Page 38 of Take 2
“That’s actually what I’m calling about. Why are you allowing your husband to be so stubborn?”
“First of all, you’ve known him longer, so you have to be more responsible for his character flaws than I am.” I take the champagne flutes out of the cabinet and find the cheeses in the fridge. “Secondly, it’s not just stubbornness. I promise we’d be there if we could. California isexpensive.We’re poor.”
“But why won’t he take Mom and Dad up on the offer to fly you guys out here?”
He what? My hand freezes over the handle of a drawer. He didn’t tell me his parents offered that. I’m not shocked he’d turn them down, but he could have told me.
“Oh, you know.” I hope my voice doesn’t betray my surprise. “He doesn’t like to take anything from them.”
I glance up at our wedding picture on the wall. We wanted something simple and quick before we moved, but he wouldn’t have accepted money for a wedding from either set of our parents anyway.We got ourselves through college on our own(with my brains and his talent)so we can do this on our own, too.In truth, his parents financially supported him in college so he could focus on football, which was supposed to be his career. That was their investment in him, and in his mind, he squandered it.
No matter for the wedding, though. It wasn’t any bigger than the Oscars party he proposed at, and that suited me just fine. Moving across the country being our honeymoon trip, however, was kind of ill-advised. Moving is hell.
“He would if you asked him to,”Anna says.
Would he? Sure, he came to LA for me, but it was his idea. I’d never have asked that of him, so I guess I’ll never know how he’d respond to such a thing.
“I don’t know, Anna. I don’t think so.”
Her pouting sounds, which would normally make me feel guilty, don’t really sink in as I’m distracted by thoughts of Ryan. The shower stops running on the other side of the wall.
“I’m sorry, love.”
“You’re still my favorite sister-in-law.”
“And you’re mine.”
“Make sure you get a picture of this year’s dress before my brother wrinkles it up.”
Her quip boosts my mood. “I already got one, but I’ll get a better shot. Stay tuned.”
“Okay. Which movie do we want for best picture?”
“12 Years a Slave. For sure.”
“But Tom Hanks!”
“Was great, as wasCaptain Phillips. But this year, I’m right.”
“You’re never right.”
“I’m almost an insider now.” I laugh at my own overstatement of my place in Hollywood. ‘Writing student residing in LA’ doesn’t exactly qualify. “I’m better at this now.”
“Okay. Have fun. Love you!”
“Love you too.” I put my phone down and sigh. A bite of the cookie fuels my continued Oscar-viewing preparations while I mull over Ryan’s frustrations.
He comes out in his Oscars best, and before I forget, I tell him to snap a picture of me. I pose with the bottle of champagne hanging from my fingers and my high-heeled foot popped up behind me. “One with you.” I snag the phone and kiss him. The resulting picture is a disaster because why did the person with the short arms try to do this?
“Blurry and cut off is the only way I’m showing up on your Instagram anyway.” Ryan sends me all three pictures.
“Having only pictures of myself makes me look like a narcissist.”
“That’s actually a valuable trait in Hollywood, but most of your pictures are of coffee, your MacBook, and piles of paper.”
“I’m going to be cancelled for my excessive use of paper.”
“Fact.” He holds out the bow tie, and I take it with a smile.
