Page 32 of Director's Cut

She leans back in her chair. “You don’t strike me as the nurturing type.”

I fake gasp and then gesture at Eustace. “Excuse me, what do you think this is?” And as I say that, some residue on my smoothie falls onto Eustace’s white head. He startles and jumps out of my lap, and my only motherly response is “Fuck!”

Maeve full belly laughs as I scoop up my dog and wet a cloth napkin to get the stain out of his fur. And that’s when my phone rings, Trish’s name flashing on the screen.

“Shit, I have to take this,” I say.

Maeve gets out of her seat. “I can blot your dog.”

“You’re the best.”

I take the phone and scurry into the kitchen. Charlie is watching TV in the other room, food on his lap. We make eye contact, and I shoot him a thumbs-up.

“Hey,” I say to Trish.

“Hey,” Trish says. “So let’s cut to the chase, yeah?”

My stomach clenches. “Um, okay.”

“So Sundance got in contact with me. Gave me some confidential information much earlier than we’d get it otherwise, so that’s a relief at least.” She sighs, which gives me all the information I need. “Oakley in Flames didn’t get picked.”

She moves on from there. Says we’re going to submit to Tribeca, South by Southwest, all the big European festivals on the circuit. Sundance isn’t even that big of a deal. She says everything a manager has to say when they’re doing damage control.

But I can’t hear her anymore.

It’s like I’m on autopilot. I put her on speakerphone and pull up the group chat. I have to tell Luna. She’s the one who was so fucking excited about the opportunity to go to a festival. She’s happy in her TV job, but this is her dream. I send the news into our group chat with Romy, Wyatt, and new addition Charlie, who doesn’t know any of them but insisted he be included.

VS: We didn’t get into Sundance.

The responses aren’t general sadness. They’re sorry for me, not the movie. Even Luna says, I’m so sorry, Val!! It should be comforting. But it feels more like pity.

I didn’t want to go to Sundance anyway. This isn’t something to feel bad about. It’s good. My muscles are relaxing now. My throat’s scratchy, but who cares. This is a relief. I didn’t want this. I ranted to Charlie about it for days. I hate Utah, I hate altitude, I hate schmoozing, and I hate festivals. Maeve just told me she’s going to help me transition to academia. I’m doing what I said I’d do after that Winston interview.

I don’t know what I say to Trish, but she ends the call before I have to figure it out.

Charlie’s wrapped his arms around me before I even realize he got up. “I’m so sorry, Val. Sundance is being a dumbass.”

He doesn’t need to hug me. This isn’t a bad thing.

I have more important things to deal with. My class. Maeve.

My heartbeat picks up. Maeve. Maeve who’s outside trying to clean my dog.

I push Charlie off and head back outside.

She looks up at me and frowns. “Everything okay?”

And suddenly everything is crumbling down. That scratchy feeling in my throat is now a lump digging deeper inside me. Tears burn in my eyes, even as I try to blink them back. My muscles ache as if I’ve been standing for hours.

“Hey, uh, I gotta deal with something,” I say. “Can we catch up on Tuesday?”

Maeve lets go of Eustace and gets to her feet. Approaches me, hovering about three or so feet away. Perhaps unsure if she can bridge that gap. “Yeah, of course.”

Once Maeve leaves with her wallet, I let the tears fall. It’s like knocking down a set of dominoes, and seconds later I’m burying my face in Charlie’s chest, only able to say “I’m sorry” through the sobs.

He rubs my back, holding me tight. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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