Chapter 13 #2
And the portrayal of teen angst! It’s the complete antithesis of what the industry typically puts out (patronizing, stereotypical, etc.)
(Please note how I have yet to gloat about being right about not sending you a list …)
Sage rolls her eyes. As if acknowledging not gloating isn’t gloating.
It was a one-time thing, but noted, appreciated, blah blah blah.
Such brilliant prose from the writer.
Next movie: The Princess Bride.
One-time thing.
You’re not going to recommend your own film?
That would be terribly gauche, Collins.
It is, in fact, not a one-time thing. It actually becomes a bit of a new routine. She spends her mornings rereading her draft. She doesn’t love any of it, but … she forces herself to at least try.
When her head starts to hurt, she goes for a walk or drives into town for a change of scenery.
And when it gets dark, instead of moving to the couch and balancing a glass of wine and her laptop, she settles down in front of the television and reluctantly watches whatever Theo’s recommended.
The Princess Bride, Little Miss Sunshine, Creed—she gets through all of them in the next three days, and it’s not lost on her that she’s watched more films in seventy-two hours than she has in seventy-two days.
She’s not sure why it feels different now when she sits down to take one in. Maybe it’s because she’s found a middle ground between working and not. She’s not simply watching … she’s studying.
Sometimes, she sends Theo her reactions in real time.
Others, she waits until he prods, and even then, she can’t help but tease him and shrug him off until he’s practically spamming her phone with hot takes on directorial vision and acting methods and a whole host of other things Sage has to Google just to make sense of.
She even has to silence her phone one afternoon when he won’t stop, because she had an idea for a scene and was trying to capture it before it disappeared.
She doesn’t get anywhere on it, which isn’t his fault, but he still apologizes profusely when she messages him three hours later, and then he drops the next recommendation.
He seems to think she’s finally ready to watch At Eternity’s Gate.
Sage would rather go streaking in the biting cold than admit to Theo that she’s been curious about it ever since he quoted it that night. Yet as she settles down in front of the TV that evening, she doesn’t quite feel in the mood to watch it.
It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow. Right about now, her parents are throwing their all into their chocolate pecan pie—a block party favorite.
There’s a heaviness on her chest when she thinks about it.
It’s not like she wants to be in Chicago right now.
But knowing something isn’t right for you now doesn’t always make you miss it any less.
She FaceTimes Noah instead. He answers on the third ring, his image slightly pixelated, but she can easily make out the blindingly boring beige walls of his office behind him.
He grins as he sets his phone against his computer. “You look cozy. Where’d you get the sweatshirt?”
Sage glances down at the Cambridge lettering across her chest. She’d totally forgotten she was wearing it. “Um. My hosts lent it to me. It’s supposed to snow and they didn’t want me to be cold.”
It’s a half-truth. Edgar had stopped by earlier with a basket of shortbread and to confirm Greta had brought enough blankets.
“If the power goes, you come up to the house,” he’d instructed. Sage had motioned to the mountain of blankets on the couch. “I think I’ll be fine.”
She’s buried under said mountain now, her fuzzy-sock-clad feet tucked under her legs, half-eaten carton of microwavable mac and cheese balanced precariously on her knee.
Noah shoots her a skeptical look, but he lets it go as he leans back in his chair. It’s midday in Seattle—1 pm, if Sage’s quick mental math is right—but Noah already looks over it. Yet the collar of his shirt is perfectly starched, his wavy brown hair wrangled into compliance with gel.
“Long day?” Sage asks.
“Aren’t they all?” Noah deadpans. He looks exhausted, Sage realizes. His recently formed crow’s feet are more pronounced, as are the bags under his hazel eyes. Usually, Sage would chalk it up to his demanding job, but this seems different.
“Have you already dealt with the grocery store rush for tomorrow? Turkey secured?” She knows Noah needs a thorough warm-up before talking about his feelings. If he talks about his feelings. Sometimes it seems like she got all the emotions and he got all the reason.
“We’re just going to order pizza, actually.” Noah sighs. “Cecelia isn’t up for some big thing, and honestly, neither am I.”
Sage makes an understanding sound. “I’m going to miss playing Neighbor Bingo with her this year.”
Cecelia invented the game at her first Collins Thanksgiving. It’s equal parts drinking game and traditional bingo, but with a touch of Cards Against Humanity vibes.
But, like, with real people.
Sage had already liked her brother’s new girlfriend, but she fell in love with her while watching Cecelia throw back a shot of tequila while whispering, Bingo, bitch, after Mrs. Gramberly, their parents’ ninety-five-year-old neighbor, told Noah she was disappointed he was off the market.
Noah brings a hand up to his head, his fingers curling into a fist before he can give in to the urge to tug them through his hair. “Yeah. She’ll miss it, too. She’s … stressed. We had that doctor’s appointment last week. They want us to see a fertility specialist.”
Sage’s heart drops. It feels like someone has thrown a bucket of ice water on her, and she nearly upends the mac and cheese as she scrambles to sit up.
“Shit, Noah. I totally forgot that was last week. I’m so sorry.”
He’d mentioned it weeks ago, but with her impromptu flight across the ocean and her growing panic over her draft and Theo … it had completely slipped her mid.
Noah shrugs, his eyes drifting to his computer screen before fixing on her again. “Is what it is. How’s it going over there?”
Sage swallows, her hand tightening around the edge of her phone. She doesn’t know if he doesn’t want to talk about it or if he’s mad, and it makes her feel itchy. She knows she’s not his first phone call when it comes to this stuff, and she understands why, but …
She’s not sure if he wants her to push now.
“Um. It’s going,” she tries. “What are the next steps now that you guys need to see a specialist?” She’s not sure he even hears her. Not with the way his brow is furrowed and his attention is slightly to the left of the camera.
There’s the telltale clack of his keyboard, his frown deepening before his gaze flicks back toward her.
“They gave us a referral. We’ll call and set up an appointment and then we’ll see. We’ll probably wait until after the holidays.”
He looks away again. Types. Doesn’t look back. “Noah.”
“But the writing is going okay?” he asks distractedly. “Getting away has helped?”
Sage sucks in a breath. This time, she lets the redirection stand. “Not quite. The ideas aren’t flowing like I thought they would.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “That sucks.”
His words are stilted, a clear discomfort clipping his consonants. Noah takes his role as her older brother very seriously. He’d never admit it, but she knows he hates that he doesn’t know how to help her with this.
Sage feels the distance between them like a physical ache.
She isn’t sure when it started, but she thinks …
Well, she thinks she might be to blame. She isn’t sure that Noah knows how to support this version of her. Not when he’s spent thirty years knowing another.
The signature dundunk of a Teams message coming through sounds in the background, and Noah’s eyes flick back to the screen. He sighs heavily. “Sorry. My boss is on me about this proposal.”
Sage’s nose scrunches. “It’s the day before a holiday.”
Noah shoots her a wry smile. “Bet you miss having your own evil overlord, huh?”
“Sometimes, actually.” The admission tumbles out of her unexpectedly. She doesn’t want to go back to her old life, but … yeah. Sometimes, she misses when things felt steadier.
Grass isn’t always greener, etc. etc.
She rubs the cuff of Theo’s sweatshirt between her fingers as Noah makes his I Want to Say Something But I Think I Should Refrain face. The silence is thick and uncomfortable in a way it never used to be.
They’re saved by the ring of his office line. Noah’s mouth pinches as he ducks to mute it. “I should probably go,” he says as he comes back into frame. “But I’m glad things are going well out there. I’m proud of you for taking this trip.”
He’s missed the point entirely, but … his pride still sends a warm glow washing over her regardless. There’s an ingrained need in her to have Noah’s approval—like it matters more than everyone else’s.
“Thanks, Noah. I’ll call again soon, okay? Give Cecelia a hug for me. Enjoy your pizza tomorrow.”
“I will. Love you, Sage.”
“I love you, too.”
He hangs up first, and the silence that fills the cottage is a tangible weight against Sage’s skin. It settles heavily in her heart as she stares out the window.
Finally, the snow begins to fall.
Did you cry?
Theo’s text comes just as she’s getting into bed.
I didn’t get to watch it, actually.
I was preoccupied.
She’d spent the better part of the night soothing herself with fan fiction from her favorite romance book. Not that he needs to know that.
Wait, did YOU cry?
Of course I did.
Let me know what you think when you watch it x
Sage lets her phone fall against her chest as she stares at the ceiling. Maybe it’s the lingering loneliness after her call with Noah. Or maybe, she’s simply running out of excuses. She picks up her phone and sends off a text before she can second-guess herself.
We could watch it together if you’re free tomorrow?
I can make us dinner.
I owe you a thank you for saving me last week.
Lovely. But … I’LL make dinner.
But that ruins the thank-you?