"It's okay for a first draft."
She shakes her head. "It was better to say nothing."
We're quiet for a while. We stare into our plastic cups of wine, sipping it so we won't have to talk. Samantha stares at her fingers. She squeezes her cup so tightly I think it will break.
I bring my eyes to hers. "Why don't you come back to Los Angeles?"
"I might. I certainly can't stay with my parents. They treat me like I'm fourteen. I don't have anything to do except sit in the study and look at my law school textbooks longingly."
"Read them."
"I do. It's pathetic. It's like I'm taking Torts 101 for the first time." She finishes her glass and motions for me to refill it.
I give her a look--should you drink so much?
She strains not to roll her eyes. "You don't get to boss me around anymore, Lawrence. I'm not your girlfriend. I don't have to listen to you."
"When did you ever listen to me?" I oblige her with a refill.
Two glasses worth of wine and she's happy. Three, and she's mouthy. Four, and she throws a fit. A very tiny, contained fit that no one will ever see. She does care about appearances, even with me.
She smirks, her voice brimming with confidence. "When I was trying to get in your pants." Color floods her face as she drinks, like the red of the wine is bleeding into her cheeks. She looks down at her cup. "I feel like I finally remember why I ever cared about the law."
"He killed your passion, didn't he?"
"Luke, please don't--"
"Why not? I can handle it."
"Maybe I'd rather not talk about it with you," she says. "Have you considered that?"
I nod. It's painfully obvious that Samantha doesn't want to talk about her affair.
She finishes her cup and sets it on the table. "I'm sorry, okay. I don't know if it's possible for me to apologize enough, but I am sorry. I should have told you from the beginning. I shouldn't have lied for so long."
I swallow hard. "Don't you hate how 'I shouldn't have fucked him' isn't on that list?"
She lowers her voice, her eyes on the floor. "I'm sorry. I really am. I should have ended things way before I did. You didn't deserve that."
"It's okay. I wouldn't have let you end things if you'd tried."
She adjusts her glasses and looks me square in the eye. "Please, Luke. Don't tell me it's okay again. I'd feel so much better if you called me a cunt and told me you never wanted to see me again."
"Would that do us any good?"
"Tell me the truth."
"We've been over this."
"But you always sugarcoat it." She holds my gaze, staring at me like she really wants me to unleash a flurry of insults.
I did hate her, for a while, but it was hard to stay mad after she tried to kill herself.
I finish my cup of wine and place it on the tray. "You're not a cunt. It wasn't the best thing you've ever done, but you're not a cunt."
"I'd feel so much better if you hated me as much as I hate myself for it."
"Too bad. I don't."
"You didn't hate me when I told you I was in love with Edward?"
"No, I hated him." My fingers curl into fists. There's a tension in my shoulders but I shrug it off. "I hated him before that, and I still hate him. I'll hate him for a million years. He could come back to life, and devote all his time and money to helping the needy, and I'd still hate him. He could die a million times, and I'd still hate him."
"Luke..."
"Do you want the truth or not?"
Samantha lowers her voice to a whisper. "Are you ever going to get over it?"
"Why should I? He's a fucker. He basically killed my mom. He almost killed you--"
"No, I almost killed me. Twice."
"It was his fault. You were different before him. You were happy."
"Maybe we shouldn't talk about this." She pushes her blanket off her chest.
She looks so small and fragile like this, even with the sweater covering her tiny paper gown.
"Okay," I say. "I was angry at you when you told me. I mean, you were fucking my father. The guy I hated more than anything. And you were so full of shit--you held my hand during my insane rants about how much I hated him."
"Someone had to."
"He's not even handsome."
"You got it from somewhere," she says.
"Don't flatter me. You already made me angry."
"Okay." She hugs her chest. "I want to hear it. I want to feel that hate. I deserve it."
"You don't deserve it."
"Fuck, Luke. Listen to me for once. You don't know what's best for everyone. Just tell me how you really felt in that moment."
"It's getting late," I say.
"Don't back out now."
"I don't know what to tell you, Sam. I didn't hate you. I was mad, but mostly at myself. And mostly at him. The fucker stole my girlfriend."
"What happened to 'women can't be stolen'?"
"Fuck him. He stole my girlfriend. How were you supposed to react when this handsome, rich, powerful man showed interest in you?"
She folds her arms. "I thought he wasn't handsome."
"Of course he was handsome. He looked like George Clooney."
"Stop making excuses for me."
"Okay, okay. It was a bitch move to sleep with him."
"Thanks."
"And even worse to lead me on for so long. But... I still don't hate you." I take a deep breath and make a point of unfurling my fingers. "Now, maybe we start that game of rummy before someone notices our raised voices and confiscates our wine."
She nods. I pull the cards from my pocket and start to shuffle. When I look up, Samantha is holding my gaze.
"Thanks," she says.
"For what?"
"For being honest." Her eyes turn to the floor. "And for being here."
***
I pore through work all evening. As usual, Ryan is attempting to bury me in a pile of work. He's willing to do whatever it takes to convince me to sell.
But my irritation fades away when I see an email from Alyssa. She never emails. She barely uses the computer.
Luke,
Why didn't you warn me how fucking sweet you are when we met? Insane, but sweet. How the hell did you get a pour-over to Laurie's place so quickly? You know what--don't tell me. I don't want to know about the freaky drones that are going to take over the world.
The party was as awful as I expected. It would have been easier if you were here--we could have endured the awfulness together--but I understand why you're with Samantha. You care too much, Luke. I'd hate it if I didn't love it so much.
I'll tell you more about Laurie's drunken antics later. God, she was a terror. And she kept me up so late. And, okay, I admit it, I may have drunk two or three too many tequila shots. And maybe I woke up with a head-splitting hangover, and maybe I spent way too much time trying to figure out how far I went over my daily calorie allotment. But she had such good shit.
So, thank you. I really need the coffee today, and OH MY GOD it is so, so much better than the crap Laurie keeps in the freezer. Can you believe how low her coffee standards are? It's one thing to not like coffee. Fine. Plenty of people don't like coffee. But to keep it ground up in the freezer in that stupid plastic tin. It should be illegal to drink such awful coffee.
And before you even start, no, it should not be illegal to put honey in coffee. Honey and coffee are madly in love. Even more than we're in love.
And we are, Luke. I love you so much. But, the scary thing is, I know what my life looks like without you--and it looks like total shit.
I'm so happy with you. I really am. I feel like I'm lighter than air when I'm around you. You're my trigger whenever I need to project love or joy or, obviously, lust.
It's not that I'm not all in. I am. I just need more time. I need to feel like I know who I am. Because you're consuming, and as much as I love that, I can't get consumed again.
I worry I'm going to be like the Alyssa of the past. But I don't want to be her anymore. I want to be strong. I want to be independent. I want to stand on my own.
Because that's how we'll know it's real--if we're together by choice, not out of a lack of better options.
God, I'm rambling. I'm sorry. I'm trying really hard to stay away from reviews, but they're so fucking tempting. And they're all at my fingertips.
Come back soon, okay?
Love,
Alyssa
P.S. If you, for some reason, come back in love with Samantha, I'll take Laurie up on her offer to have you killed. Don't make me complicit in murder. I'll crack on the cross, and I'll be an awful prisoner.
P.P.S. This isn't a threat... more of a hypothetical. For legal reasons, of course.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I need Alyssa here. I need to hold her and whisper in her ear how much I love her. I need her to know that this trip has nothing to do with us--I still love her more than anything. I still want to be with her forever.
But the weight of this is so heavy. I can feel it pressing down on us, taking up space between us. She knows I have to be here. She knows I don't have any real choice, and she says she understands.
But it still hurts her.
How am I supposed to reconcile this? I hate hurting Alyssa, but I can't leave Samantha to whither away on her own. If I leave now, Samantha will sink back into her depression. She'll try again. And even if all these suicide attempts really are cries for attention... if she keeps trying, she's going to succeed eventually.
I take a deep breath. I've only been here two days. Two days is nothing in the scheme of my life with Alyssa. And she's an actress. There are going to be so many times when she's out of town filming a project. There are going to be so many times when I have to survive without her.
I need to get used to it.
I call Alyssa, but I only get an "I'll call you back" text.
I resort to killing time--leafing through a faded paperback I've already read half a dozen times, flipping through channels on the TV, staring out the hotel window at the awful view of the parking lot.
And then my phone rings.
I answer with a calm, "Hey."
She laughs. "That's a lot more restrained than I expected."
"You're obviously trying to kill me."
"Obviously." She clears her throat, nervous. "Did you get my email?"
My lips curl into a smile. "I did."
"Did I sound like a rambling idiot?"
"No, it was really sweet. I loved it."
"I love this pour-over. And this coffee is amazing." She sighs like she's in heaven. "I didn't realize how desperate I was for an easy supply of good coffee."
"I'm glad," I say. I shift the phone to my other ear. "You were amazing on
Model Citizen
. Really amazing."
"I was okay."
"No, you were amazing."
"But that scene in the laundry room--ugh! I was acting so hard. I could see it on my face."
"You're the only one."
She groans. "You're biased."
"Admit you were amazing."
"I was okay."
"Admit it."
"Good even." She takes a long breath, like she's waiting for me to respond. "Maybe even really good."
I lower my voice. "You were amazing. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot. If you tell me of anyone, I'll kill them."
"Kill him." It's a smug correction.
God, how I'd like to wipe that smug look off her face with my lips, to press her against the wall until there's nothing on her face but ecstasy.
But this isn't the time. I shake my head, bringing my focus back to my brain. "How was the party? Did anyone give you a hard time?"
"Laurie deflected all the attention. I had a few questions about my boyfriend... people trying to figure out if the gossip blogs are right--if I really left my fiancé for a mysterious hottie."
"I saw that blog."
"So who did you tip off?"
"Oh, you know, just Perez Hilton and Harvey Levin. No big deal."
"You wish." She giggles. "More like Joe of Joe's Blog."
"Hey! You can say what you want about me, but don't speak ill of Joe."
"Never."
She laughs. It's so pure and warm that it fills the room with color. "What about you? It can't be easy trying to comfort your suicidal ex?" There's such a warmth to her voice, such a sweetness.
I press the phone into my ear. "I'm okay."
"What do you two do?"
"We talk and we play rummy."
"What do you talk about?" She asks like she's curious, like she really wants to know.
I smirk. "How much I love fucking you."
Alyssa laughs, but it's awkward. Tense. She wants me to reassure her of something, but I'm not sure what.
"We don't talk about anything important," I say.
"No? The woman tried to kill herself, again, and you don't talk about anything important?"
"Nothing worth rehashing."
She sighs and takes a long, slow breath. "I won't get upset. I understand that you loved her once."
There's a pounding in the back of my head. This is not a productive area of conversation. I shift the phone, lowering my voice to a whisper. "I know. But I'm sick of talking about Samantha."
She murmurs some acknowledgment. Alyssa must understand. She's always trying to get out of conversations.
She clears her throat twice. Exhales a heavy breath into the phone. "Well, um, here's the thing..."
I like the sound of that. "Yes?"
"I was thinking... We could do things... on the phone." She's so breathless she can barely get through the words. She exhales, harder this time.
I really like the sound of that. But still, I need to torture her as much as I can.
I am as coy as possible. "What kinds of things? Chess?"
"I hate chess."
"Pawn to A4."
"Not chess!"
"That's a terrible opening!"