Page 20 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
I toss my phone onto the sofa, and now I just feel out of sorts. Now I really want a giant bowl of pasta. And a steak. And fries. And for some reason, I want to call Birdie. But I won’t. She’s busy at work, probably wearing her little white cotton gloves while carefully placing some piece of ancient art into a fancy labeled box and then indexing it. She’s probablynotwearing the sexy librarian outfit that she’s always wearing when I imagine her at work. I don’t have any specific reason to call her. I just want to. Because she’s a friend. People call their friends. That’s how friendships work,Declan.
But seriously, if Nolan settles down before I do, that is not okay.
I send Alana a quick kissy face emoji and then drop to the floor to do twenty crunches.
And I know my ma is calling me before I’ve done fifteen. I know because Darth Vader’s theme is playing on my phone. I programmed that in as her ringtone as a joke to piss her off when I was visiting for Christmas. She did not find it nearly as hilarious as my sister and I did. I also know that in the middle of Declan’s workday, he hung up with me and immediately called our mother to tell her that I’m going to New York to meet Alana for the first time. What. A. Dick.
I do another five crunches before answering—because I’m disciplined. And also, because I don’t want to talk to my mother right now. But if she leaves a message, then I’ll have to call her back at some point today, and she will just give me more shit for every hour she has to wait to hear from me.
I suck in a deep breath, gird my loins, and answer. “Hey, Ma. I’m just getting ready to shoot a scene. What’s up?”
“Edward Sullivan Cannavale.”
“Starting right in with all three names, huh?”
“I give you life, I give you three good names, and what do you give me? Lies.”
Wow. Mary Margaret O’Sullivan Cannavale is bringing her Irish mammy A-game today. “I never lied to you—what did Dec tell you?”
“Oh, just that you don’t evenhavea girlfriend.”
“Yeah, I do. I just haven’t met her in person yet. This is how things are done now—people get to know each other online first. What’s the big deal? Dec was pretending to date Maddie when they were there for Christmas.”
“That’s different! It’s real now. They’re engaged. And you sound hungry. Have you eaten yet today?”
“Yes, I’ve eaten! Some. And it’ll be real for Alana and me too, soon.”
“Right. When you come out to see your Instagram girlfriend and brother in New York, while conveniently bypassing Cleveland and the rest of your immediate family. Mr. Bigshot Hollywood Actor.” I can hear her smiling, but that doesn’t make me feel any less guilty—as if it were even possible for me to swing by Cleveland to see her.
Well-played, Ma. Well-played.
“It’s fine. I just made every costume you ever needed for every play you ever did in school by hand and helped you learn your lines for everything until you left me for Los Angeles. Not to worry. I’ve got no time to see you anyway. I’m busy over here making the world go around for your father, all day, every day. And what’s this about you taking the train with your little Birdie friend and then ditching her for the other girl on Valentine’s Day?”
“That is not how I would describe what’s going to happen. At all.”
“What’s wrong with Birdie? You’ve known her since college—you two could be married with three kids by now.”
“Hitting it pretty hard today, Ma.”
“Well. Neither of us is getting any younger, and I need more grandkids.”
“Half the guys in LA don’t get married until they’re, like, forty.”
“Half the guys in LA aren’t my son. My baby boy. I need to know there’s a good woman out there looking after you. How’s a model in New York supposed to take care of you, huh?”
“Ma. I don’t need to be taken care of.”
“Don’t act all tough with me—you thinkIdon’t know what you need? Your mother?”
I can’t win this argument. I can make one and a half million viewers believe anything I say when I’m in character every week, but I will never convince my mother that she doesn’t know what I need, because I will always be the baby of the family. And what Ineedright now is to end this call.
“You’re right. You are right. Listen, I have to—”
“Well, if you aren’t gonna marry poor Birdie, then you’d better keep your hands off of her on the train. You hear me?”
“Course, I will. The whole reason I’m taking the train with her is so I can make sure she’s safe.”
“Uh-huh. Safe from other guys who want to put their grubby hands on her.”
