Page 41 of A Little Bit Extra

Oh boy.

“I did,” I answer with suspicion in my tone.

“I’m sure you did.”

“Dad, just get to the point. What’s up?” I ask, tired of the vagueness of his words.

“An article was published.”

That’s it? I’m not surprised. There were a lot of cameras there last night. The party was bound to be posted in some places, but I was hoping to avoid the limelight.

“You're photographed with some girl and you two look…” he pauses, “cozy.”

Ah, it’s a photo with Cassie.

“She’s just a friend, Dad.”

He sighs. “You know how I feel about this type of press, Emmett.”

Yes, I do. I know my dad hates any type of press that brings negativity to the Davis name. If he finds an article about him and he doesn’t approve, he knows the right person to make sure it’s shut down.

He’s always been hard on me for any press I receive. Even when it’s not anything bad. It’s never good enough for him. My movie could hit record numbers and he’d still tell me I could do better next time. He has never once given me congratulations or told me he was proud.

Instead, I get berated anytime the press mentions my name. This isn’t anything different. He’s just mad it’s not some girl he wanted to set me up with. Someone he knows and can control how they contribute to the family. At the end of the day, it’s a transaction for him. It doesn’t matter that I’m his son or that I’m old enough to make my own decisions.

Shit, do I have family issues, or what? I’m glad to be spending time with my chosen family today.

“Today’s news is tomorrow’s history. Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Better be. I don’t enjoy seeing the Davis name dragged down for miniscule reasons.”

Dragged down is a bit of an exaggeration, but okay.

“I know. Listen, I’d love to chat for longer, but someone is at the door and I need to answer it,” I lie.

“Alright, Emmett. Happy birthday, by the way. Call your mother when you get a chance.”

“Thanks. Okay, will do. Bye, Dad.”

I hang up the phone and set it on the island. I can’t ignore him because he’d just show up at my apartment, but I’m tired of having these toxic conversations with him.

I tap at my phone to open the texts from my publicist. In addition to multiple “call me” messages, I find the link for this article. I click it open and sure enough, I’m holding Cassie’s hand, smiling down at her. Only the back of her head is showing, which is good. No one will knock at her apartment trying to ask her follow-up questions because she’s anonymous.

A message appears on the top of the screen, a text from Cassie.

Cassie

Happy birthday, Hotshot.

I smile and slide open the text to message her my thanks and also ask if she’s having a good day. I want the conversation to continue, not end. I don’t want to mention the article over text, I’d rather have that chat in person since it’s not a big deal.

It’s easy to fall into a conversation with Cassie. We’re always asking questions to find out more about one another, or simply to show interest in whatever topic we’re talking about. She frequently asks me about my writing. The first time she asked what I was working on, I didn’t know how to respond. No one asks me about my writing. Not even Tyler, who sticks his nose in everything.

Also, how do I say I’m not writing something but I want to? That I have so many ideas floating in my head and written on random sheets of paper, but whenever I sit to actually turn my thoughts and ideas into coherent sentences, I can’t form any. None. It’s as if I’ve lost the ability to create.

I told her the truth. If anyone else would have asked me, I would have lied and said I was working on some script. If I can act in a movie, I can certainly pretend to be active with my hobby.

Ever since then, she’s been checking in and encouraging me to journal. She thinks that maybe if I write my thoughts without some perceived stress around making my idea perfect, then I will at least be writing some words down.

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