated shipping container. We’ll see what’s available. There’s potential to cut down on construction time significantly if one of my partners can source the right one.”
“You can do the construction, or furnishing? Whatever really, on our property as needed,” my mom interjects. “Just in the yard or somewhere. When you did the pool house, your team was phenomenal; we barely knew they were here.”
I roll my eyes. “You were filming in Maui.”
“Well, hopefully, by the time this is truly underway, I’ll be filming in the studio.”
We bid Luca and his assistant goodbye, and my mom starts throwing things in her giant bag. “You’re in a rush,” I remark lightly.
“We have another screen test today. I really hope this is the one. Well, the one we pick anyway, since you’re the one.”
I sit at the kitchen island while she transfers her coffee to a to-go cup. “Come on, Mom. You both knew when Dad wrote it that I wasn’t going to act in it.”
My mom takes a long sip of her coffee, then finally stands still for a moment. “Finn. Why? You said you wanted a normal life and to avoid the paps and fame. But that time is long gone now thanks to the podcast. You’re such a talented actor! And really, what else are you doing, sweetie?”
“I’m doing the podcast!” I argue defensively. We’ve had this fight a million times, but more often with my dad.
“Honey. You are doing the podcast. But one day a week. The rest of the time you’re wandering around like a ghost, working out, swimming, trying recipes, it’s just …” She trails off. My mom’s tone is gentle and searching, like she’s trying to figure out where she went wrong, how she can help. “I don’t think the podcast is the end goal for you. Keep doing it; I know it’s fun. But I don’t want you to be like all of my friends’ kids, who spend decades trying to scramble together meaning out of money, looking hot and partying.”
I exhale deeply. She’s not wrong. I thought that once Maeve and I were back together everything would just click into place. But it hasn’t. She has the show, and soon her new show, and she’s so passionate about it. It’s like as long as she has that she knows she’ll be happy and fulfilled. I really do want that. “I know,” I say softly. “But acting … I never told you this, but I had a panic attack when we first started the show, and started getting death threats and hate messages. It was like a flashback to when we would get chased by paps all the time when I was a kid. I’ve just always felt like if I act again it will unleash this hellhole. Like, ten times worse than back in the day or anything that could happen from a podcast. Harsher criticism, more aggressive paps and fans. I remember how scared you were of them when I was a kid.”
My mom walks around the counter and wraps me in a hug. “Darling. I was scared because I was concerned for you . I’ve learned to deal with them on my own. But I was not going to let anyone chase my little boy. As for the criticism, we already know you’re talented. A movie or show is an epic collaboration, and with that comes risk, although given that your dad and I are working on it the risk is mitigated. With your talent, your dad’s writing, me and Cassidy costarring … you have the goods to back it up. You already proved yourself once, all you have to do now is come back with a splash.” I don’t say anything, and my mom pulls back from her embrace to look at me. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But the reason we keep pushing this is because you loved acting. It was your dream and you were phenomenal in that movie and had the time of your life until the fame hit. The way the media treated you was a completely unfair way to treat a child. But times have changed. And you’ve grown up. You can handle it. I just want you to try, because you’ve looked all this time and not found any other passion. We just want you to be happy. Why don’t you ask Cassidy how it’s been for her? You’ve built this up in your head for a long time. Maybe the reasons not to do it aren’t as scary as you think.”
I hug my mom back suddenly, fiercely. “I will think about it. Just don’t tell Dad, please.”