Page 68 of First Impressions of You

“Are you sure you’re okay with me reading it?”

“Not really,” he says, and I stop taking the rubber band out. “But I still want you to.”

“Who else has read it?”

He gulps. Loudly. Running a hand through his stubble, he adjusts himself on the couch, turning to me with a leg folded under the other.

“My mom, my sister, Ali, Henry, and a few executives.”

I nod, understanding the magnitude of being allowed into such a select group. He’s only ever showed this to his family and best friends. And now me. Carefully placing the wine glass on the table, I sit back on the couch and start reading.

“This…” I start, but I don’t know if I have the words to describe what I’m feeling. This script is beautiful. It’s poignant and moving; it broke my heart and put it right back together at the end.

“Sucks?” he asks with a feigned chuckle.

“No. Winter, it’s amazing.” I carefully lay the pages on the coffee table and turn to him. “Did… did all of this really happen to you?”

“Not all, no.” He keeps watching me, studying me, as if waiting for me to change my mind. “A lot of it did happen, but I fictionalized a lot. Changed places, people. It’s loosely inspired by my life, but it’s not autobiographical.”

“Was it hard? Writing all of this? Putting it all on paper?” I can’t imagine the strength it must take to create art out of moments that caused so much pain. To turn something that hurt you into something so beautiful.

“It was harder showing my mom after I’d finished it. I actually only showed it to her last year. I thought she would hate it. I thought she’d hate the way I portrayed my father.”

I understand why he’d think so. The father in the script is a heartless man. Someone who cares more about money and status than his own family. The things he put his son through are unimaginable. The fact that those things have happened to Winter, even if they were altered, it breaks my heart.

For years he had no control over his life. I can see the parallels even without him disclosing them to me. He wanted to leave School Hallway soon after he joined the show, but his father made him stay. There’s a project he was in, probably a movie, that he never wanted to do, but he didn’t have an option. He was a mere pawn in his father’s plan to become rich and important through his son.

“What did she say?” I ask, scared of the answer.

He smiles. “She apologized. Cried a lot. Then went on to apologize again for letting him do all the things he did. I don’t blame her, though. Never did. We came from a simple life. She never worked, always dependent on my father. He was the typical guy who felt the need to provide for his family.” He lets out a dry laugh. “At least until he could have his son to do it for him.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, scooting over to reach his hand. I squeeze it gently, and he strokes his thumb over the back my hand. “I’m sorry he did this to you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. He was your father. He was supposed to protect you, not hurt you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees weakly, his eyes focused on the movement of his thumb over my skin. “At least he couldn’t get to my sister. I wouldn’t let him.”

“He tried?” I feel an anger rising inside of me. I never thought I’d have such rage toward a dead man.

“Once. He took her to an agency, but I told him I’d quit if he signed her up with an agent.” He shudders at the memory. “It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. Not when I was already bringing so much money home.”

“And your sister? She didn’t want to be an actress?”

His eyes change, the darkness giving place to a softness I rarely see there.

“She never wanted anything to do with it. She’s a biologist in Seattle now. I visit her sometimes, and all she does is make fun of me for being in Hollywood. She pretends not to take my job seriously, and I pretend I don’t know she’s lying.”

I smile, imagining him bickering with his sister. I picture them growing up together, him as a protective older brother, her as a mischievous little sister.

“What did she say about the script?”

“I think it was the first time she ever said she was proud of me.” I can hear in his voice how much that meant to him. How his sister’s approval was important.

“I don’t think you can let this go to waste, Winter,” I say, and he cuts me a questioning look. “You need to make this movie happen.”

“Thank you,” he says softly.

---