Page 48 of The Rom-Commers

I mean.Come on.

I felt a rising surge of impostor syndrome, and so I stood up, just to have something to do, and started making my way toward the bathroom—stopping a waiter on the way to explain that we were not dining and dashing, no worries, and we’d all be back at the table shortly once we’d finished taking important business calls and peeing.

The waiter gave a deadpan nod. “I’ll alert the staff.”

And then I entered—I kid you not—the most opulent restaurant bathroom in history, complete with a water featureanda fire feature as well as a long, trough-like sink filled with black onyx stones. I was washing my hands and wondering how on earth the janitorial service cleaned all those rocks—one by one?—when I suddenly heard Logan’s voice loud and clear, almost like he was in the bathroom with me.

“I knew you’d love her stuff,” Logan said.

I turned. Looked around the ladies’ room. Empty.

“I called it,” Logan went on, just as loud, “and I was right.”

“You called it,” Charlie’s voice agreed, “and you really were right.”

That’s when I realized that the trough of sink rocks wasn’t just for the ladies’ room. It was shared with the men’s room. Below the mirror in front of me, I could see water running from the faucets on the other side of the wall. And Logan’s hands, soaping themselves. And the pair of hands next to them that had to be Charlie’s.

“Her dialogue,” Charlie went on, “her verbal rhythm, her sense of structure. All amazing.”

Oh, my god. Was I eavesdropping on Charlie Yates saying nice things about me?

I should pull out my phone to voice-record this moment—but I was afraid to move. If I could see their hands, they could see mine.

“And she’s fucking funny,” Charlie said.

Impostor syndrome solved. Charlie Yates, screenwriting god, had just useda curse word as a modifierto describe how funny I was.

Was this the best moment of my life? Should I steal one of these sink rocks as a memento?

But then Charlie kept talking.

“I only have one problem—” he said.

No, Charlie! Don’t have a problem!

“The cheese.”

I frowned.The cheese?

Just as Logan said, “The cheese?” Like he was frowning, too.

“Yeah, man. These love stories. They’re so cheesy.”

Oh, no. Best day of my life canceled.

“And not even like a self-respecting kind of cheese,” Charlie went on, “like a Brie or a Gruyère. This is Velveeta. This is American slices in individually wrapped plastic sleeves. This is aerosol spray cheese.”

Oh, god.

“The men in these stories?” Charlie went on. “They keepcrying.”

“Crying?” Logan asked.

“They cry a lot. Like,a lot. It’s so weird, right? Men don’t cry.”

“I cry sometimes,” Logan said.

“Do you?” Charlie said, like he was changing his opinion of Logan. “I can’t stand these guys. I’m like,Pull it together, man. Go chop something with an axe.”

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