Page 34 of Director's Cut

“How’s Luna doing?”

“Good, I think. I mean, she has Romy and a camera job and told her parents that she’s bi maybe six months ago. But she’s an anxious baby, so…” She had also mentioned that her parents refuse to call her bisexual and that they tell their friends Luna is a lesbian, but overall, I suppose, things are good.

Rosalie laughs. “Two peas in a pod.”

I hold up a finger. “Except I’m going to be honest about how I feel about Hollywood with her.” I’ll try, anyway. If it doesn’t happen at a one-on-one dinner, maybe I’ll have the courage to tell her a few drinks in at the monthly group hang with Mason and Charlie that I invited her to at Nobu.

Rosalie smiles. “Good. I’m proud of you for realizing what makes you happy and going for it. I know it’s not easy to leave something that’s been such a big part of your life for so long.”

I smile back. “Thank you.”

I sneak one more look at my phone when our session ends.

No actual words from her, though. The unease returns. She liked it, the way I like texts from people I feel bad ignoring but don’t want to engage with.

Somehow, that’s fucking worse than if she’d done nothing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It’s finally midterm week.

It’s been nearly a decade since I took a midterm as a student, yet I still find myself tucking my shaking hands into my pants pockets as I walk into the lecture hall. Maeve and I haven’t talked since I sent her the picture of Eustace four days ago. We’re halfway through the semester, eight more classes left, and I’m just starting to feel like Maeve and I may finally be in sync. Have I already ruined it? Are we going back to a tense truce?

Maeve’s sitting in her usual spot in the first row, laptop out, typing furiously.

I consider, for an embarrassing second, letting her go on typing. But no, I want to see the midterms before lecture starts, and she’s the one who has them.

So I plop down next to her, setting my bag on the empty seat next to me.

“Good rest of your weekend?” I ask.

Maeve tucks a hair behind her ear, eyes on her screen. My muscles tense, ready, impossibly, for Old Maeve to reemerge. “I wish I could say that, but I pumped out a whole chapter on the monster bisexual and fell asleep on my couch. Sorry about not saying more about Eustace; he looked beautiful after his bath.”

She closes her laptop and turns to me.

I unclench my jaw. “Oh, the life of the tortured genius.”

She smiles. “Hardly.” There’s a long pause, her gaze on me, trying to figure me out.

“How was—?” she says right as I blurt out, “Can I see the midterm?”

Recognition flickers across Maeve’s face. “Right. Ty has the hard copies and should be by any minute.”

So we’re back in our space alone, no business to get done until everyone arrives.

“It was really nice hanging out with you,” I say. “Your dissertation made me so curious about you, and I feel like a lot connected. I love your lecture pieces, but it was nice just hearing you talk.”

Maeve blushes maybe half as hard as I do, my heart suddenly thundering. “That’s good to hear. I thought for sure I was just boring you rambling about Kimberly Peirce.”

I laugh. “You can’t bore me with fringe nineties movie talk.”

She gives a half-hearted chuckle. “You’d be amazed at how many academics act like it’s pulling teeth anytime you try to get them to talk about anything they’re passionate about. I think I’ve scared off dozens of colleagues that way.” She forms her mouth into a thin line. “They were a little too neurotypical, y’know?”

I glance at the door, thinking of how Ty talks about Maeve. I’ll tuck the neurotypical comment away in my mental notes. “I thought you and Ty were friends.”

She blows air out her lips. “We’re around the same age, but it doesn’t go beyond friendly colleagues. I think I forgot how to make friends after undergrad.” She really seeks out my eye contact. “Not like you and Charlie.”

---