Page 25 of Director's Cut

My insides might’ve been taut from our last encounter, but somehow that laugh is all it takes to melt them to mush at my feet.

“Not everything has to be like the movies,” she says, biting away the smile. “But I have also been embarrassingly short with you outside of class.” She finally pushes that hair out of her face. “In all honesty, I’ve been fitting you in between a ton of paper and chapter writing and student org work. I imagine you’ve got a lot going on too. But maybe we could meet here and grab food at Study Hall or somewhere downtown? Maybe next week? I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do.”

I’ve been out for ten years, even if I was publicly back in the closet for three. Yet in all that time, I don’t think my heart’s fluttered as hard as it is now, hearing Maeve ask me to eat food with her. Catching up feels like a plea, a promise to be fulfilled. She’s got none of that LA fake niceness I’m so used to. Hell, I’ve seen the proof of that up close and personal.

Maybe this is real; she’s really holding out an olive branch. Even the thought is downright terrifying considering the way I’ve been feeling about her lately. Especially the way I’ve been feeling in private.

“Okay,” I say.

CHAPTER NINE

Maeve and I settle on a Friday evening two weeks after the Little Shop class for our dinner. In the meantime, our Beauty and the Beast and Chicago lectures go well. Maeve still gives me pointed looks and takes the reins when she deems I’ve gone off track, but I also go off track way less. During the Chicago lecture, we get through the entirety of our talking points for the first time since the class started. Not to mention Maeve smiles at me every time I look at her. It’s incredible how much faster the new energy makes time pass too. It’s already October, and our class will consist of a truncated lecture and handing out the midterm I thought was so impossibly far away. We’re nearly halfway done with the course, and I feel both like I’ve fully kicked myself out of my rut and like I’ve dug myself into a new hole of uncertainty. Yes, I do love teaching and want to do just that, but I’m guaranteed only nine more weeks. Then it’s back to the pile of unread scripts and trying to salvage some joy out of the mess my career’s become.

But my existential dread gets a break in favor of Maeve dread come Friday night. I’m quaking in my skin as Maeve and I enter what looks like a hundred-year-old wooden house with a red door and a blue sign that reads Study Hall. It’s all disgustingly cute.

“So don’t expect anything too fancy,” Maeve says.

“You really don’t need to impress me,” I reply. Even though the honest response is Fancy things don’t impress me after half a decade immersed in celebrity opulence, so this is an ideal choice. Hell, I just spent my thirtieth fucking birthday with five of my closest friends watching action movies in my living room and loved every second of it.

Maeve’s in one of her floral blouse and pencil skirt outfits, leaving me feeling underdressed in shorts and a flowing top. I mean, I’m glad Charlie talked me out of wearing a crop top, but the vibe is still not relaxed. Or, okay, I’m not relaxed.

Inside, the restaurant is small, done in medium-colored wood. There’s a handwritten menu, one of those white tablet card readers between Maeve and me, and a fresh-faced cashier with purple hair. The only things they serve here are bar-type appetizers, flatbreads, and burgers. Very classic comfort college food, and now my brain’s ping-ponging between wanting to follow Maeve’s lead and eat, like, normal food, and the Hollywood devil on my shoulder telling me to not even think about risking my body for a girl.

Maeve looks at the menu like she doesn’t have a care in the world (maybe she’s just saner than I am) and orders something called an Aloha burger, medium. She turns back to me, and I notice that her cut jawline is perfectly visible from this angle. “Do you wanna get a beer?”

Charlie and I drink exclusively white wine and Skinny Bitch (or whatever that brand is called) vodka, but alcohol is not a bad idea. Right now, in this moment, anyway. “Sure.”

She gets a Lagunitas IPA, and I select the most alcoholic cider and pork belly sliders. I’m not supposed to have a single ingredient on them according to Charlie and my “lifestyle guidelines.” But there isn’t much time to focus on that. When I try to slap my credit card down to pay at least for my meal, Maeve stops me.

“Don’t,” she says. “I’m paying for my apology dinner.”

She takes a single number for both our orders and leads me out to the outdoor patio. The sun’s dropping below the horizon, bathing the patio in a pleasant almost fall-like crispness. It’s also mercifully empty out here.

“Surprised there aren’t more students here,” I say as I run my fingertip along the condensation on my cider glass.

“It’s early,” Maeve says, picking up her drink. “They’ll be piling in within a couple of hours.” She leans her glass toward me. “To another successful class?”

It gets a smile back on my face. “Santé, mon invité.”

My French is rusty, but Maeve smiles as we clink glasses. The cider I picked out tastes fine. Good enough that I don’t wince drinking it. I know the alcohol isn’t entering my system that quickly, but I pretend that it is, just to help shake off the nerves from being out in public with someone I don’t know very well.

“So before you have the chance to interrogate me about being from LA, what’s Ohio like?” I say, smiling sneakily.

Maeve smiles, just barely. “Ty told you about that? Well, I’m from this village in central Ohio called Gambier. The only worthwhile thing about it is that it’s home to Kenyon College. Otherwise, it is completely surrounded by fields, and that’s all you ever need to know about it.”

I chuckle. “Now, see, as an avid Stardew Valley player, I’m very invested in village life.”

Her eyes don’t light up in recognition, but I can weather that blow. With another sip of alcohol, anyway.

“Seriously, what did you do growing up? What pushed you out?”

She shrugs. “There’s really no secret to it. You drive around a lot, see movies, hang out in parking lots, get drunk in fields, trek out to Walmart to loiter. And the sad part about my journey is that I actually stayed there for much longer than I thought I would. I went to Kenyon. My parents are physics and philosophy professors at the college, so tuition was free.” She takes a long sip of beer. “Now, please. I know it’s become a cliché about me, but tell me about growing up here.”

I draw circles on the table. “It’s really not any more interesting than what you did. I lived in a suburb and had no friends. I went to the mall and was an indentured worker at the Huntington because my parents thought I was going to become an emo cam girl…despite the fact that I was the biggest virgin on the planet.”

Wasn’t anticipating saying the last part, but Maeve chuckles. Egging me on.

Just then, a waitress sets down our food. The smell emanating off the meat and fries makes my mouth water so fast it hurts, but I can’t get my hands to move as fast or as naturally as Maeve’s as she grabs the knife and the plate and cuts her burger in half. She shoots me a glance as I reach for a slider.

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