Page 80 of All That Glitters
“Your life is about to become an epic travel montage set to an indie pop song,” Veronica corrected. “Okay. Cons. Reasons for you to stay here in this beautiful, sunny city and marinate in misery.” She scribbled one word in big, angry letters on the right side of the napkin.
TONY
Debbie flinched. “Yeah,” she mumbled through another bite of rolled taco. “That’s a pretty big one.”
“Is it?” Veronica countered, looking at her pointedly. “Debbie, look at me. He’s with someone else. Or at least, he’s kissing someone else. Staying here and watching that unfold from the sidelines sounds like a special kind of self-torture that involvesway more ice cream and sad movies than is healthy for any one person.”
“But what if…” Debbie started, her voice small.
“No ‘what ifs,’” Veronica said firmly, but not unkindly. “The ‘What If’ ship has sailed, hit an iceberg of stupidity, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean. So, we’re taking Tony off the ‘reasons to stay’ column and moving him firmly into the ‘reason to get a new passport stamp, STAT’ column.” She scribbled furiously on the back of another napkin.
Debbie managed a weak smile. “Okay. What else?”
Veronica tapped her chin with the pen. “Well, there’s me. I’m pretty awesome. Not having me around to steal pens and force-feed you rolled tacos would be a definite con.” She wrote her own name under Tony’s. “But,” she said, looking Debbie straight in the eye, “I will be here when you get back. We can get that killer two-bedroom apartment near the beach we talked about. Unless, of course, you meet some ridiculously handsome French sculptor named Antoine who whisks you away to his artist’s loft overlooking the Eiffel Tower.”
“I don’t think I’m in the headspace for ridiculously handsome French sculptors,” Debbie mumbled, taking another bite.
“Good. Their loss. My gain,” Veronica declared. “Any other cons? And no, ‘missing this specific taco shop’ does not count, no matter how good their guacamole is.”
Debbie thought for a moment, then shook her head.
“Okay then.” Veronica flipped the napkin over to the fresh, clean side. “Pros. Reasons for you to flee the country and eat your weight in brie.” Her pen started moving in a blur of motion.
“One: It’s Paris,” she said, underlining the word twice. “Two: Croissants that are basically just a delivery system for butter. Three: You get to wear striped shirts and a beret and look chic instead of like a mime. Four: Art! The Louvre, Musée d’Orsay... you can stare at naked statues without people thinking you’rea creep. Five: Learning French, which is scientifically proven to be the sexiest language on Earth. Six: Ridiculously handsome French sculptors named Antoine.”
“You already said that one.”
“It’s a big enough pro to be worth two spots,” Veronica shot back without missing a beat. “Seven: You can drink wine at lunch and it’s called ‘culture,’ not ‘a problem.’ Eight: The cheese. My god, Debbie, the cheese! Nine: You’ll be thousands of miles away from Captain Oblivious and his plastic girlfriend. Ten: Zero percent chance of a meet-cute with Tony happening in the frozen food aisle of Vons. Eleven: Adventure! Twelve: A triumphant Instagram return that will make his head spin!”
She kept going, her list growing longer and more absurdly enthusiastic, spilling from one napkin to the next until a small, connected paper chain of pros covered their table.
Finally, she put the pen down and gestured to the mountain of napkins with a flourish. “The evidence is overwhelming. The napkin-jury has reached a verdict.”
Debbie looked at the list, at the tangible representation of this other life waiting for her. A tiny flicker of excitement sparked through her. But it was quickly followed by a wave of fear.
“But what if I hate it?” she whispered. “What if I’m lonely and I don’t know how to ask for tacos in French?”
Veronica reached across the table and swiped a rolled taco from the pile, pointing it at her. Her voice was soft now, all teasing gone. “Debbie, look at me. Your life doesn’t get to stop because some clueless guy is being clueless. This is your story. Are you going to let him be the main character in it, or are you going to be the main character in your own?”
The question hung in the air. Debbie stared at the rolled tacos, at the napkins covered in Veronica’s excited scrawl, at her best friend’s fiercely loyal face. Running away felt like giving up.But maybe this wasn’t running away. Maybe this was running toward something. Toward herself.
Debbie gave a slow, almost hesitant nod. “Okay,” she said.
A huge, triumphant grin broke across Veronica’s face. She squeezed Debbie’s hand hard. “Okay, you’ll do it?”
“Yeah,” Debbie said, and this time, a real, watery smile touched her lips. “I’ll do it.”
Veronica let out a whoop that made the guy at the grill look over and nod in approval. “Yes! This is the best decision you’ve ever made!” She grabbed another rolled taco from the pile. “Now, eat. You need strength. We’re going home to book your flight tonight. And to Google how to say ‘more cheese, please’ in French.”
Chapter thirty
Power Grids and Gas Station Burritos
Tony arrived on set that morning and couldn’t believe his eyes. All the equipment was back — cameras, lights, sound gear, everything arranged exactly as it was before Preston had the rental company seize it. The Rif Raf crew was bustling around with renewed energy, setting up for their final day of shooting.
“Tony,” Craig hollered over from the director’s chair, where he was flipping through a stack of glossy 8x10s with the goofiest smile plastered to his face. “Come, take a look at these.”
“Whatcha got there?” Tony said as he walked over.
