Before we go our separate ways, we have a moment alone offstage. Now that the cameras are off of her, she’s unfocused and preoccupied. “Emma.” Tipping her chin up, I lean quickly and kiss her, just a whisper of my lips on hers, and pretend not to notice that she’s already withdrawing when I pull away. “I’ll see you next week.”
Premiere night, I’ll likely have Emma where I want her—where I’ve wanted her since I first laid eyes on her. But I can’t assume she’ll come to me when she breaks it off with Graham. She’s just self-sufficient enough to slam the door on us both—she proved that well enough last fall. On the other hand, she’ll be more receptive if for no other reason than to thumb her nose at Graham over what he’s doing with Brooke.
Am I okay with being exploited like that and then tossed aside?
Hell. Yeah.
Chapter 27
Emma
When Reid showed me that image of Graham and Brooke, everything came to a stop. I asked him when, when, but I knew, because Graham was wearing the Columbia t-shirt and the unbuttoned plaid shirt he had on when we Skyped last night. Right before the party.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. My life didn’t feel real.
Perfect time to appear on a hugely popular Emmy-winning talk show for the first time, huh? Reid was charming and flirty with me, with her, with the audience—and they ate it up. When Ellen suggested we use her show to clear up any rumors floating around, he grabbed my hand and kissed it (the audience screamed, “Woooo!” while my face overheated).
And then he looked at me and said, “We might as well come clean.” I wondered what we were coming clean about and the whole audience shifted forward in anticipation. He assumed a very serious look. “Emma’s pregnant with triplets.” The audience gasped. My mouth gaped. I don’t know what Ellen did, because I was staring at Reid and thinking that maybe I had just dreamed this entire day, and there was no photo of Graham sleeping next to Brooke. For one heartbeat I was so relieved.
And then Reid said, “After the premiere next week, we’re getting married in a hot air balloon, and then we’ll honeymoon on our private island until the babies come. Oh, and we’ve decided to name all of them Reid, with numbers for middle names. But in French—un, deux, trois—so it’ll be classy.” Everyone laughed. Ha, ha, so funny.
We showed clips of School Pride and discussed the Jane Austen novel that inspired it. I smiled tightly and kept my opinion on the script’s inane dialogue to myself for the hundredth time. Reid plugged the movie he’ll be filming next fall in Vancouver, I talked about my college plans, and then it was over and Reid and I were backstage. He kissed me goodbye, sort of, but I didn’t really respond, and I couldn’t feel it. I don’t think I realized until that moment that I’d spent the whole hour and a half taping numb.
I was supposed to text Graham after the show, before my flight. I didn’t. Just before I powered it down, my phone buzzed with a new text. I didn’t look at the message.
Now I’m in the air between Burbank and Sacramento, and the anger has made a tornado of the rest of my emotions, tossing and twisting them until all I can feel is the destructive point where the indignation touches the landscape. I haven’t felt this angry since I confronted my dad about wanting to make my own decisions. Does that mean I should confront Graham now? Just because I’ve learned to stand up for myself doesn’t mean it’s appropriate in every situation. Or easy. I stare out the window and consider possible scenarios of truth-telling.
Emily and Derek pick me up when I land. Her hair is newly hot pink and pixie-cut. “Like it?” she asks, and I tell her I love it.
Derek is Abercrombie-boy gorgeous from the top of his head to just above his ankles—he’s wearing high-top Chucks in the same shade of neon fuchsia as Em’s hair. I point at the shoes and smile. He shrugs. “I’m a supportive guy.”
In the Jeep, I power up my phone and read the messages—all from Graham. He goes from asking if I was at the airport yet to wondering why I wasn’t calling. He left one voicemail: “Emma, I know you’re upset over Brooke staying at my house the past two days. She’s gone, and I’ve already told her she can’t stay here again. Please call me when you land… Okay. Talk to you soon.”
I message Dad to tell him I’ve landed and I’m on my way to Emily’s. Tomorrow is Senior Skip Day, so I’m staying over at her place. When the phone rings, my heart stops, but the photo smiling up from the display is my agent.
“Hey, Dan.”
“How was Ellen? So exciting!” Dan has a habit of answering his own questions.
“It was awesome. Reid told everyone we were having triplets and getting married next week. I think there was something about a balloon. Anyway. It went well.”
Emily twists in her seat, staring back at me open-mouthed, and Dan is either speechless or we’ve been cut off.
“Dan?”
“Emma, there’s no need to be snarky. I’m still trying to manage what’s left of your film career, in case you ever want to come back… You haven’t changed your mind, by any chance? Because I got a call today from Paramount—”
“No, I’m still going to college. And I wasn’t being snarky—Reid actually said that stuff.”
He was quiet for two seconds. “I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m glad I’m not that boy’s agent.”
I laugh, and the phone beeps in my ear. Graham. “Um, I’ve got another call. I’m sure I’ll talk to you tomorrow after Ellen airs.”