He sat down on the couch next to me. “Do you really think so?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, definitely. Been there, done that. No one is going to take you seriously if you do another action role, Jake. Especially a unworthy action role.”
He laughed. “You have got to stop hating on action movies so much.”
“I don’t hate action movies,” I said, delicately. “I just think there’s only going to be so many good action characters, like Rambo or John McClane, and that the rest are just the same.”
“All right, all right,” he conceded, “maybe you’re right. But what about the other two?”
“I like them both. They’re both very different but they’re good options for you. They’ll show you in a different light than Crime Scene and all those action movies. This rom-com could open you up to more roles, which would definitely be good, you know?” He nodded and I continued. “But Jake, this other role, the one based on Patrick Edwards’ book, that one could be career-changing for you.”
Jake sighed, and ran his hand through his hair, looking a little stressed. “I just don’t know if I can get that role, McKinley.”
“Well, not with that attitude, Jake,” I said, whacking him on the shoulder with my hand.
“I’m serious. Going Home is the best selling novel of the year; everyone has read it and they want to cast me to play the main character. That doesn’t make sense. What have I ever done that says I can pull this off?” Jake said.
I pulled away, looking at him long and hard. Though Jake and I had been dating for about three months, I had only really seen him vulnerable one time; the night we had sat talking outside of Ricky’s house. Now I was seeing it again. This wasn’t the overconfident, charming, nothing-can-go-wrong Jake Kennedy that US Weekly and Entertainment Tonight knew but this was the normal, unsure, still-learning, young Jake that I felt more connected to. “Jake, just because you’ve been stuck doing the same movie over and over again doesn’t mean that you’re a terrible actor or that you aren’t capable of producing something great. You’re great on Crime Scene whether you believe it or not. This season, you’ve gotten even better; it’s your best yet. They want you to do this movie for a reason.”
“Because I’m famous,” Jake grumbled.
“No,” I said, firmly. “No, Jake. That’s not it at all. God, why do you have to do that to yourself? You’re good, you’re really good.”
“Sometimes,” Jake started, and then paused. “Sometimes, it’s just hard to do something new, you know. Sometimes it’s hard to take that step and get out of your comfort zone. Its hard to open yourself up to that.”
Jake was looking at me knowingly and I knew that he was talking more than just a movie role. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat and avoided his gaze. “Sometimes you have to take a chance, you know? Sometimes you have to get out of the comfort zone because you never know when something great can happen.”
He flashed that million-dollar smile at me. “Yeah, you never know what could happen, hmm.” I shrugged, trying to hide my own smile. He bumped my shoulder with his and then took the Patrick Edward’s script from my hands. “You going to be okay without me for a couple weeks?”
Jake was leaving the next day for New York. He was going to hit up a few of the talk shows over there, while also going to the New York premiere of Break. I paused, as if thinking about, and then rolled my eyes. “Considering that I spent nearly twenty-five years without you, I think I’m going to be okay.”
Jake didn’t laugh at my joke. “It’s just the first time that I’m going away for my work. That’s usually what my life is like. I film from August to February, all day, every day. Then I usually spend my spring promoting Crime Scene and whatever movie I’ve made and then I spend the summer filming. You’ve been spoiled for an actor’s girlfriend…friend.”
“I promise, I’ll be just fine,” I said, laughing. “You’ll be back in a couple weeks and I’m sure you’ll have fun in New York.”
“Yeah, but it’d be better with you,” he said, simply.
“Well, then you’ll just have to bring me back something awesome,” I said, lightly.
“You would like that,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “I’m just kind of pissed that I’m missing Christmas and New Year’s with you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, vaguely. Secretly, I had been very glad and relieved when I found out Jake would be in New York for the holiday season. He had been dropping heavy hints about spending Christmas together, at his parent’s house. This was a definite no-no. I never spent Christmas with anyone other than Luke and my diner family. Never once had I ever spent it with a boyfriend. That was inviting more emotion and more commitment than I was ever willing to give. I knew that Jake would not have taken it well once I had finally told him that I would not be spending Christmas with him and was glad that this unpleasant task was taken out of my hands with this little press tour.
“And I don’t like the idea of being gone while you’re going through this thing with your mom.”
I winced inwardly. Jake’s obvious affection (I honestly couldn’t think of it more than that) was starting to make me uncomfortable. I knew it wouldn’t be too much longer before I would have to cut the cord, despite all the fun I was having. “It’s all right, Amanda and Luke are here. And I’m a big girl; I can handle it.”
* * * * * *
A few days later, I found out I was so very wrong.
I woke up that morning, lacking all the confidence I had shown Jake just days before. I took my time doing everything, finding excuses to not get ready to go to Tony’s. I opened the diner, which took me little time. I cleaned out all the coffee pots and then worked my way to the walk-in fridge, eventually making my way to the fryer. I was halfway through wiping down the griddle when Luke came in.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyebrow raised and a look of surprise plain on his face. “Why are you cleaning the griddle?”
“It’s disgusting,” I said, putting a little more of my arm into scrubbing it. I was starting to get a little frustrated; when was the last time that Chris or Mitch had cleaned, really cleaned, this thing?”
“She’s avoiding,” Dave called from his seat at the counter. “She’s been running around, cleaning things all morning.”
Luke looked at me, and I could see it in his eyes, the same feeling that I had had all day. “Is that true?”
“Not at all,” I said, promptly. “I just think it’s about time to clean out the oven. Have you seen the racks? They’re horrible, I can’t believe I bake cookies on there.”
“McKinley.”
“Seriously, Luke, we need to make a cleaning list for everyone because this is just appalling.”
“McKinley.”
“Do you think Chris will hate cleaning the vents? I mean, he’s so tall; it’ll just be easy for him. Maybe I’ll just do it myself with the ladder…”
“McKinley!”
“What?” I said, looking up, my eyes wide.
“Don’t give me that innocent look; it doesn’t work for me anymore. You need to stop cleaning the diner right now and go and meet your mother.”
I looked at him in shock. “I thought you were against all of this. You certainly seemed against all of it.”
Luke leaned against one of the counters and sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’m not really for it, honestly. I’m extremely protective of you, McKinley. I’ve been taking care of you since I was twenty-three.”
“Raising me,” I corrected him, quickly.
“Right,” Luke said, a small smile on his face. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t want Corinna to be, well, Corinna. But the fact is, she is your mother, Kins, and I can’t help but want you to try. You never knew your mom and I don’t want you to keep wondering your whole life, not when you have the chance in front of you right now.”
I let what he said sink in for a moment before throwing down my towel. “All right, you’re right. I’m going to ge
t changed.”
I made it to Tony’s Little Italy about five minutes past noon, cursing myself for being late. If there was one thing I hated, it was being late. Tony’s was a small place, tucked away in a small strip mall in Placentia. If you didn’t know any better, you might just drive right past without pausing to look. But for those who did know where it was, it was a place where one could enjoy an authentic Chicago-style deep-dish pizza that was utterly delicious. It was an explosion of Chicago Cubs memorabilia with not a White Sox logo in sight. Someone had once told me how you could tell an authentic Chicago eatery: they either sported the Cubs or the Sox. You just couldn’t have both.
I walked in, glanced around the small shop and saw that my mom had not made it yet. I relaxed a little; sometimes I was too paranoid about being on time and I forgot that others were not as punctual as me. I put in an order for a medium deep-dish pepperoni so that it would hopefully be ready by the time she showed up. One important thing about Tony’s was that the wait for the pizza was long but it was worth it.
When it was about half past noon and the pizza had shown up and my mother had not, I started to get worried. My immediate emotion should’ve been anger but that wasn’t there at all. I was worried and I was scared and the feelings felt entirely too familiar. I kept glancing at the screen of my phone, though only seconds passed in between each glance. It was about forty-five minutes past noon, that I caught the owner’s eye and asked for a take-out box for the now cold pizza.
“McKinley, right?” he asked, when he brought over the box.
I nodded, not surprised at all that he knew my name. I was a regular here, and I was known here, just as I knew my regulars back at Luke’s. “Yeah.”
“Lady came by earlier for you, left a note,” he said, looking apologetic. “I didn’t remember until right now, when I saw you waiting there.” He passed over a small white envelope, with a sympathetic smile and walked back behind the counter.
I stared at the envelope for a moment and then tucked it inside the pocket of my coat. I packed up the pizza and headed out to my car. I turned the key, bringing the car to life and immediately turned up the heater. Ben Wright’s newest single blasted out of the speakers; I’d had it on repeat for the past few weeks. I yanked the envelope out of my pocket and held out in front of me, my thumbs making creases in the corners. My name was written in clear script. The writing meant nothing to me. I could recognize Luke’s handwriting, Crystal’s, Amanda’s, even Jake’s but the writing of my mother didn’t do anything to me.
I squeezed the envelope between my left fist, squishing it and crumpling it. I sighed, smoothing it out as much as I could and tore it open. A small fold of paper fell out, looking very much like a paper ripped from a hotel stationary pad. I opened it up, and smirked when I saw that it indeed had the heading from the local Embassy Suites.
The note was short, to the point, and void of all emotion. It also cut me just as badly as I thought it would.
McKinley,
I am so sorry that I couldn’t meet you today for lunch. I received a call about an interview for job and found that I just couldn’t pass it up. I wanted to stop by the diner before I left but there just wasn’t time. I hope that this note finds its way to you. I hope to see you soon and that you understand why I had to leave.
Mom.
I took a few deep breaths, and before I could stop myself, I crumbled the paper up tightly in my fist and threw it in the passenger seat, where it skidded across and fell to the floor between the seat and the door. My fingers were wrapped around the steering wheel tight, my knuckles white. A sound was beginning to form in the back of my throat and bubble up to my lips before I realized that I was trying to hold back a sob. I shrieked in frustration, slamming my fist into the steering wheel.
I didn’t know why I was surprised, but I was. I was expecting to see her in there, waiting for me, just as I had expected her to come back so many years ago. For all these years, I had held myself away from her, telling myself I didn’t care if she ever came back, that if she did, I would have a million things to say to her, none of them nice. Never did I actually expect her to come back. All those things I had spent years rehearsing in my head and not one of them managed to make it to the surface when I actually saw her. Instead, I let myself agree to meet her; I agreed against my first judgment and I opened myself to this. I reached across the passenger seat and opened the glove compartment, sure that there were a few napkins shoved in there somewhere. After sifting around, I managed to procure an extremely wrinkly napkin. I pressed it to my face for a moment before wiping up my angry tears.
I somehow made the drive back to the diner. My music was blasting loudly in the car. It was a distraction from anything else going on, drowning out my own thoughts. I pulled into the parking lot with aggression, screeching to a stop and slamming the door shut. I burst into the diner, and saw that Frank, Amanda, Cameron and Luke were all sitting at the counter, playing what seemed to a game of Scrabble. They all looked up when I walked in, smiles across the board. It didn’t take long at all for their smiles to fade.
Amanda immediately stood up and came over to me and wrapped me in a hug. I wasn’t a touchy feely person and I tended to stay away from forms of affection. However, Amanda always hugged with everything she had; she didn’t hold back. That combined with the fact that she was a good three or four inches taller than me, made me feel like I was as safe as I possibly could be.
“What happened?” Luke said, his voice somewhere to the left of Amanda. He sounded angry and I could hear Scrabble tiles hitting the floor with tiny little plinks.
Before I had gotten out of my car, I had grabbed the letter and shoved it into my jacket pocket. I pulled it out now; it was already crumpled and there was a small tear in the left bottom corner. I held it out to Luke, wordlessly. He took it and read it out loud; I turned away from the four of them.
“Oh, McKinley,” Luke said, softly when he had finished reading it. “I’m so…”
“Fuck her,” I said, sharply, my fists clenched inside my jacket pockets.
Amanda took a step back away from me, worry etched across her face. “McKinley, you don’t have to…”
“I mean it,” I said, as calmly as I could manage, my fingernails biting into my palms as I squeezed my fists tighter. “Fuck her. It’s fine. I didn’t expect her to be there anyway.”
“You don’t have to pretend, sweetie. Not for us,” Frank said, gathering up the tiles that had scattered on the floor.
The word “sweetie” might have been my undoing. I felt the lump in my throat rise up again and I had to look up at the lights to prevent my eyes from welling up more. “I’m going upstairs,” I spat out before I turned on my heel and sprinted up the stairs. I managed to get all the way up the stairs and into my bedroom before I started crying.
It took a couple hours for me to calm down, which was helped by the fact that no one came up stairs to check on me. I had heard my phone go off a few times, but I knew better. It was either Amanda, who sometimes braved talking to me on the phone, rather than in the flesh, especially when my temper got the best of me, or it was Jake, wanting to know how things had gone. I couldn’t really stomach either one of those until I had calmed down. I grabbed the box of tissues sitting on my desk, there for allergies and make-up removal, never there for actual tears, and scrolled through my missed-calls log. Two from Amanda, and three from Jake. I had been wrong; they both had called me. I took a deep breath and pressed the ‘call’ button.
“McKinley!”
“Hi Jake,” I said, brightly.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, sounding a bit wary. “Amanda texted me; she said things hadn’t gone so well.”
Of course Amanda would still have Jake’s number saved in her phone. For some reason, this bothered me. “It’s fine, seriously. She had to leave last minute to go on a job interview. No big deal,” I said, trying to sound as breezy and uncaring as I possibly could.
“Baby, you don’t
have to pretend with me,” Jake answered, a little shortly. I could hear him turn away for a moment and tell someone to wait a moment. “I’m here for you.”
“Honestly, Jake, it’s completely fine,” I said, a little bite in my tone, hinting at him to back off.
“But…”
“How’s New York?” I asked, cutting him, refusing to discuss this any further. In my mind, it was done, over, and I didn’t want it mentioned ever again. “What show do you have today?”
“I’m about to film Letterman, actually,” he admitted, “which is why Adrienne keeps walking into the room and BUGGING ME.” He shouted the last part away from the phone, presumably at Adrienne.
I laughed, surprising even myself at how natural I sounded. “Well, go be a superstar then, okay?”
A Little Less than Famous Page 19