Chapter 10 C U Next Tuesday #2
“Okay…” Stella bobbed her head as she took a long sip from her iced coffee, but her brown-green eyes relayed something much less relaxed.
Trepidation would be putting it mildly. “So how about this. Why don’t we meet at the end of August to see exactly where we are?
The Public is looking at a late spring debut, which means come January, you are gonna be one busy bee.
I don’t want you to have to split your focus. ”
Eve forced another smile, but the dread of all that responsibility was already filling her lungs. This was unmistakably good news, but in the moment, with reality setting in, it was simply overwhelming. “I know you’ll be talking to them next week, but how confident are we that this is happening?”
Stella’s eternal megawatt smile fell slightly as she admitted, “It’s not a done deal. But I feel good about it, Eve. The fact that they reached out to me is a very good sign. I wouldn’t have told you about it otherwise.”
“Okay.” Eve exhaled.
“Don’t worry, my dear. You are on your way.
” Stella barely paused to take a breath before continuing.
“Oh, and did we talk about Gigi Alvarez being on board to produce? You know she got Black Coffee on Broadway and they’re extending their run.
” Eve tried to reply, but Stella steamrolled through her thoughts.
“I can’t remember whether I put it in my email, but I also have some directors for you to consider.
I know you mentioned Zindzi was a dream get, but I have some equally interesting names from Lukas at the Public.
” Stella somehow seemed even more stressed out than Eve as she pulled her jet-black hair from its sloppy bun atop her head and then readjusted it into the exact same style.
“It would be great if you were in the city right now,” she said.
“I get it. I get it. I’m just saying it would be helpful. ”
Eve felt like a Stepford wife, grinning broadly while internally trying to swat away her doubts.
Maybe she’d left New York at the exact wrong time—just as her professional dreams were starting to come true.
But her mind had been telling her she needed this break, and her body seemed to be following suit.
“I had a panic attack yesterday.” Eve said it out loud, uncertain she meant to.
“Oh my god, Eve! You need to take care of yourself.” Stella was uttering the right words, but to Eve’s anxious ear, it sounded like she meant the opposite of them. “I know this is a lot. We’re just gonna take it one day at a time.”
“O—”
“Just know that once we start rehearsals, I need you here, lady.”
“I know,” Eve said.
“Eve, I need you to be more excited!” Stella was shouting again. She had always been the peppy to Eve’s cool—it was one of the reasons Eve chose her as an agent—but they were really existing at opposite ends of the spectrum about this prospect.
“I’m excited,” Eve promised. But when she glanced at herself in the Zoom window, it was clear that her facial expressions were betraying her. “I’m nervous.”
“Nothing to be nervous about, Eve. You already know people love the show. You’re just getting a bigger stage.”
Eve nodded, but she was on the verge of tears she couldn’t understand. To be delighted, apprehensive, honored, and enervated, all at once, was a heady tonic.
Stella sent her a genuine, warm smile. “It astounds me that after all this time, you still don’t know how good you are.”
And that was it. The compliment was more than Eve could handle—particularly when she felt quite the contrary.
Not only did she consider herself a terrible person at least every other day, but impostor syndrome was kicking her ass.
She wasn’t good at all. And the dam broke, all of her emotions leaking out in one pitiful sob.
“Eve?” Stella called out to her.
“I’m sorry,” Eve whispered through the tears she uselessly tried to hold back.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
The concern in Stella’s voice only cracked her further.
“This is so unprofessional,” Eve said. Though, in truth, Stella probably would have loved nothing more than for Eve to open up like this—for the last four years, she had been trying to crack Eve’s hardened, withdrawn shell, but Eve would never actually let her.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Stella said. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
Eve didn’t know what to say, fearing her contradicting feelings would make her sound unstable if she unleashed them. “It’s not discomfort,” Eve said. Eve lied. “I just need some time. To feel like myself again.”
“Well, take the weekend. I’ll have more information after that and then we can…regroup.”
“Okay.” Eve was wiping at her face as if it would expel the embarrassment.
“All right, babe. Until then, please take care of yourself?”
“I will,” Eve said.
The two of them waved at each other until the Zoom screen swooshed out of sight. As soon as she was sure Stella was gone, Eve allowed herself to fully deflate. Their conversation left her less motivated to write than she was when she started the day. In fact, she just wanted to lie down.
Ordinarily, she would have called Maya for a short pep talk that would have turned into a long discussion on everything they’d missed over the week.
But her friend was on holiday somewhere on the Italian coast, and Eve was loath to interrupt, debating with herself about time zones and whether a text would be appropriately unobtrusive.
Of course, she wasn’t sure there was ever a time when Hey, sis, how did you figure out your depression wasn’t temporary? wouldn’t be obtrusive.
Maya had always been the enlightened one between them.
Therapy actually worked for her—a concept Eve simply could not wrap her head around.
She’d tried twice aside from her latest failed attempt at joint therapy: once in grad school, and again just after she met Leo—back when she still wanted them to work.
She figured if he found it worthwhile with all the shit he had to sort through, she could at least give it a try.
But Eve hated the way therapy made her feel cut open.
Her doctors seemed simultaneously disapproving and dismissive.
The psychiatrist she’d seen the second time relied mainly on SSRIs, which Eve quit cold turkey after two months of feeling like there was a muzzle on her brain.
Sniffling through her tears, Eve stared at her computer screen, the Final Draft app containing the opening scene she’d written earlier.
She hated every letter, resenting the instant feeling of despair they ignited in her.
Writing a play about her own experiences seemed like a good idea on paper.
Religion. Teenage pregnancy. The trauma some parents are willing to inflict on their children in the name of Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.
Great topics for theater. But being back in the same house, the same room, where she’d been sent all those years ago only sharpened the pain, making it impossible to write.
She was starting to realize just how silly this mission was; the idea of being alone with nothing but her mind was absurd. And she’d gotten an out in the form of Jamie, a kind, attractive man, willing to keep her company, and she couldn’t help but shit all over that, too.
“Fuck!” Eve shouted. She was exhausted with herself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
—
In the few hours since her call with Stella, Eve had settled deep into her feelings—with the help of some wine.
Scrolling through her texts, most of them annoying her, it was best to hold off until she was in a better mood; Eve ignored this logic and wrapped herself in her nearest cozy cardigan, nestled into her couch, and called her parents first. She was surprised when it took them more than a couple of rings to answer, as they were rarely farther than their couch on weekends, but maybe they had holiday plans.
“Hey, Ma. Just returning your call.”
“Oh, hi, sweetheart. We didn’t think we’d hear from you tonight. Thought you might be out on the town.”
“You’ve been to this town. Not a lot to go out on.”
“Now that’s not true. There’s a whole world down there once you get out of the mountains. Downtown Gatlinburg is beautiful.”
Eve made a face as she pictured the so-called downtown area, which was really just a strip of chintzy shops and cheesy attractions. She had no designs on spending her days at the Pancake Pantry or Ripley’s Believe It or Not! “That would defeat the purpose of coming here to write, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, surely you need a break sometimes.” An understatement if there ever was one. “Maybe you can go to Mass tomorrow. I’m sure you remember St. Mary’s. They’re very welcoming.”
Eve chewed at her bottom lip as she tried to hold her tongue.
Her parents—her mother, especially—never grew tired of trying to proselytize her.
It was almost impressive that they could still poke her from seven hundred miles away.
But all it really did was rekindle a bunch of uncomfortable feelings, forcing her to confront this thing constantly weighing on her.
“Anyway,” Joan continued, “I’m assuming you got my message.
Your father and I just cannot figure out this website at this theater.
They say we have to register, and we have, and then they put us in some kind of room to buy tickets, but it won’t let us out of it.
And I can only imagine this is impacting your ticket sales. Y—”
“Ma,” Eve cut in, unwilling to go along on this tangent with her.
“Yes?”
“Why did you send me here?”
“Eve, I’m quite sure this was your idea. Matter of fact, I wanted you to wait until I could come with you to help you clean up.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Well, then what?”
“Why…” Eve took a deep breath. “Why did you make me give up my baby?”