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Lily
*An Itch I Can’t Scratch*
Five years after leaving Belford, and the jury’s still out on whether or not I have proven anything to my father or anyone else. Nine years after meeting Wes, and I’m still paralyzed by the same conflicting desires. Running away never did stop me from feeling the feelings, any more than finally kissing him ever did.
So now I’m back in Southern Oregon.
I never thought I would be.
Not now.
Certainly not like this.
But I refuse to classify this as a defeat. Giving up on my first attempt at a career and moving back is, in fact, a win. It’s good adulting.
No really, it is.
Most people go to New York and Los Angeles because they’re chasing a dream, trying to become the person they want to be. I went because I was running away from the life that I wanted but couldn’t imagine myself having once my mother was no longer around. I took the guts and the money she had left me with and invested it in myself—acting lessons for myself, headshots for myself, audition and modeling casting call outfits for myself, shockingly modest apartments for myself. I’m not saying I’m a risky investment, but being an actor in New York and Los Angeles is expensive as fuck. The patience and the rejection and the constant honing of the craft and the waitressing—thatI could handle. My budget—not so much.
I’m at a Denny’s right outside of town, nearing the end of my two-day road trip from LA, and my old BMW is so loaded up with all my earthly possessions that I can’t open the glove compartment. My credit cards are so maxed out I’ve been consuming nothing but coffee, water, bananas, and celery with almond butter for days. My ego is so tiny now you need a magnifying glass to read the “will work for food” sign.
I signal to the waitress, asking for yet another coffee refill. She rolls her eyes, grabs the coffee pot, and saunters over, hand on her waist. It’s not like I’m dying for another cup of this stuff, but I came in to use the ladies’ room, and it has been occupied for the past ten minutes.
“You from California?” the waitress asks.
“Yes. How’d you know?”
“Saw you get out of the car with the California plates.”
“Oh. Right. I thought maybe it was obvious that I was a failed actress or something.”
“You kidding?” she says. “You’re young and skinny and gorgeous. You drive a BMW and carry a Burberry handbag. Besides, nobody’s a failure at your age. Anyway, I don’t believe in failure. At any age.”
I fucking love you, Tammy.
I smile. “That’s nice of you to say. I think I’ve been in LA too long. And PS… The handbag was secondhand when I bought it.”
“Well, it’s the nicest handbag anyone’s ever brought in here, that’s for sure.”
It is killing me that I can’t order more food from Tammy, but I can barely afford this coffee. I remember coming here with my best friend when we were seventeen and ordering half the menu. We were such little turds. Now I just want Tammy to adopt me.
“You doin’ a road trip or something?”
“Moving back home, actually.”
“Yeah? Around here?”
I nod. “Belford.”
She places my bill on the table and gives me a little look. The Denny’s waitress feels sorry for me. Because moving home to Belford from California when you’re single in your early twenties is never a sign that things are going well. “You hang out here as long as you need to, hon. Lemme know if you need anything else. Welcome home.”
Home.
This Denny’s is as much my home as the mansion I’ll be going back to.
I had fantasized about returning to Belford for some holiday weekend, with my Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress and my fiancé Zac Efron. I had no pretenses about winning an Oscar right out of the gate, and I had no intention of actually marrying Zac Efron, but I imagined that having a Golden Globe in one hand and a Zac Efron in the other was the only way to prevent myself from putting my hands on Wes’s abs and biceps as soon as I saw him.
Though he is nothing like Hagrid, Wes still somehow looms larger than a half-giant in my memory. I deactivated my social media accounts as soon as I moved to New York, and I have never asked Vicky the housekeeper about him when we emailed or my best friend who knows him when we texted, but I still think about him every day.
