28. Chapter 28
I got into the rental car and drove back to Skye, my stomach knotted in confusion. I tried to distract myself by singing along to the radio, but without much success.
I got to the house—and it was empty again. Once again, I wondered what the hell I was thinking, letting myself hope this could work.
Frustrated, I put on the kettle, organized a stack of oatcakes and cheese, then poured myself a cup of decaf Lady Grey.
I sat down in a chair by the window where I could watch the raindrops dancing on the deck and the storm clouds hanging over the loch.
I pulled out a notepad—my default—and started making lists.
This time it was a life list, for me. What were my priorities?
What kind of life did I want? Did I want to get back into film, or continue with wedding planning?
More and more I realized it was such a similar job, but the wedding planning had more control and more stability.
Film always meant being beholden to some angel investor, studio, or power-hungry rich maniac.
I loved working in film, but the instability was crazy.
Always networking, always looking for the next job, always selling the sizzle, not the steak.
The steak was tough, dry—and not always worth the money.
I loved creating something from nothing. I loved that words and images could come together and evoke emotion. I loved everything from casting to table reads to editing. I loved working with actors, choosing locations. I loved all the parts of it—but maybe not the sum of it.
I didn’t like my decision, but it felt right.
There was no way I wanted to give all of this up for a maybe.
I mean, when we finished this three-picture deal, then what?
It would get Max another directing job. As for me, I’d spend years wading through stacks of scripts again, searching for something to fall in love with and coming up short.
And I’d be known as the producer of a period film set in Scotland or a selkie film, neither of which had a strong path to a wide release.
I’d fallen in love once. It was hard. It was painful. And now it was over.
I checked the maps app to see how long it would take to drive back to Inverness, and the route line was red. The weather was probably going to snarl everything up as well.
Sighing, I decided to make the most of it and have a relaxing day in my Isle of Skye getaway. I put in my noise cancelling ear buds and set my phone to meditative music, then took the teabags from my teapot, placed them on my eyes, and leaned into the impromptu spa time.
I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes again, it was getting dark. The rain pelted against the windows, and the loch’s waves were raging. I loved a good storm, so I got up, pulled the plaid wool blanket around me, and waddled into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea.
I heard a key in the front door, and then a dripping wet, wild-eyed Max walked through the door.
He stepped into the kitchen, tracking water behind him. “I didn’t know where you were!” he said, staring at me.
“I was in Inverness.”
Max threw out a hand toward the counter. “You could’ve left a note.”
“A note?” Why would I have left a note?
“Or called. Or texted.”
I leaned back against the counter. “We were working on the wedding. I came back when things settled down, but you weren’t here. You could’ve left a note.”
“I didn’t expect you to come here.”
“Have you got a girlfriend waiting in the car? You might want to bring her in. The lightning’s not safe.”
Max let his head fall back before refocusing on me. “Are we really back to this old fight?”
“I guess we are.”
“You trust me now, don’t you?” His eyes roamed my face, searching.
“Should I?”
His shoulders slumped. “Abby, I have missed you since the day you left LA. Not only did I lose my fiancée, I lost my best friend.”
I bit my lip to keep it from quivering as I tried to find a reason he would bullshit me. His blue eyes, blinking through the raindrops that fell from his shaggy hair, looked sincere.
“Abby…” He caught sight of the notebook beside me.
With two columns and a line drawn down the center, it was clear that I was making another one of my famous pros and cons lists.
His hopeful expression darkened, and he pressed his lips into a tight line.
“Back to deciding the pros and cons of being with me?”
I glanced at the list and shook my head. “The pros and cons of going back into film.”
“Oh.”
He was creating a puddle on the floor, so I motioned for him to sit. He stripped off his raincoat and stepped out of his boots, leaving them lying in the growing pool of water.
He held out his hand for a towel, and I tossed him one without thinking. He wiped the floor, then reached for a mug. I stepped around him and pulled out a packet of hot chocolate. He didn’t like tea.
We’d always been in sync with the small things.
It was only ever the film stuff that was a problem.
Max took his hot chocolate and settled in at the small kitchen table. His eyes lingered on my notebook still open on the counter. “You’re not sure? I thought you were excited?”
I shrugged. “I’ve made a new life for myself. Weddings are real and joyful and nobody pulls funding at the last minute.”
“Weddings go over budget. Weddings get ruined. Mothers of the bride are notoriously—”
“I know all of that. But let’s say Shane comes through with the funding.
I get a proper visa. We finish the film.
It does well enough that they greenlight the next two.
After that, people will start sending you prestige period scripts, and me more of the same.
I don’t want to spend the next decade producing films I didn’t choose. ”
“Okay… but we’d have at least five years—”
“I know. I get that. That’s been the problem the whole time. We’d have five years or so together. But then what? Say the dating worked out, and we fell back in love—”
“Back?” His voice was tight.
I looked up, and his eyes told me everything. There was no falling back in love for him. He already loved me.
And then I started to break. My eyes began to sting, and the words caught in my throat. I poured myself more tea while I collected myself.
My voice, nearly a whisper, trembled. “And then those years would be up. I’d have lived, breathed, and worked with you nearly 24/7 that whole time, and then you’d be gone again.
And there I’d be, reading through stacks of scripts that I didn’t love, looking for the one I could commit to for another three years… ”
Max twisted his mug between his hands. “Are we still talking about scripts?”
“Dating and screenwriting have been mixed metaphors with us for years.”
He lifted his eyes to mine. “What if I gave it up? Became a wedding videographer?”
I nearly choked on a laugh. “Max, you’re a renowned Hollywood filmmaker.”
“What do you want? How can we make this work?”
I looked out at the rain and took a slow sip of my tea. When I looked back at him, his dark hair was still wet from the rain, his blue eyes soft and searching. He put his spoon in his hot chocolate, thought for a moment, and then began stirring clockwise.
I looked back out at the rain.
“I… Max, we tried this before, and it just didn’t work. It broke me. And I was just about completely mended a few weeks ago when I went to Martha’s Vineyard to plan the second biggest wedding that island has ever seen.”
“Right after the biggest wedding, that was also scheduled for that weekend?”
“Story of my life.”
“What do you want?” he asked again.
I exhaled. “I want a house and kids and a husband who shows up for the soccer games and birthday parties. I want work that’s creative and satisfying without being beholden to some narcissistic financier who wants his girlfriend to star in my serious drama.
I want to help people cement their love. I want to organize a fun party.”
“A wedding lasts one night. A film lasts forever.”
“The problem with being a producer is you have to find something you love enough that you’ll willingly sacrifice several years of your life to it—for pre-production, production, post-production, and the whole distribution nightmare. And then do it all over again.”
“So whether it’s film or a relationship, you want something steady,” he said, sipping his hot chocolate.
“Yes, Max. I need stability.”
He nodded once. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I don’t want to prevent you from having the career you want.” He reached across the table and took my hand.
I looked down at his hand in mine. I couldn’t speak. Everything I’d ever felt for Max was right there on the surface. I knew if I stayed another thirty seconds I wasn’t going to be able to pretend I was fine with any of this. I pushed away from the table and stood.
“So the wedding is Saturday, and the family will want to stay in the inn through Monday. After that it’s yours again. We’ll have the gazebo and chairs cleared out before—”
Max froze. “What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving. Goodbye, Max.”
And I left.