Chapter 40 #2
The lights flickered and a voice boomed through the speakers asking everyone to take their seats for the screening, which we were told would be followed by a live interview with the stars.
I had no intention of sticking around for that part, but as for the movie?
Well, my body felt fizzy with anticipation, like an aluminum can of bubbly water shaken up and about to burst. As the lights dimmed and the film began to roll, a hush fell over the audience and I tilted back in my plush chair.
I resolved not to allow ninety-seven minutes of watching Max Keene and Caitlin Cabot drool all over each other ruin this victory.
I was Thea Newhouse Packer, mother of the best girl in the galaxy, and author of a novel on which an actual Hollywood movie was based.
Max was just a gorgeous actor in a make-believe role.
Eye candy. Nothing more, nothing less. I could do this.
When the credits started rolling, I estimated I’d been crying for the last third of the movie.
I wasn’t sure what percentage of my waterworks were due to catharsis versus the emotional roller coaster we’d just ridden.
However, it was undeniable that Max and Caitlin were not only brilliant on the screen but also, more than likely, brilliantly in love in real life.
As the audience exploded with applause, Frannie leaned over and said in my ear, “It looks like we’ve got a hit on our hands! ”
I turned to look at her and saw she’d been crying, too.
My eyes popped. Frannie almost never cried.
I swiveled around to glance at my mom and Rebecca, who were seated behind me and next to each other, gripping hands, and a gasp rocketed through me when I realized their cheeks were wet, too.
If the movie had moved three of the strongest women in my life to tears, then maybe Frannie was right?
Unfortunately, while I was busy allowing this revelation to sink in, the stage lights flipped on, and there, sitting in folding chairs on the stage, were Max and Caitlin, with a reporter from Deadline opposite them.
I’d missed my cue to eject from the rocket ship.
My eyes began a frantic search for the nearest emergency exit. But Frannie’s and Lucy’s hands were squeezing mine, effectively gluing me in place. I closed my eyes and prayed for the briefest of interviews. This was going to be torture.
After three tries to calm the audience down, the reporter shouted over the crowd, “Well, I don’t know much, but it appears you two—and this movie—have a date with destiny.”
Max and Caitlin looked at each other and smiled.
It was an intimate smile, a knowing one, and it made me feel like a laughingstock all over again.
I shoved down the sense of shame I had thought I’d already managed to bury.
I reminded myself that, yes, I had been gullible, but in a round of Am I the Asshole?
, he would win the title, every single time.
When the swell of applause finally died down, Caitlin chimed in, her sexy voice taunting the audience, “Destiny feels like more of an end-of-the-interview question to me . . . right, Max?”
A collective gasp ripped through the room. Jesus Christ. Were they getting married already? A soft groan escaped my lips as I slouched down deeper in my seat.
“Fair enough,” the reporter said with a grin and checked his notes. “Well, I’m told we only have a few minutes up here together, so let’s get into it. Tell us, what was the most challenging aspect of filming for each of you?”
Caitlin leaned forward in her chair, showing off her cleavage, and said, “Honestly, Chaz, the only challenge for me was leaving the set every day. I loved every minute working with this guy.”
“We did have a lot of fun.” Max’s entire face seemed to twinkle as he directed his comment at Caitlin. But then his eyes scanned the audience, and he added, “Except I will admit that wearing an anti-gravity suit for hours on end is no picnic.”
Was it my imagination or had he emphasized the “anti”?
Chaz wiggled his eyebrows. “I can imagine it might get pretty steamy in there.”
Max and Caitlin chortled at the bad innuendo, but they didn’t correct the record.
“So, Caitlin, you’ve had a recent string of hit movies, but, Max, this is your first feature film,” Chaz said.
“It’s no secret you had a dry run for this role.
Were you surprised to be offered the role of Zach after the public outrage directed at you for the fake-astronaut PR stunt you participated in? ”
I scoffed loudly at the word “participated.” “Perpetrated” or “inflicted” would be more accurate.
I wasn’t sure if it was because he’d heard me, but Max definitely winced onstage.
“Well, first let me say: I deserved every ounce of that outrage. What I did was terrible, and desperate, and damn near unforgivable, although I confess I do still hang on to a morsel of hope that I’ll be forgiven someday.
But yes, I was definitely shocked that the worst decision of my life also led to the career break I’d been dreaming of.
One thing I’ve learned these last couple years is that the universe works in mysterious ways. ”
It felt like he was cheating up there, using my cosmic references to his advantage.
“I suppose it does,” Chaz agreed. “Did your—let’s call it, experience with the role?—did that make it easier or more difficult to play the movie version of Zach?”
“Easier,” Max responded, definitely looking in my direction now.
“And why is that?” Chaz probed for him to expand on his single-word response.
“I guess because it gave me a lot of strong emotions to draw on.”
“Yes, I would imagine that kind of notoriety shakes a person up.”
“You could say that,” Max said.
“Caitlin, you’re about to begin filming another movie, right?”
“I am. I leave in a week for Thailand to begin shooting a summer-release rom-com.”
“I’m sure your ever-growing fanbase will look forward to that,” Chaz said. “So, I have to ask the question I know everyone here is thinking: The chemistry between you two in this movie was sizzling. I mean, like, out-of-orbit hot.” He looked pointedly at the costars.
“Was there a question in there?” Caitlin quipped.
Giddy laughs peppered the theater.
“Yes, er, given the chemistry, do you two have any plans to spend more time together?” Chaz asked, eyebrows raised. “Perhaps we’ve circled back around to the destiny question?”
“No, Chaz.” Caitlin sighed audibly. “I’m afraid we’re not destined for each other.”
“No?” Chaz seemed as surprised by this answer as the audience, whose chorus of oh nos and awws rang out. “And why is that?”
“Because this guy,” Caitlin said wryly, pointing at Max, “is apparently destined for someone else.”
Oh no.
“Is he, now?” Chaz said with an impish smile. Then he looked at Max and said, “Please, say more.”
“Let me put it this way,” Max said. “Have you ever read a book called If You Give a Mouse a Cookie?”
What in the hell? Is he talking about me? And also, get your own literary references, jackass!
Chaz chuckled. “I have a four-year-old, so yes, I’ve actually read that one. Hundreds of times, in fact.”
“Good,” Max said. “So then you know what happens when the mouse gets a cookie?”
“Yes, of course. He’s probably going to want a glass of milk.” Chaz tilted his head in confusion.
“Correct,” Max said, nodding. “Well, I had a bite of cookie a while back, and I’ve been praying for the milk ever since.”
“Meaning, you’re waiting for someone?” Chaz clarified.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sure all the unattached glasses of milk in the room would love to know how long you’re planning to wait for this one mystery . . . glass of milk?”
“I’ve waited over a year and a half already.” Max’s voice broke a little. Probably putting on an act to distract from the fact that he hadn’t exactly answered the question.
Caitlin piped up. “Unfortunately for me, and the other five women on the cast and crew who’ve offered to be that glass of milk—and those are just the ones I know about—I can absolutely confirm that fact.”
While the crowd giggled over Caitlin’s charming faux misery, my ears roared.
“That’s a long time to wait,” Chaz said. “That must be one special glass of milk.”
Max nodded vigorously. “Very special.”
That’s when Frannie turned to me and said in a voice that carried perhaps farther than she intended, although knowing her, probably not, “Just spitballing, but do you think he’s talking about you?”
Many eyeballs turned toward her voice. So many eyeballs.
Heat raced up my spine, setting the roots of my hair on fire.
I didn’t want to look up. I looked up anyway.
He was staring at me. Our eyes met. Was this another PR stunt?
Of course it was. There was no way he’d forsaken all other women since me over a make-believe romance that lasted only a few weeks.
Besides, even if this were true, there was no way I’d walk into his trap again, no matter how validating this information might be. My hands gripped the armrests.
Chaz’s voice rose an octave. “I just have to ask: Are you OK, man?”
“You want the truth, Chaz?” Max asked.
Chaz nodded.
“I’ve got the career of my dreams, I’ve made enough money to buy my own house, I’ve even adopted a dog—his name is Buddy—so it might surprise you to hear this, but I’m actually not OK.
” Max scraped a hand through his hair. Silence blanketed the room.
“The truth is”—he paused before continuing—“I’m about ten thousand light years from OK. ”
His words crash-landed on my chest.
Now he stood up and turned to face my direction. “And that’s also how long I’ll wait for you, Thea Jane Newhouse Packer.” The theater lights illuminated.
“Mommy, that’s you!” Lucy squealed, bringing even more attention to me. With eyes, and iPhones, piercing me from every direction, I felt like a target-practice cutout at a shooting range.
Max strode to the edge of the stage and leaped down.
My first thought was whether I could run fast enough to escape.
My second thought was of the video footage that would live forever on the internet if I tried.
I was trapped, like a gazelle about to be eaten by a lion.
No, it would have to be something less graceful than a gazelle.
I mentally backspaced that line. Did lions eat tortoises?
My mom murmured from the row behind, “Oh my, this is romantic,” rudely interrupting my out-of-body writing escape.
“Shush,” I said to my mom, and when I turned back, there he was.
“Hi,” he said with a bashful grin.
“Hello,” I replied stiffly as I worked to keep my face blank.
“My name is Max, and I’m not an astronaut. I just play one on the big screen.” He stuck out his hand. “I miss you.”
My eyes traveled from his hand to his face, then back to his hand.
And who was I kidding, up his arm just a skosh.
“Hello, Mr. Max, Not An Astronaut, With the Mad Acting Skills,” I said, finally giving in to a quick, polite handshake.
“I’m Thea, the writer who imagined the best damn role of your life into existence. ”
“You can say that again.” Relief was painted across his face that I hadn’t left him completely hanging, but when I immediately pulled my hand back to my lap, he seemed to realize I was also not giving myself over to the spellbinding moment. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Could I? From where I sat right now, my answer was honestly probably not, although I did freeze for a beat to ponder the question.
Rebecca leaned over my left shoulder from the row behind me and shout-whispered, “Honey, remember what you said when you finally forgave me? One big mistake does not a person make?”
I swiveled in my seat and narrowed my eyes. “This is not the same.”
“You’re right,” Frannie said, butting in. “Her mistake was worse.”
That’s when William tapped my right shoulder and leaned in. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Sam would want you to be happy.”
William’s words echoed in my ear, and I briefly glanced skyward.
I knew he was right, just as Frannie had been right all along—about everything.
Sam would want me to be happy, Callie would want me to be happy, and I deserved to be happy.
But here was the funny part. As I shifted my focus to the awesome (and I did not use that word lightly) family and friends seated all around me, the truth bubbled up from a place deep within: I was already happy.
Right now. Right here. Full stop. And while I knew I would always grieve for Callie and Sam, it would also always be true that their love, and losses, had made me the person I was today.
I was a person who had managed, with a whole lot of help, to cut through the fog of grief and learn how to embrace life again. I liked that person.
As for whether there might be room for even greater happiness down the road?
Perhaps. But it would require a lot more effort and substance than one charming grand gesture.
I looked up at Max, who was still standing in front of me, his hands awkwardly hanging by his sides.
His vulnerable face searched mine for any clue to my answer.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Maybe?” It was far from a yes, but not a hard no, either. It was the best I could promise under the circumstances.
“I can work with that,” he said, nodding his understanding.
He would not be getting the fairy-tale ending he’d been hoping for here in this auditorium, despite an audience that was thrumming with desire to celebrate one.
But forgiveness was a tricky beast. And real life was both richer and more complicated than a fairy tale.
My gaze met his and the hint of a smile tugged at my lips.
I had never even thought to dream up such an unlikely scene as this, so I could not predict whether this was the end of us or a new beginning; whether we were destined for each other or merely experiencing a fleeting moment of stars crossing in the sky.
Whatever it was, I finally felt like I could let go of my urge to predetermine the ending.
With family and friends like mine, I could afford to live—and write—without trying to control every plot thread.
Because life was far more interesting when it was free to go off-script—and imagining happiness was no match for actually being happy.