by Q. T. Ruby
I shoot up, panicked. “What? Extended family?”
“Yes. Why?”
I lie back down. “I didn’t know about the extended family thing, so I’m just not . . . prepared.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Prepared? What exactly would you do to prepare?”
“I don’t know—not be naked?”
Knock, knock, knock!
And before I can utter a word, his bedroom door opens. His sister, Charlotte, pokes her head in. She’s smiling mischievously. I’m aghast and sink into the sheets, hoping to disappear if possible. “Breakfast’s nearly ready. Time to get up, bunnies,” she says, closing the door, and by the heat in my face, I must be purple. Dan, however, seems completely unfazed. He shakes his head at me, laughing, and whips the blanket up, diving underneath, and heading right for my—“Oh my God! Oh my God, oh my God!” I can’t stop saying that as his tongue and lips work their magic on me.
His lips and tongue delve deeper, hypnotizing my very core until my hips begin to buck off the bed. Air is absent and my head is scrambled eggs. I gasp. Good God, I can’t form words, but I can moan—loudly—so I grab a pillow to muffle the sounds. It’s a good thing, too, because not a second later I’m screaming, “Oh my God!” into it.
I’m floppy as a rag doll when I finally re-enter Earth and open my eyes to see him grinning proudly at me. I blink slowly.
“Last night was Westminster. This morning was St. Paul’s Cathedral. Told you I’d show you the sights.”
Giggling, I say, “Well, I didn’t wear the right shoes for all this sightseeing because my legs are weak. I’m not even sure I can get up to eat. By the way, do people usually come into your room when you have girls in your bed?” I rub my eyes to wake up.
“This is a first for me.”
“First?”
He begins to sit up. “I’ve never had a girl stay over here before.”
“What?”
“Did you expect to be in some long line of girls that I’ve had over?” He laughs like I’m crazy.
“Yes.”
He’s up and grabbing clothes from the floor when he leans over, kisses me, and says, “You’re the first that’s stayed over; the first that’s met my family, too.” He winks and continues grabbing clothes.
“Oh.” This is surprising, shocking even. I’m the first? “Didn’t you have any girlfriends before?”
“Yeah, I’ve had girlfriends, some who I considered bringing home, but I just never did. I guess I didn’t want to share my family the way I want to share them with you.” He’s grinning, but seems to want to say more. “Come on—time to get ready to meet the others.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom where I shower and get ready. He must have gone to another bathroom because once I’m done, I return to his room, where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his socks. His hair is damp, and his fresh soap and shaving cream scent makes my toes tingle. I sit next to him as he finishes, and I lean in to sniff.
“What are you doing?” he says with a grin.
“Sniffing you. You smell so good.”
He kisses me then stands. “Come on. We’ll do more sightseeing later.”
Shortly after we enter the kitchen, the doorbell rings and relatives start arriving. There are kisses and hugs, and I’m introduced to everyone but can’t remember anyone’s name. It’s a buzz of conversation, trading stories, and a copious amount of food. There’s tons of laughter, and it strikes me how different my family is from Dan’s. My family is painfully uptight and rigid. Or maybe it’s just my mother, and her way has become our family’s way. No matter, I shake off the negativity and continue to enjoy the day.
At one point, I’m in the downstairs bathroom, and right outside the door I overhear two of Dan’s aunts talking—about me!
“It’s so exciting that he brought her home. I know Beatrice was so happy to meet her.”
“Well, she’s beautiful, that’s for certain, and seems quite sweet. I’m just so happy for him. Remember how Beatrice was telling us—was it last year—how depressed he seemed and how worried she was about him?”
“Oh yes. She thought maybe his career was making him crazy, but . . . well, it looks like he found what he needed. He’s certainly all smiles now.”
“He is! I wonder if a wedding is in their future.” They both giggle, but I freeze. Wedding? That’s far too big and complicated an idea to even think of! I mean, we just got back together, and we’re doing the long distance thing, and I almost didn’t come here, albeit because I’m stubborn . . . but what he said earlier—that I’m the first he’s brought home . . . could he possibly be thinking about marriage? No. He’s never even hinted at that.
I’m suddenly jittery—my hands are anyway. I realize I’ve been in the bathroom too long, so I press an ear to the door. The aunts don’t seem to be there anymore. I open the door slowly and slide back into the group. Dan’s across the living room, talking to an uncle and laughing, and the jitters vanish, like they always do when I’m around him. It’s perplexing and miraculous, really.
***
After spending a week with him in London, meeting his hometown friends and relatives, getting to know his immediate family, and, of course, “sightseeing” with him, I’m riding high. It’s been the best week—fun, sweet, romantic, and frankly, hot as hell since who knew Dan Chase could look that good in Christmas sweaters? Point is, I’m exhausted in all good ways.
Together, we fly to New York, where he stays for a few days before promo for his new Sushman movie begins. He’s got to prepare, by taking a class or something, so he’ll be headed to L.A. shortly, which means I’ll have to say good-bye once again. God, I hate good-byes.
Of course, we didn’t hold back in London. It was plain as day that we’re a couple—holding hands, huddled in bar corners, and kisses given when and where we pleased; it’s probably why it’s all over the papers and the TV and the Internet. It’s so strange to see “Daniel Chase” and “Daniel Chase’s girlfriend” as trending topics.
As always, my mother adds her two cents. I shouldn’t have been surprised, and I should’ve been better prepared, but when I called her—as promised—on my return to New York, she was ready for a fight. At first the conversation was cordial, what with only a light layer of guilt slathered on about me missing Christmas with my family. But then she dove in. “I just can’t understand why you need to have this career—date this boy—”
I came out into the hall to talk. No need for anyone, especially Dan, to hear this. “He’s a man, not a boy, Mom.”
“He’s a baby, Claire. We’ve been over this. I just don’t understand. And now, to add insult to injury, the details of your life are public knowledge. Does this make you happy?”
“No, Mom, it doesn’t make me happy, but like any relationship, there are pros and cons.”
“I don’t see any pros, really, except that he’s rich.”
I sigh audibly.
“I’m just trying to have a conversation with you. Why do you always get so heated?”
“Because you’re making me nuts! You’re always making me defend my decisions! I don’t know how else to tell you that he makes me happy, and so does making music. Why can’t you be okay with that?”
She huffs in frustration. “When my friends start asking what’s true or not with you, I just don’t know what to say, because according to the news, your relationship is on then off then on again. You realize none of this makes sense, that nothing in his life is real, and it cannot possibly be healthy for you.”
“Tell them it’s none of their business. And for the record, his life and my life are very real; it’s just not what you expect. I realize the media is a new and very weird thing for you—geez, I’m still trying to understand it all—but this is what it is.”
“It doesn’t need to
be.”
“Stop.”
“Well, between the two of your odd lives, are you two coming to your father’s surprise birthday?”
Shit. “When is that again?”
“You don’t even remember your father’s birthday?”
“I’m sorry. My head is busy—anyway, when is it again?”
“The first weekend in February. The invitations have been sent out, and I’m planning everything now, so if you’re not coming, well, you better change your plans to be there.” She’s so snippy with me, and yet she wonders why I get frustrated.
“I’m sure we’ll be there. I’ll double check with Dan and let you know.”
“Yes, please let me know if your schedules allow for your family anymore.”
“Mom! Stop trying to make me feel guilty! I have to go.”
“Fine!”
And we both hang up. I stay in the hallway for a few moments to settle myself. I don’t want my final hours with Dan ruined.
Later that night, as Dan and I lie in bed, cuddled together, he says, “Come with me.”
“Where? I’m all cozy here. I don’t want to get up.” I nestle in more.
“Not now.” He laughs. “To L.A. I don’t like being across the country from you. I like you next to me.”
“I do, too.”
“So come.”
The worry train starts its engine, but before it can leave the station, I blurt out, “Okay.”
He squeezes me. “Whoa. That was easier than I thought! Usually you’re so difficult,” he says with a laugh.
“Difficult? What?” I prop myself up on an elbow to face him.
“Yes, usually you’re worried about this or that, and I’m not sure—you have a busy mind.” He taps my temple, smiling.
“You mean I’m crazy? I know.”
He laughs and gives me a quick kiss. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.”
I settle in with him again, breathe deeply, and whisper, “Me, too.”
***
The next day we’re in my room, and he’s sitting on my bed, while I’m standing, packing my suitcase for our flight to L.A. later in the evening. Dan’s phone rings. “It’s Len. I have to take it.”
“Want me to leave the room?”
He shakes his head as he answers the call. “Hey, Len . . . We’re getting ready to fly out tonight . . . Yeah, Claire’s coming with me . . . What? Why not?” He’s silent and still, and I know something isn’t right. He’s quiet a long time, listening. “What the fuck?” he finally shouts. “Why didn’t I know about this? Motherfucking fuck!”
I freeze in the middle of folding a shirt to watch him. He leans his head on his hand, and his knee bounces madly. He’s not looking my way at all, but I can tell his face is red.
“Yeah, I know I said that, but that was a long time ago. Fuck! So for how long . . .? Seven fucking weeks? This is bullshit.” He gets up, starts pacing, and then stops to stand in front of my windows, absently looking outside. “Yeah. Whatever.” His voice is calmer, but just barely. “Yeah . . . yeah. See you there.” He hangs up and turns to me, staring, and says nothing for too long—and it’s freaking me out.
“What’s going on?” I ask, bracing myself for the unknown.
He starts pacing again. “Well, we all know Sushman is a fucking weird arsehole. Stellar at what he does, but he’s a notorious control freak, which means everything about his movies—I mean, every single thing—is handpicked by him, including every bit of promotion. Normally, I don’t have to prepare much for promotion, but as you know under his contract he’s making me and the other actors take a fucking promotions course, which okay, fine, not a big deal, but . . . I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.”
My heart sinks to new depths. “Okay.”
“As a part of my fucking contract, Sushman is requiring me to be single—as in without a girlfriend.” He throws his phone onto my chair and rakes his hands through his hair.
“What?”
“It means I have to be single, or as Len pointed out, appear single.”
I nod and exhale, relatively relieved. “Oh. Okay. Well, that’s not a big deal. So we just go back to being friends in public, that’s all.”
Dan paces in front of me. “I wish. No. Sushman plans to give me and the other leads bodyguards, which in Len’s description, sounds more like fucking wardens than anything else. They’re even going to confiscate my phone so I don’t cheat—that way, I’m playing the role of a single guy in my real life.”
“What? But why?”
Dan sighs like he’s disgusted. “Because Sushman sees his movies as experiences—the promo included in that. And in order to make it the most authentic for the viewer, he prefers to blur the line between reality and his movie, which means the actors are to live the part in our real lives.”
I pause, trying to understand this insanity. “That’s seriously messed up.”
“It sure is. Plus . . . I guess one of my movies a couple of years back didn’t do as well as people expected—I mean, it was an early movie, kind of a crappy one at that—and I was dating someone at the time, so Sushman is attributing the lack of box office to my dating someone publicly.”
“I don’t get it—how are those two things related?”
His pacing is faster, his speech angrier. “Sushman believes that my personal life will effect the movie experience he’s making for the public. If I’m in a relationship then he believes it affects how well the audience connects to the characters. And, of course, he’s assuming it won’t make as much money.”
My eyes are wide. This is beyond my comprehension. “He’s literally insane, Dan. I mean, you didn’t sign up for this. Did you?”
He stops pacing and bends at his waist, his hands resting on his knees, while he breathes deeply. He straightens up and looks at me. “Actually, I did. We all had to sign a contract before we even auditioned—to show our “commitment to the project.” And there was a clause in there that said Sushman could do whatever he fucking wanted with us. I mean—” He stops to run his hand across the back of his neck. “I told Len I’d do anything, and I kept repeating ‘anything’ to get this part, because Sushman parts are like winning the career lottery. I used to think so, anyway.” He turns and stares out the window, his arms crossed over his chest. Between his agitation and his inability to stay still, it’s clear he’s ready to burst apart. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so wound up, frantic even.
“Len didn’t want me to sign it, but I insisted. Circumstances were different then.” Over his shoulder, he glances at me. “You weren’t in my life.” Dan stares out of the window again, and continues, his voice eerily calm. “Sushman told Len that he expects my full cooperation on this, which is to say, if I fuck this up, he’ll ruin my career. And he will.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, more or less to myself.
“Exactly.”
We’re silent for a few minutes. I suppose we’re both trying to process this strange and terrible turn. We just returned from a dream trip in London, where things felt so right, and we seemed to grow closer and our relationship, stronger. But suddenly—poof! End of story. Game over. Done. Everything’s on pause because there’s a new role to play—single. I watch him standing there—arms crossed, jaw tight, face hard—and he seems moments away from exploding.
I cannot let him deal with this alone, nor can I show him one ounce of the fear and worry already mounting in my head of what this will mean for us as a couple. With my heart lodged in my throat, I get up and walk up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “It’s okay.” I kiss his shoulder. “It’s not forever.” This will absolutely feel like forever. And ever and ever. Ugh—shut up, Claire!
He shakes his head, and his body remains tense. I rest my cheek against his back.
“They’re going to make me go on ‘dates,’ Claire. Public places with who knows who.”
“They can do that?”
“He can keep me locked in a dungeon if he wants.” A growl vibrates inside his chest. “The part I play is a hard womanizer, so that’s what Sushman expects me to sell during promo.”
A silent temper tantrum is raging inside me. “So we can’t talk at all while we’re apart?” I ask it gently, even though I want to scream.
“How can we?” He throws his hands up, breaking my embrace. I back away as he marches around the room. “I won’t have my phone, and they’ll be following me.”
“Maybe sneak one of those cheap phones? Or call Camille’s or Bridget’s phone? How about using Colin’s phone?”
He stops at my dresser and gazes at the new frame and photo of us his mom gave me for Christmas. He runs his finger around its edge. “I could try, but Colin’s heading out on tour, and then there’s the fucked-up aspect of being watched—as if I’m not watched enough already.”
He’s so delicate right now, and frankly so am I. I’m unsure what to say, but I need to find a silver lining and expose it. I step next to him, touching his forearm. He looks at me with narrow, pained eyes. “The good news is that this is temporary, and, of course, you need to think about your long-term career. That’s what matters, you know?” I reach up and comb my fingers through his thick hair. His eyes close for a moment, and he seems to relax a smidge. “On the phone you said something about seven weeks, is that how long we have to be apart?” With his eyes still closed, he nods. “Okay . . .” I swallow the rising sadness and continue. “In the grand scheme, it’s just a short time, and then things will go back to normal . . . right?” At least I sound rational and calm.
He opens his eyes and brushes my cheek with the back of his hand. “Yes, but . . .”
“But what?”
He seems to be struggling with what to say, so I kiss him gently. He relaxes a fraction more, then sighs and shakes his head.