Page 16 of Love Scenes

There it is again. Daisy girl. His old nickname for me. A calling card he’s scattered throughout, in case all the references to celebrity and having a famous family somehow got by me. Or anyone else with even a cursory knowledge of the past three years of his life.

Tyler’s watching me expectantly. It takes a second to step out of the shadow of my memories and into what she’s said aboutHorizons.Maybe she brought it up to distract me, but the timing still feels wrong. Way too late and not enough.

“I thought you of all people would’ve known how much that would hurt me,” I challenge, turning down the music with a remote. “And to casthim...”

“I know.” Her voice is so soft it’s almost inaudible. After a longbeat, she says, “You’re so good at what you do. Don’t let Kearns make you think any different.”

Her whole life, she’s never been able to fight me.

Kearns’s music definitely hasn’t made me contemplate my abilities as an actor. More like my ability to be a human worthy of unconditional love. But that’s a topic for my therapist, so I say, “Thanks,” and leave it at that.

Just when I’m about to open my mouth and start a real conversation—ask her why she bothered to come over when she won’t actuallysayanything to me—she leans over and gives me a quick, awkward squeeze.

“I wish I could stay longer, but I have to get back. Mara isn’t home tonight. There’s no one to let out Opal. She hasn’t gone potty in hours,” she says.

It stings. More than it should. In the past, she never would’ve left me like this, after seeing concrete proof that I’m not handling everything as well as I want everyone to believe. This would’ve been easier if she hadn’t shown up in the first place.

She tried, but only halfway.

“I get it. I haven’t gone potty yet either,” I joke.

“I hate you,” she says, our signature send-off.

“Hate you too. See you tomorrow morning.”

“Fuck Kearns Adam. You are so much more than his shit music,” she tells me as she lets herself out.

As soon as I hear the click of the front door’s bolt lock, I turn the music back up and put on “Smoke in the Mirror” again.

Light a match.

Burn the proof.

4

Our third day of production begins like the one before: Joseph at his trailer door with a cup of tea in hand and classic rock in the background.

“Again?” he asks.

I’ve got my iced coffee in hand and my copy of the script, marked up with all the notes and ideas I came up with after Tyler left me alone to wallow. It was the best way to pass the time, having sent so many late-night emails about my upcoming foundation gala that the event coordinator called me to ask if everything was all right.

“Making sure you know your lines is the only real task I’ve been given,” I explain. “So until further notice, you’ll see me here every morning.”

Across from where I sit on the couch, Joseph’s bottle of whiskey remains unopened, and the photo of his mom has been moved to its original place, on a shelf above the stovetop. Everything is basically the same as it was the day before, except there’s conveniently an extra coaster set out on the coffee table. Joseph makes no mention of it, and neither do I.

I do, however, put my drink atop it.

Joseph brings over his cup of tea, setting it on the other coaster, then sits beside me again. “I have a question.”

This makes me bristle, a hot flash of vulnerability hitting me out of nowhere. There’s nothing he could ask that would embarrass me, and I’m still nervous. Can he sense a vibe between me and Tyler? Does he know about how I told Haven to treat him? Is he going to ask if my dad is okay? Is he going to press the issue of why I really turned down the part of Elise?

“What?” I try to sound flippant.

“Are you really done with acting?” he asks.

My practiced PR line floats off my tongue before I can reconsider. “I’m taking each day as it comes,” I tell him, knowing full well it sounds hollow and false. He hasn’t earned the truth.

Joseph scrunches his lips. There’s a furrow between his brows that deepens as he nods at me.