Chapter Thirteen #2
“Podcast,” I say, flashing the screen at him. “ On the Same Page. It plagues me and taunts me with new episodes until I listen to them.”
“Juniper: Why wouldn’t you turn off the notifications? That’s ridiculous. Why torment yourself with something that can’t be changed?”
I pick my head up just enough to drop it against the rest again.
“Because.”
James snorts. “Because why ?”
“Because I’m…I don’t know, grieving? I guess? I know it sounds stupid, because I’ve obviously lost more than just a podcast before, but…I don’t know.”
James can sense my reluctance.
“Just say it, Juniper. This is a safe space.”
“A liminal space,” I correct.
“Sure.”
“I’m not trying to be coy,” I say, sighing. “It’s just…difficult to articulate. But I guess it just feels like I lost more than a podcast. I lost my direction. I lost this future I thought I’d have where everything just sort of…worked out.”
“And what future was that?” James asks. He gives me a small smile when I hesitate. “Oh, come on. I’ve listened to your podcast. I know you can paint pictures with words.”
My cheeks redden at that.
“Tell me what you envisioned,” he says.
His hand is right there, and now I know for sure it has been inching closer to me, because it’s practically touching my seat.
I tell myself that I can be brave and take his hand, but apparently not too brave, because I look out the window so I don’t have to see any expression he makes.
He doesn’t take it away, though, like I feared. Instead his fingers curl and his thumb rubs over and over mine.
“Tell me,” he says.
“It’s going to sound so silly,” I say, “but I think my dream house might be the rental you’re in.
I never thought I’d live in Tatum, not long-term, anyway.
But I also never thought I’d start a podcast and sell it and then do an audiobook job and…
” I take a breath. “I don’t know what I thought.
When Mom died—and I mean this with love—it felt like she personally chose the most chaotic time to leave: Right when I was supposed to be deciding what I was going to be. Right when I needed her most.”
My eyes are watering, but no tears fall. James is still rubbing his thumb against mine.
“I already told you that there was a split second where I wondered if I was supposed to go into acting. I wondered if it—the magic, the coincidence, fate—was all to lead me to this stunning career in the arts. I’d always envisioned myself doing something with books because that’s all I’ve ever known, but ‘books’ is not a job.
It’s not even a skill set. When I was younger, I grasped at straws hoping something would stick, and when nothing did, my mom googled ‘book jobs’ and set my course for publishing.
To be as close to stories as I could, she said.
Because she couldn’t imagine me happier anywhere else.
And now she’s gone, and it feels like if I were to change course without her guidance and vision…
is it even worth it? It would feel like betrayal.
Like throwing away her final wish or something. ”
There’s a stretch of silence, long and not at all awkward. James is Just James and I’m Just Juniper and we are two trees sending each other messages on leaves across a long expanse of meadow until the wind changes and we don’t speak again.
“But is that still what you want? For your future?” James asks, finally.
We’ve arrived at the parking lot for the beach, but neither of us makes a move to get out of the car.
“I don’t know what else to want,” I say.
“I can’t afford anything else. I might not even be able to afford going into publishing, obviously.
” This time the tears do threaten to fall, so I widen my eyes and inhale as deeply as I can to stop them.
“Which brings us full circle. We need to get out here and take some beach pics so I can make that bonus and move to the city.”
“But if money was no object?” James asks, unmoving.
I laugh. “Money is the object,” I say. “If it wasn’t for money, I’d probably hole up somewhere and just read as many books as I could until the grim reaper came for me. Or watch the Meadow movies on repeat. One of the two.”
James’s mouth tilts up at that.
“But what’s the next best thing?” he asks.
“I guess to live in a house that’s being taken by the forest and…
and talking to other people about the books we all love.
The stories that bring us together. And getting paid to do it so I could afford the aforementioned house.
But that’s just a book club, and you don’t get paid for running those unless you’re Reese Witherspoon or Oprah. ”
“So do that, then,” James says.
“Be Oprah?”
James rolls his eyes. “When this is over: Start another podcast about books. Make a new way.”
“Oh, sure,” I say sarcastically. “Because it’s that easy. I’ll go back to option A of being Reese Witherspoon, thanks.”
“You did it once already,” James says. “Surely it would be easier a second time.”
“Not for making money, ” I argue, and I don’t mean to, but I drop his hand when I gesture out the window.
“I sold the rights to On the Same Page. They’re gone.
All of it’s gone. I would have to build a new audience, a new platform from the ground up.
And that takes time. And money. And a hell of a lot of effort. ”
“So camp out at your dad’s place for a while longer while you start,” James says. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that I’m not twenty-one anymore,” I say. “I need a job. Like a job, job. A career. I need to have my own space and start thinking about a future, a real one where I know all about those savings accounts that are acronyms and retirement plans and whatever else.”
I sigh.
“I don’t think I’ll hate publishing. I might even love it, who knows?
But some days it feels like I signed up for a race, one of those long triple marathons or something, but nobody told me I couldn’t change the course later.
I just have to…keep running. Get to the finish line.
Ignore the distractions and the other races happening around me, even if they look like they might be an easier trail for me. ”
James is watching my face carefully when he reaches over to take my hand back into his.
“You can change it, you know.”
I scoff.
“Can I?” I ask. “Because from what you’ve said, so could you, but you have decided not to. You’re going to do that movie.”
James nods.
“I am.”
“But why ? Why put yourself back into the machine if you don’t want to be in it in the first place?”
“Same reasons as you,” James says, finally opening his door. “I signed up for the race a long time ago. Now I have to finish it.”