Page 162 of Charming Like Us
Normally, I’d be grabbing a bucket of popcorn, but I have bad feelings. And Donnelly’s going through enough, so I’m not going to dig into it tonight.
I stand back up, helping Donnelly to his feet, and he heads to bed. Jack hasn’t returned. I reach the door.
Please still be there.
Please be in the hall.
I open the door, and I glance down the cavernous hallway. And I realize it’s empty.
My phone pings.
Had to go to my apartment. Sorry. Call later– Highland
This isn’t like him. Worry morphs into instinct togo.I grab my keys, put on pants, and I head out to chase after my boyfriend.
31
JACK HIGHLAND
I’m frazzled.The amount of attention on me is too new. Jesse is usually the one in trouble—and I’m not “in trouble” the way that a seventeen-year-old would be.
I’m not breaking a curfew, but to my parents, one of the worst life paths is possible career implosion. If I imploded it myself, that’s fine. My mom changed-up her nursing career. But if someone else is doing it—not cool.
So apparently, they flew here like I’m in need of saving. It had something to do with Jesse telling them my status as exec producer is on the line.
As soon as they called me, saying they arrived at my place in Philly, yelling, “Where are you?!”—like I’d already been sacrificed to the career gods—I didn’t think, I just left SFO’s apartment.
I left Oscar.
And I drove to The Walnut.
Immediately, I wanted to turn back around and tell him where I was headed. Ask him if he wants to join. But I couldn’t waste time knowing my parents were upset in my apartment. Back-tracking would make me feel worse. And staying the course didn’t make me feel any better.
I could text him. I couldn’t figure out how to formulate a specific reply, so I was vague.
I hated that I was vague.
I’m torn in so many directions that I’m being swallowed.
Ride the swell.
Dude.
I’m drowning. “Mama, I’m fine. Sit down, please.”
She won’t sit. “You’re a good person. You wouldn’t hurt anyone.” She’s in tears, wiping the wet streaks beneath her thin-framed glasses. “What they’re saying about you online, it’s horrible, Jun-Jun.” She uses a nickname for me.
“We were talking about you filing a defamation lawsuit,” my dad says on the couch next to Jesse. The Murphy bed is pulled down like Jesse just woke up.
“No,” I tell them, and I hug my mom. “It’s more of a headache going through that, and for what?”
“Your reputation.” She rubs her face. “The truth.”
Jesse gets her a box of tissues.
“You know the truth, Mama,” I remind her. “Jesse knows. Dad knows. I’m not a homewrecker. I said what I could. This is how the media plays out.” I let go of her when she dabs her eyes with a tissue.
The kitchen is a mess. That sticks out to me. Annoys me in ways that it usually wouldn’t. I go over there to clean. I haven’t been here as often as Jesse. Rice is stuck to a pot on a stove. Bits of hot dog are in the sink with remains of banana ketchup.
