Ellie stared at it, and Graham stared at her.
“No,” he said when she finally turned to him. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Ellie put a reassuring hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to…I know you’re not that guy.”
“Exactly,” he said with a little nod. “I’m the guy who tap-danced on the edge of a fountain.”
“And whose best friend is a pig.”
“And who has a ketchup stain on his handkerchief,” he said, looking down at his suit with a frown, then rotating the handkerchief to hide the stain.
Ellie laughed. “And who carries a handkerchief.”
“See?” he said, pointing at the poster. “I’m not nearly as romantic in real life.”
“Well,” she said, reaching for his hand, “maybe a little.”
There was a security guard at the door to the lower lobby, but he seemed to recognize Graham immediately and stood back to let them pass without a word. Everyone else was still upstairs.
“I guess we should…” Ellie began, but then she saw a pair of legs appear on the escalator, and then a tie, and then the face of Harry Fenton, who bent to peer down at them with a look of relief.
“There you are,” he said, blinking fast as he stepped off the escalator. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Graham said, holding on tighter when Ellie tried to let go of his hand. “We were just on our way back up.”
“Well, good,” Harry said, glancing over at Ellie with a hint of a smile. “Enjoy the movie?”
“I did,” she said with a nod. “It was very…romantic.”
Harry looked to Graham. “They’re just about ready.”
“Be up in a minute,” Graham said in a way that managed to be polite without leaving room for argument, and Harry gave a weary sigh before walking over to the other escalator and stepping on.
“It was good to see you again, Ellie,” he said, already on his way up. “Hope it won’t be the last time.”
“Thanks for the tickets,” she called, but he was already gone.
When she turned back to Graham, he was watching her with an unreadable expression. Without saying anything, she slipped the dark jacket from her shoulders, holding it out for him. He took it, and for a moment both of them held on to it, their hands only inches apart, gripping the jacket as if it were something more binding than just fabric.
But then Ellie let go, and Graham sighed as he swung it over his shoulders again.
“I should go up there,” she told him, her eyes drifting to the escalator. “My friends are probably still in the theater. And you’ve got some questions to answer.”
“I guess I do,” he said, looking over her shoulder at the two theater employees, who were whispering to each other. This part of the lobby was glassed in on all sides, and suddenly, she could tell, he felt exposed. He grabbed her hand and walked her over to the dark wedge of space beneath one of the escalators, where they stood in the red glow of an emergency-exit light.
“I hate that we have to do this again,” she said, a gnawing feeling in her stomach that felt too familiar already.
“Yeah, but it’s different this time.”
“Is it?”
He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “We’ll see each other again.”
“We said that last time.”
“And here we are,” he said with a grin.
“That was just luck.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Or fate.”
“We’ll write,” she said, because she wasn’t sure she wanted to depend on fate again for something as important as this.
“We will,” he agreed, wrapping his arms around her.
“I wish I could see you again later. How long are you here?”
“Well, there’s an after-party,” he said, leaning back to look at her. “But I’m only stopping by for pictures, and then I’ve gotta fly to Manila.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, letting her head fall against his chest again. “I’m going to straight to Paris after this.”
He laughed. “Bon voyage.”
“Sayonara.”
“Happy trails.”
Upstairs, they could hear the sound of applause, a sign that the movie had come to an end and the credits were now rolling.
But still, it took them a long time to let go of each other.
When he finally pulled back, Graham’s eyes were rimmed with red. “I guess I’d better go.”
“Game face,” she told him, trying her best to imitate his, and he shook his head with a faint smile.
“Pathetic,” he said, taking her hand, and together, they walked around to the escalator, where they stood watching the metal steps at the bottom appear one after another like magic. After a moment, Graham leaned forward to kiss her one more time, and then he gave a helpless shrug before stepping on.
Ellie stood alone at the bottom, watching him get farther and farther away, waiting to see if he’d turn back to look at her once more, the way it always happens in the movies. But he didn’t.
Sixteen
Ellie could hear the applause when the panel was introduced: the actors and director, the writers and producers. Still, she didn’t go in. There was no point in torturing herself by watching him from afar. Her friends would find her out here when it was over.
The lobby was nearly empty, with just the girl behind the concession stand and a few people in line for the bathroom. There was a red velvet banquette beneath the huge chandelier, and she sat there for a while, watching the popcorn rise in the glass box, watching the security guard shift from foot to foot outside the door, watching two women who even she could tell must be publicists whispering furiously as they read something on their phones.
Every now and then, someone would walk out of the theater, and the door would open, the amplified voices of the panel drifting out. At one point, Ellie heard the sound of Graham’s laughter, and her leaden heart sank lower in her chest.
Finally her curiosity got the best of her, and she walked over uncertainly, pulling the door open just enough to slip through, then inching slowly along the dark corridor until she was standing at the very back of the aisle.
Onstage, a row of eight people sat on stools, and just beside them was a man at a podium. The enormous white screen above showed a close-up of the whole panel, and Ellie saw that Graham was in the middle, right between Mick and Olivia, his posture as casual and relaxed as if he were simply sitting in his kitchen at home, rather than on display before a thousand people.
She glanced to the right, where she could see the backs of her friends’ heads, and beside them the empty seat where she was supposed to be. But she stayed where she was, leaning against the wall, tucked back where nobody could see her.
Except Graham.
Even from a distance, even with a whole theater full of people between them, she saw him notice her there, saw his attention shift in her direction, and her whole body felt alive with it, tingling beneath that gaze of his. She stood up a little straighter, lifting her chin and staring right back at him.
“Any others?” asked the moderator, who was standing behind the podium. Dozens of hands shot up around the theater, and Ellie realized that this must be the audience portion of the question-and-answer period. In each aisle, there were a few ushers holding portable microphones, ready to run them over to whoever might be chosen.
But before the moderator could pick anyone, Graham raised his own microphone.
“Actually,” he said, his voice bouncing around the cavernous space, “I see someone in the back by the exits there.”
The whole crowd seemed to turn as one, swiveling in their seats to see who he was pointing at, and there was a moment of confusion when they couldn’t spot any raised hands.
“Where are you…?” said the moderator, a hand shading his eyes as he squinted out over the crowd. A bewildered usher had run halfway up the aisle
and stood panting a little as he scanned the faces in the back.
“Yeah,” Graham said, the word echoing. “There by the exit.”
It took Ellie a moment to realize he was talking about her, and when she did, her face went prickly with heat. She started to take a step backward, but the usher had already zeroed in on her and was moving fast in her direction.
She glared across all that space at Graham, knowing he was too far away to see the look on her face. But all the lovely thoughts she’d been thinking about him—all the joy she’d been feeling over their unexpected reunion—drained right out of her.
She was going to kill him.
“Oh, yes,” the moderator was saying as the audience twisted in their seats to look at the red-faced girl in the back whom Graham Larkin had singled out. “Go ahead, then.”
The usher—a pale, bespectacled guy who couldn’t have been much older than Ellie—thrust the microphone at her so hard it made a little popping sound when it hit her in the stomach, and she fumbled it for a second before getting a good grip.
For a moment, everything stood still. She peered out across the enormous theater, the microphone slipping a little in her sweaty hand, and saw Lauren and Kara and Sprague watching her with baffled expressions, staring as if they didn’t really know her—which was true. They didn’t know her. Not really.
She was someone who had fallen in love with a movie star, even though it was a crazy thing to do.
She was someone who’d been determined to make it to Harvard, even though the odds were against her.
She was someone who stole a boat once, who took leaps, who was big and brave and bold, or who was at least getting closer.
She was someone who said yes.
As the silence lengthened, the moderator cleared his throat, then prompted her again: “Did you have a question?”
This time, Ellie lifted her eyes to the screen, half expecting to see Graham laughing. But instead, to her surprise, he scowled at her.
And then she knew.
He was giving her a chance to be that person.
As she watched, he mouthed two words, which were impossible to make out. But it didn’t matter. She knew what he was trying to say: game face.
When he saw that she understood, his face rearranged itself into a grin, and even from that far away, there was something so contagious about it, so genuine, that without quite meaning to, Ellie found herself smiling too.
The moderator asked her once more: “Is there anything you want to say?”
And this time, she lifted the microphone, her eyes still on Graham.
“Yes,” she said.
Epilogue
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:11 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: what happy looks like to me
So, I have a confession to make. I was lying before…
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:12 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
You don’t say!
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:13 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
Well, you sort of put me on the spot there.
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:15 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
Only because you put me on the spot first.
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:16 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
And look what happened: game face. Boom.
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:17 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
So are you trying to tell me that happiness isn’t making a great movie with a great cast? I’m shocked!
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:18 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
Well, I didn’t want to let the whole world in on the secret…
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:20 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
What secret?
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:21 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
Of what happy really looks like to me.
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:22 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
Which is?
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:24 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
This:
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:25 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
Very funny. What does it really look like?
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:26 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
Isn’t it obvious?
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:27 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
Not especially…
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, September 26, 2014 11:28 PM
To: [email protected]
Subject: re: what happy looks like to me
You. It looks like you.
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Also by Jennifer E. Smith
The Geography of You and Me
This Is What Happy Looks Like
The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight
The Storm Makers
You Are Here
The Comeback Season
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Continue reading for a sneak peek at Jennifer E. Smith’s new book, Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between.
PROLOGUE
When Aidan opens the door, Clare rises onto her tiptoes to kiss him, and for a moment, it feels like any other night.
“Hi,” she says, once she’s stepped back again, and he smiles.
“Hi.”
They stare at each other for a few long seconds, neither quite sure how to begin.
“So,” Clare says eventually.
Aidan attempts a smile. “So.”
“I guess this is it.”
He nods. “I guess it is.”
“The last night,” she says, and he tilts his head at he
r.
“You know it doesn’t have to be.”
“Aidan . . .”
“I know, I know,” he says, holding up his hands. “But you can’t really blame me, right? I’ve still got a little bit of time to change your mind.”
“Only twelve hours,” she says, glancing at her watch. “I can’t believe that’s all we have left.”
“And that’s only if we don’t sleep.”
“We’re definitely not wasting any time on sleep,” she tells him, pulling a folded piece of notebook paper from the pocket of her dress. “We have way too much to do.”
Aidan raises an eyebrow. “That’d better not be a list of reasons why we should break up. . . .”
“It’s not,” she says as she hands it over to him, watching as he scans the page with a bemused expression. “I just figured maybe we could use a plan.”
“And this is it?”
She nods. “This is it.”
“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Then I guess we should get going.”
Together, they start to walk in the direction of the car, but halfway there, Clare stops short, suddenly and unaccountably nervous, her heart drumming hard in her chest. She looks over at Aidan with slightly panicked eyes. “This is kind of crazy, isn’t it?”
“What?” he asks.
Happy Again Page 6