Will started at this thought and set the wine bottle back down on the coffee table. Then he stood solemnly, walked to the bar cart in the corner, and poured himself a double shot of bourbon.
“So I have a crush,” he said casually as he sat back down. “Can we please start the movie?”
“Okay,” agreed Lily. She found the remote and pushed play.
“Okay,” seconded Zara.
The movie began, but Will couldn’t focus. He wasn’t sure how to feel. It wasn’t like she could be his girlfriend, at least not publicly. Carrie was dating an NFL quarterback. He needed, well, at least an established model. Carrie had taught him how to be famous. How to use the paparazzi. Where to go to get photographed. How to plant “leaks” in the press. Will had been embarrassingly naive about what it took to succeed in Hollywood. Only the people willing to leverage their personal lives got to move up the food chain. Carrie went from half-forgotten child star to phenomenon, and her music was only fine. She knew how to play the game, and Will learned well—even if he hated her for it. He wanted to win this breakup, and being with EJ, lovely as she was, wouldn’t look like a victory.
“But do you want what Carrie wants, Will?” Dr. Marjorie’s voice interrupted his thoughts. In their last session, she’d pointed out that Will started playing Carrie’s game only because he felt ignored at FT: Hawaii.
I should be acting, not just reacting, he scolded himself.
He shouldn’t be dating to beat Carrie Dean. He should date who he liked—and he was drawn to EJ. Besides, if this was going to be anything more than an embarrassing admission to Lily and Zara, he had to make a move. First things first.
Breakfast at Pemberley
On the morning of Black Friday, as Will slept off his slight hangover, Zara and Lily were in the kitchen, eating leftovers at the breakfast bar. Zara revived the subject of Will’s crush. “Okay, L, now that we’re not teasing Will, I have to say I think your evidence was circumstantial. You know your brother thinks he’s the world’s greatest detective, collecting random facts about people. Carrie hated it, so he got out of the habit, but maybe he’s just back to his old self?”
Lily pushed her glasses up her nose. “You have a point, but . . .” She paused to make sure she didn’t hear her brother’s footsteps, then moved into whispering distance. “So I didn’t say this in front of Will because I knew it would be truly embarrassing, not just ‘fun embarrassing’: on his first day back home for Thanksgiving Break, Will asked if I thought he could join Ballroom Club without too much hassle.”
Zara started. “Wait, your brother?” She shook her head in wonder.
“I know. Mr. ‘I’m not here to make friends’ suddenly takes an interest in campus life. Let me tell you the whole story.” Lily pushed her plate away and turned toward her friend. “We were in the kitchen doing dishes and had some music going on the Echo. This like, sixties bossa nova comes on. Will, to my surprise, starts humming along. After the song ends, Will is just standing there, kinda dreamily—plate in hand. I’m like, ‘Hello!’
“He sort of wakes up and then asks me about the ballroom team. Then I’m just like, ‘Explain.’
“He says, ‘It’s the song. The other day I was passing through the lower campus, and I hear this song coming from one of the smaller rooms. I wanna see who dug up this old chestnut, so I peek in. It’s EJ with the ballroom team. She and her partner are doing some sort of demonstration dance, and, Lily, she’s just. So. Good. She moved the way a summer breeze feels.’”
Zara gripped the countertop. “Oh my God, he got all poetic for her! What happened next?”
“After all that, he sighs and finally puts the plate in the dishwasher. Then he says, real quietly, ‘I didn’t realize—she’s inspirational, Lily. I ended up watching the whole routine through the window.’”
“‘Inspirational,’” Zara repeated. “Like when he heard Carrie singing a cappella during her sound check.”
“Or like when stunt-lady Casey did that ‘inspirational’ cliff dive on the second Wolf Pack movie. I think we’ve got more than a crush, Z. I think his heart’s halfway there.”
They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Will came into the kitchen yawning. “Is there coffee?” he asked.
“No, but there’s hot water, and I’ll get the French press for you,” Lily replied. She was a tea drinker and Zara was a weirdo who hated hot beverages.
“Thanks.” Will grabbed the electric kettle. “And thanks for making me drink, like, a gallon of water last night. I do not have the hangover I deserve.” He poured the hot water and then called out to their Echo, “Alexa, play ‘Something Stupid,’ Frank Sinatra.”
The music filled the room, and Lily froze in her tracks. “This is the song!” she mouthed to Zara.
The actress’s eyes widened. “Interesting choice, Will,” she said mildly.
“I just woke up with it in my head,” he replied casually.
“Uh-huh.” Zara crossed the kitchen to where Will was making an omelet. “So, Will, why haven’t you asked this girl out? It sounds like you’ve had this crush for a minute, which is dangerously close to pining.”
Will sighed. “I’ve been thinking of telling her how I feel.”
“Wait, what?” Lily cried. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Okay, I’ve just been thinking of it since yesterday. The problem is she’s pretty but not industry pretty, so I think it would have to be a secret relationship—definitely couldn’t leave Longbourn . . .”
“Nooooooo!” Lily cried.
“Patience. Let me make my case to you—and her,” Will said, interrupting his sister’s further objections. “I’ve been working on something since last night. It will either be a letter or a speech. I think it captures all of my feelings.” He abandoned his eggs and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Can I read it to you?”
“Read it! Read it!” they cheered.
“Okay, okay.” He leaned back against the giant fridge and began. “Dear EJ, I hope you had a lovely Thanksgiving with your family. This time away from Longbourn has given me the opportunity to reflect on what it’s meant to me, and what you mean to me. I’ve tried—believe me, I’ve tried—to keep this to myself, but it’s impossible. I adore you, EJ. You’re probably as surprised to be reading this as I am to be writing it. Who would have thought I’d find my dream girl in the boonies of Massachusetts? A girl whose clothes are from TJ Maxx instead of Saks—”
There was an impatient squeak from his audience. Will put up a reassuring hand. “I’m building to something, I promise.”
He continued. “Fortunately, I’m the kind of man who can recognize a jewel in any setting. I’m sorry to admit it took me longer than it should have. You were like Billy Joel’s classical album. At first, I wasn’t quite sure I even liked it, but then, as I understood its beauty, its complexity, its ambition, it became my favorite. EJ, I—”
“Ay, Dios mío!” Zara cried as she grabbed Will’s phone and deleted the drafted letter with a flourish. Then she gave him a slap on the head.
“Ow!” Will rubbed his temple. “Why’d you do that?” he asked peevishly.
Zara put both hands on his shoulders and looked at him solemnly. “Because I love you and I want you to live. Finish making your breakfast.”
Hours later, the trio took a taxi downtown. Will and Zara were going to the Met. Lily wanted to spend some time in FIT’s jewelry studio to work on a beading project. In the cab, the ladies explained to Will what he’d done wrong.
“Everything,” Lily said. “That was bad, bad, very not good at all. Bad.”
Zara nodded. “If she murdered you after that, all her attorney would have to do is present your letter as Exhibit A. No jury in the world would convict her. And since when did you become so class conscious? TJ Maxx—”
“She’s always talking about getting stuff on sale and getting good deals,” Will protested. “I thought it showed that I was paying attention.”
The actress
scrubbed her face. “Listen to someone who didn’t grow up with money: you develop those skills because you have to. That was like saying to someone in a manual wheelchair, ‘Dude, your arms are so diesel.’ It’s just inconsiderate.”
“And talking about how reluctantly attracted you are is not helpful,” Lily chimed in. “Especially if you’re going to ask her to be a secret. Do you think you’d be ashamed of her?” Her voice was tinged with distress. Will had the feeling he was failing a test he hadn’t signed up for.
“I didn’t want to insult her intelligence by pretending there wasn’t past weirdness between us.” He looked out the window, too upset to enjoy watching the city go by. “She’s very analytical, even in matters of the heart.”
“Being smart doesn’t mean you don’t want romance,” Zara retorted. “She probably wants it more.”
The cab slowed as they arrived at the museum. Lily asked the driver to wait as Will and Zara got out. She moved to the edge of her seat and took her brother’s hand through the window. “I love you most. I love you best, you know that, right?”
Will nodded, sensing he was going to dread what she said next.
“I don’t think you should go after EJ. You’re not ready.”
“Why?” he asked softly.
“There’s too much Carrie in your letter and your approach. It’s selfish. It’s about your image. It’s not about her.”
Will looked crushed. “But I like EJ, a lot. I said a bunch of good things,” he insisted.
“But the nice things you said made the awful things sound even worse.” Lily tugged on the ends of his scarf. “You wouldn’t be good to her, not now. Until you can say how you feel in a way that’s all about her, you need to say nothing at all.” She blew Will a kiss and sat back down in the cab.
Will stood frozen on the steps of the museum and then turned to follow Zara inside.
EJ
At the train station Sunday night, EJ kissed her parents goodbye quickly so she and Maya could get seats together. Thanksgiving weekend was always super crowded on the ride back. Once they got to Delaware, EJ popped open a bag of Utz cheese curls and sighed happily.
“These are better than every other cheese curl. I don’t know how they do it!” She lifted one with delight, then consumed it happily.
Maya gaped at her in mock shock. “I remember when you were a vegan who wouldn’t eat carbs.”
EJ snickered. “Going vegan just made dieting easier. No one ever offers you food.” She laughed.
Maya gave a sharp intake of breath. “Oh God. First, it was morning runs. Then doing arm curls on the bus. Then the lunges across the living room and the hundred crunches before bed every night. Then once you had a little bit of body, you went all-in on dieting—hard.” She sucked her teeth. “Like there was something wrong with looking like a Murphy woman.”
EJ willed herself not to roll her eyes. The women on her mom’s side of the family tended to be “thick as grits,” to borrow a phrase from her aunt, Denise. Both Maya and her mother fit that mold. She also had their mother’s medium-brown skin and “good hair.” EJ took after their father with dark skin and a cotton-candy afro.
“I had to diet. Momma and Daddy wouldn’t let me get a breast reduction,” EJ joked. “I had the perfect Balanchine body until puberty hit like a freight train.”
Maya shook her head. “It made me tired to watch you,” she continued. “The daily weigh-ins, the YouTube Pilates, all that green juice. I think there was, like, a month that you didn’t eat solids.”
EJ shrugged. No one got it then and they still didn’t now. “I did what I had to do. I was already a little too tall for some companies and—let’s be real—too dark for others. Since the pool of places that would be open to hiring me was pretty small, I had to make sure I was able to compete. Some places could look past the booty, some places could look past the boobs, but there’s no dance company you can get in with both—even Alvin Ailey. Believe me, I checked.” EJ laughed.
Maya did not. She continued as if she had never stopped speaking. “I remember the constant tape measuring, the shrinking portions, the word discipline taped to your mirror like some kind of curse. You wouldn’t eat anything if you didn’t know its calorie count. You never stopped exercising.” She took a moment to look at EJ. “You know you scared the hell out of us.”
“Oh, come on, Maya. I wasn’t half as bad as some of the girls in my class—the ones not blessed with thinness, that is. At least I ate every day.”
Maya sucked her teeth again. “And that unhealthy culture is why Mom and Dad pulled you out of dance school.”
EJ was grateful she was sitting down. She shook so violently that she thought she might fall over otherwise.
“What?” was all she could manage.
Maya looked panicked; her eyes darted around the train car. “I don’t—maybe. They never said so directly, explicitly, but—”
EJ must have been looking at her sister awfully hard, because she stopped hesitating and told the story.
“Okay. I happened to be with Mom one day when she came to pick you up. It was the spring before your last recital. She wanted me to help carry your giant tutus to the car. Mom’s handing over her credit card to the receptionist when your class lets out. We overheard a teacher compliment you on the obvious success of your regimen. She said you were ‘about fifteen pounds from being hirable’ if your technique stayed strong. I saw Momma tense all over. She held it together until we got back to the car and I saw her text Dad, saying, ‘These people are trying to kill our baby.’ You remember this was around the time that Cousin Gigi had been hospitalized for her bulimia.”
“That’s different. I didn’t have an eating disorder.”
“You definitely had something unhealthy going on, and it was only going to get worse with you chasing those last pounds.” She shook her head, frowning. “Who says that to a teenage girl, anyway?”
EJ fell back into her seat. She could see Maya was talking to her, and getting more and more distressed, but she felt like she couldn’t move. At some point, she must have started crying. She didn’t realize it until Maya brushed the tears from her cheek. The woman in front of them turned around in concern, but Maya waved her away. She pulled EJ close and rocked her.
EJ couldn’t respond. She just cried and let herself be held. “Why didn’t they tell me the truth?” she said, her voice distorted by sobs.
For so long, EJ had made a point of being “the good one,” the one her parents could talk to calmly—without yelling. Now it felt like all the effort and holding stuff in hadn’t made things better.
What was the point of having discussions if—when it really counted—they just lied? Something fundamental had shifted with this new knowledge. Whatever their reasons, her parents seemed different to her now.
It took her a little while, but eventually, EJ’s tears slowed. She sniffled. The train made it past Philadelphia before she could speak again.
“I don’t know what to do. All I can think about is how my life would be different if they’d had a conversation with me. Maybe I would have been a dance major. Maybe I would have gotten into acting. Maybe I would have gotten back into tap—I liked tap!” She broke off with another sob. Maya looked miserable, but EJ carried on.
“When they sat me down and said, ‘Baby, we can’t afford this,’ I listened. I acknowledged how they had given so much to get me that far, and I accepted it. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even cry in front of them. I thought I was sacrificing dance for them. Because I loved them.”
Maya stroked EJ’s hair and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her coat. “Sweetness, they could never afford the lessons. Even with your scholarships, you know you were attending a very expensive ballet school in a pretty expensive area—not to mention the summer intensives. Don’t you think they might have liked to take a vacation instead?”
Even in the midst of her swirling emotions, EJ had to acknowledge the truth of this. She thought back to the improvements h
er parents had made in the house. They must have wanted to do them for some time.
Maya continued. “Know what I remember? Your recitals, all the other parents were defense contractors and lobbyists on their iPhones—and then there were Momma and Daddy: a public-school teacher and a guidance counselor, right there with them.”
She wrapped her arms around EJ’s waist. “I’m not judging you, though. They couldn’t afford to keep me knee deep in really good art supplies, either. I didn’t realize just how generous they were until I started buying my own. You know how it all got paid for? Dad teaching summer sessions, Mom doing extra tutoring through the year. She shops at Macy’s sometimes now, not just Marshalls. Daddy golfs, for Christ’s sake.” Maya stroked her back. “They made it happen because it made us happy.”
EJ was silent, considering.
“The world is not as altered as you think,” Maya added.
BACK TO CAMPUS
EJ
On the ride back to Hertfordshire, EJ remembered that she still needed an answer for Stella. She took a deep breath and pushed everyone—her parents, Jamie, Tessa—out of her mind to focus on one question: What do I want? She applied it to her career and her life.
Kids? Meh.
Money? Yes, but she didn’t need to be rich—she wanted something more like security.
And I’d like to do something good—at least not evil.
Maybe I could help cities adapt to climate change? Or help climate change not kill us all?
The train was slow, so EJ had a lot of time to think. She started with a word cloud. That turned into a list of questions. After some research on her phone, it became a list of . . . demands was too strong. Conditions? That was more accurate but still not quite right. It was a list of the things EJ wanted out of the Fields Fellowship. If Stella thought it was possible to get what she wanted, then she’d go for it. Still, EJ was fairly sure that Stella was expecting her effusive yes. She hated the thought of disappointing her, but she had to put her needs out there.
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