Chapter 24 Lainey
I thought I had processed what happened between me and Tyson. Long after he and Hannah had fallen asleep, I was still replaying it all. But as I wake up this morning, sober and in the light of day, I’m in a state of disbelief.
As bold and flirtatious as I can be, Tyson and I have never crossed the line of friendship. Not once in all these years. I’ve always known better than to try anything with him, as everything he does is aboveboard—even when he’s drinking. I try to pinpoint what made me go there last night, but I can’t figure it out. All I know is that something felt different between us. The fact that he reciprocated at all confirms that it wasn’t just in my drunken head.
Even more surprising than what actually happened, though, is the way I felt as Tyson held me in his arms. I’m not one to enjoy cuddling, but last night, I loved the feeling of closeness, and right now I almost miss it. And him. To be honest, it’s all sort of blowing my mind.
As Hannah heads out the door, I casually ask her if she knows where he is. She says she doesn’t. My guess is that when he returns to the room, he will act as if nothing happened. At most, he will address it, acknowledge that it was a drunken mistake, and recommend that we never speak of it again.
The second Hannah leaves the room, I check my phone, wondering if he’s texted. He hasn’t—and I feel a small stab of disappointment, wishing he had at least said good morning. I tell myself not to be silly. When have I ever waited for, wanted, or needed a guy to text the morning after sex, let alone the minor stuff that happened between us?
Then again, in some ways what happened between Tyson and me felt more intimate than sex. In any event, I text him:
Good morning!! If you’re out and about, can you please bring me an extra-hot, extra-large, whole-milk cappuccino? If they don’t do larges, please get me two. Everything here is served in a thimble!
A few seconds later, Tyson gives my text a thumbs-up. Nothing more.
For a second, it annoys me that he didn’t even say a simple good morning, and I wonder if his lack of a meaningful response indicates regret. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Either way, it won’t happen again, and I need to stop overthinking and get ready to face my day.
I get up, wash my face, and brush my teeth, trying not to look over at the shower. I then return to the room, grab my laptop from my bag, and check my emails, seeing several from Casey, including a PDF of the latest revision of the script. Ready to work, I head out to the balcony to start reading. I’m about three pages in—and totally loving the dialogue—when Tyson returns.
“That coffee better be for me!” I call out, trying to act normal.
As he walks out onto the balcony, both of us avoid eye contact.
“It is for you. And look. It’s bigger than a thimble,” he says, putting it down in front of me, along with a white bag.
“What’s that?”
“A muffin. You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” I say, as he sits down in the chair across from me and opens his laptop. He clears his throat and says, “Are you reading your script?”
I look up and nod, finally meeting his eyes.
“Can you send it to me?” he asks. “I want to read it.”
My heart skips a beat as I nod, then forward him the PDF.
“For your eyes only,” I say with a smile.
He nods, all business.
We read in silence, neither of us speaking or looking over at the other. At one point, he makes a hmm sound that seems approving. I catch him smiling twice, too. About thirty minutes later, Hannah returns. She putters around for a few minutes, then announces that she’s going out again. I tell her not to do anything we wouldn’t do, winking at Tyson.
The second she’s gone, he says, “You’re too much.”
I shrug and smile.
“So I take it you didn’t tell her?”
“Tell her what?” I give him a wide-eyed look.
“So you’re going to do that routine, huh?”
I laugh. “Sorry. No.”
“No, we aren’t going to do that routine? Or no, you didn’t tell her?”
“Both.”
“Good.”
“Good we’re not going to do that routine? Or good I didn’t tell her?” I smirk.
“Both,” he says. “I know you’re usually an open book—and I’mnot going to tell you what you can discuss with Hannah—but Iwould prefer if we kept last night private. Between the two of us.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would, Mr. Keep a Secret for Ten Years.” I smile, but the second the words are out, I regret them. A reference to Summer just isn’t appropriate right now. His stone-faced expression and tight jaw seem to confirm that I miscalculated.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He nods, then gazes out over the water.
After several seconds, he clears his throat, looks at me, and says, “I think we should talk about last night.”
“Okay,” I say, a nervous knot in my stomach.
“Do you remember everything?”
I nod. “I wasn’t that drunk. Were you?”
“I wasn’t drunk at all,” he says, staring into my eyes. He clears his throat, then says, “How much of that was alcohol driven?”
Flustered by the question, I stammer that I’m not sure. “I probably wouldn’t have gotten in the shower with you sober, if that’s what you mean. But I don’t regret it.”
“Are you sure you don’t?”
I take a deep breath. “No. I don’t deal in regret. It’s a waste of time.
“What about you? Do you regret it?” I hold my breath, knowing that I’ll be crushed if his answer is yes.
He shakes his head. “No.”
I feel a rush of relief.
“That’s not to say we should ever do it again,” he quickly adds.
My heart sinks but I quickly nod and say, “Totally agree. We should just forget it happened and move on.”
He bites his lip, staring at me. “I should also point out that if the gender roles were reversed—”
I give him a quizzical look.
“I could never just get into the shower with a woman. Uninvited.”
“Oh,” I say, suddenly getting his point—and the inherent double standard I live by.
“That said…” He pauses, then gives me a small smile. “It was very hot.”
I smile back at him, my cheeks on fire.
“You looked incredible.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling light-headed.
“You’re welcome.”
I hold his gaze for as long as I can stand it, then look away before he does.
For a couple of hours, Tyson and I immerse ourselves in The Pigeon Girl. We read the entire screenplay, start to finish, then run through a few scenes, discussing my character’s arc and motivation as well as various themes in the film.
At one point, Tyson asks me what I think about the Pigeon Girl’s ultimate epiphany that being alone doesn’t mean she’s lonely.
“That resonates with me,” I say. “Most people assume that the key to happiness is through marriage and children. And so many seem to wind up miserable.”
He gives me a noncommittal nod. “I hear you. I don’t think there’s anything lonelier than being in a bad relationship—or even the wrong one.”
I nod and say I agree.
Tyson gives me a playful look. “Um. Don’t you have to be in a relationship to know if you’re in the wrong one?”
“Shut up.” I smile. “Although you know what’s weird?”
“What’s that?”
“Sometimes I can’t tell whether I’m always lonely or never lonely.”
He nods like he can relate, looking as unguarded as I’m starting to feel. A hundred questions run through my mind—things I want to know about Tyson. I wish I had paid more attention to his love life over the years.
“What was the name of the girl you dated in law school?” I ask, trying to remember.
“Kendra,” he says. “Why?”
I shrug and say, “No reason…She was gorgeous.”
“Yeah,” he says. “She was cool, too.”
“Why’d you break up?”
“I wasn’t ready for a relationship. It was…too soon.”
I start to ask a question, then decide I better not.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
I hesitate, then say in a gentle voice, “I was just wondering…and you don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable…but do you think you would have ended up with Summer?”
He stares at me, his expression impossible to read.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep going there,” I say, wondering if it comes from the belief that Summer should be the one sitting with him now, not me. Mostly, though, I think I just want to understand Tyson better.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind when you ask thoughtful questions,” he says, then pauses. “But I don’t have an answer. I really don’t. I’d say it would have been a long shot—just given our age.”
I nod, murmuring that that makes sense, as I find myself wondering what it would be like if Tyson and I were together. Together together. It’s an absurd thought—untenable for so many reasons—and would pose an existential threat to our friendship. The chances of things working out with us would be nil, especially given that “working out” implies a permanent relationship, and I have no interest in that. With anyone.
I take a deep breath, then switch gears, suggesting we take a stroll around town.
“Sure. That sounds nice,” he says.
I smile, then get up, heading inside to change my clothes.
“Wait a second,” Tyson says with a laugh as he follows me over to the closet. “Is ‘a little stroll in town,’ a euphemism for ‘shopping’?”
I smile and shrug, quickly selecting a white romper that I “borrowed” from my television character’s wardrobe.
“Yep,” Tyson says. “I’ve just been played.”
I laugh. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re about to put on that expensive onesie from your show.”
I laugh, surprised that he was actually listening to the conversation I had with Hannah yesterday about the fact that I probably should have returned the outfit.
“It’s not a onesie,” I say. “Babies wear onesies. Onesies snap at the crotch.”
“Hey. Some girls wear tops that snap at the crotch. I’ve seen them.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you have,” I deadpan. “And those are bodysuits, buddy boy. Not onesies.”
“So what is that thing called?” he asks, pointing to it.
“This thing is a Valentino romper,” I say, although the costume designer had actually referred to it as a playsuit—a name that only made me like it more.
“More like Romper Room,” Tyson says.
I laugh and blow him a kiss before turning in to the bathroom to change.