47. Zayn
Zayn
“Zayn, thank you for coming in today,” Ed says as I take a seat in his office.
When was the last time I was here? I don’t recognize the two dark wood chairs in front of his desk, or the bookshelf that’s lining the left wall.
I don’t remember the two recent movie posters hanging on the right wall.
My mind is latching on to everything and anything it seems, as I shouldn’t care about these details.
I’m not here to hang out with Ed in his office.
I’m here to find out if I got the role for this trilogy. The one that brought me (and lost me) the one person that I love.
“Of course, happy to,” I respond, taking a seat in the left chair.
“I won’t keep you here long, but I wanted to start by saying how impressed with how quickly your image has improved in the media.”
“Thanks,” is the only thing I say, because what else is there? It wasn’t only me. It was a partnership, a team effort, that led to my name being perceived as anything but grumpy in the media. Before working with Starlet PR, I was on my way to never acting in a blockbuster movie again.
“How are things wrapping up with the firm?”
“Oh, um, fine.” I smile, or at least try to smile, hoping that it comes across somewhat genuine. “Everything is good on my end.”
I decide that’s a good way to say “everything is fucked up but I’m trying my best to hide it.”
“Good, good. Glad to hear it. Alright, so I’ve already sent the contract to Logan, but I wanted to tell you in person that we’d love to offer you the lead role in the new trilogy that’s beginning filming in the next few weeks.
” Ed has a giant grin on his face as he leans back in his chair, waiting to see how I react.
Except, I don’t. Don’t react, that is. I’m shocked. Frozen? Am I even happy? I wanted this, right? My fingers are plastered to the arms of the chair, my jaw hangs open, and I want to say something, but all words get choked off.
My chest is heavy, and my heartbeat reverberates throughout my entire body, sending signals to my brain that everything is wrong. I’m not happy, I’m sad. I’m sad that Annie isn’t here to celebrate with me.
We did it. Together. Hell, it was more Annie than me, but I sure didn’t do it alone. I owe her everything, and she’s not even here for me to tell her that. I don’t even remember when she’s flying out to New York. I tried not to think about it, and my brain seems to have misplaced the information.
“Zayn?” Ed calls my name, leaning forward in his chair to inspect my reaction. His brows are raised in a concerned fashion.
“Sorry, Ed, I’m thankful and happy, I am. I’m just having an off day, I suppose. I’ll make sure to get with Logan and sign the contract soon.”
“Great, great. I’m glad we were able to chat for a moment before things get busy around here.
I’ll make sure to send you and Logan the first week’s filming schedule shortly once you sign the contract.
We also have a kickoff party this Saturday that the cast and crew will be at. You can bring a date if you’d like.”
A date? Why did I think I could escape thinking of Annie in my day to day?
“Great, I’ll be there. Just let me know the time.”
I wrap things up with Ed before he manages to bring up the PR firm, or Annie, or dates for this party.
My mind is screaming at me to get out of there, to become a recluse again, to lock myself in my apartment.
There’s no harm in that, right? I’ve kept up appearances, now I have the role, I think I deserve a break.
So that’s what I do.
For three days, I don’t leave the apartment.
I get food delivered, I binge-watch movies, and I spend time looking over documents Ed sends over.
Logan comes over for an hour Monday night after talking with Ed, and I sign the contract.
Tuesday brings me ten emails from Ed with various schedules and filming information.
One thing I didn’t realize about this role is the need to maintain visibility in the press, so I suppose it makes more sense that Ed was so adamant with me having a positive relationship with the media before he offered it to me.
Except, thinking about being in the media again is causing too many parts of my body to ache.
Reporters will want to know what happened to Annie, why isn’t she with me, who am I seeing now.
.. and I don’t know how to not punch them in the face or storm away.
I have talking points, but they all feel so fucking fake that I can’t even picture myself saying them out loud. How can I do this without Annie?
It’s hardly lunch time on Saturday when I get a call from Kiley.
“Hi, Kiley,” I say, pressing the button to FaceTime her so I can continue to get dinner around. Using a book, I prop the phone up on the counter.
“I’m surprised to see you walking around,” Kiley says.
“Walking around my own apartment?”
“Yes, I expected you to be moping on the couch,” Kiley says with extra sass.
Little does she know I have been moping on the couch, she just caught me at the time when my body decided to yell at me for nourishment.
“I’m doing fine,” I snap.
“Denial is the first step, you know.” Kiley crosses her arms and challenges me in a stare.
Two minutes pass, she doesn’t let up. If anything, her stare has become more terrifying. Has she even blinked?
Fuck.
“I’m not fine, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” I practically yell at the phone.
“Yes, that’s what I wanted to hear. You can talk to me, you know. I’m not little anymore, I know what’s going on.”
“You’re still my little sister,” I argue.
“I mean, technically yes, but I’m not naive. I know you love her, and I know she loves you. I don’t understand what happened.” Kiley goes quiet.
She wants to ask me straight out, but I can tell she’s nervous that I’ll shoot her down, because that’s what I always do.
“You’re right,” I say, deadpan, looking at the phone to make sure she meets my gaze.
“I’m...right?”
I just nod.
Kiley shakes her head, like she can’t believe what I’m saying is true, then says, “But why is she not there right now? And why do you look like shit?”
I give her a look to say “ Really ?”
She just shrugs, because it’s true.
“Annie’s dream has taken her to New York. I can’t get in the way of that.” I shrug back, trying to keep my voice even as I talk about Annie for the first time since she left.
“How would you get in the way?”
“The long distance, the missed phone calls, the constant struggle to stay on the same page. There are a ton of things that can go wrong,” I say, annoyed that I even have to explain myself.
“But what if things went right? Or what if you asked her to stay and she said yes? It wouldn’t have to be her giving up her career. Maybe she could spend more time finding a new job or something if she was given the space.”
My jaw goes slack, and I stay silent. Is that something that could happen?
Could we find a way to make it work? There are risks that are worth taking, and I think this could be one of them.
Why not? I know what we have is special.
Annie isn’t someone I want to let go, but I thought I was being selfless in doing so.
“Fuck, I’m making a mistake, aren’t I?” I run a hand through my hair as I pace the kitchen, my food already forgotten.
“Yup,” Kiley says, emphasizing the “p.”
“I need to go Ki. I’ll call you later.”
I hang up the phone before she says anything. A newfound sense of joy rises in my chest as I take in the conversation we just had. Annie and I could find a way to be together, or at least I could put myself out there enough to ask her. If she said no, then I’d learn to live with that.
At least, I’d be able to say I tried. Regret wouldn’t be looming over me for months to come.
I grab my keys to drive so I don’t have to wait on a car and rush to the bathroom.
My hair is a mess, standing up in various ways on the top of my head.
Water does little to tame it, but it’ll have to do.
The mirror shows a stain on my shirt, the one I’ve been wearing since earlier this week since I haven’t had the energy to change out of it.
Fuck. The shower is calling my name, but I don’t have time to spare. I look down at my phone, it’s already ten a.m. and I’m fairly certain her flight leaves at eleven. If I leave now, I might make it in time.
I decide to call Marcy, just in case, to double check the time.
“Hello? Who is this?” Marcy answers.
“Marcy, it’s Zayn. What time is Annie’s flight?” I demand.
“How did you get my number?” is all Marcy replies, demanding right back.
I let out a groan and mumble, “How do you think?”
Marcy just chuckles. It seems giving her back the same attitude is entertaining. “Her flight leaves at 11:30. You waited until the last moment, huh?”
“Should I not go?” I ask, unsure if I want to know the answer.
Annie likely confided in Marcy, and told her how she felt about me. If she wanted me to stay away, Marcy would no.
“You should go. But I’d hurry, you’re likely to hit traffic.”
And I wish I could say she was wrong. That driving to the airport was easy- breezy and took me the normal twenty-nine minutes. That the interstate had no cars, and that I was shocked to see such little traffic around the city of Los Angeles.
But that’s not what happened.
Instead, I hit rush hour. Because everyone knows traffic around the city lasts until eleven in the morning, and if you’re trying to get somewhere important, you better plan for it to take two hours to get there.
And if I would have figured out earlier this morning, last night, any other day, that this was what I wanted, I would have made it.
I would have made it to Annie.
But, I didn’t.
When I get to the airport, the clock reads 11:31 a.m. and her flight has departed the terminal.