Just Like the Movies

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Just Like the Movies Page 7

by Natasha Preston


  On my way out of the house, I grab my phone and keys.

  I’m too scared to look at my parents again.

  Anya is waiting for me outside the building when I arrive. She often does this. It’s as if she’s worried that something bad has happened. Especially with my rush to get an appointment before her holiday.

  She’s a petite black woman with raven black hair down to her butt. She has the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. The woman is an angel, and every time I see her, I feel like I can cope for a little bit longer. Today, her hair is twisted into a giant bun on the top of her head.

  “Indie,” she greets me warmly. I doubt she meets everyone outside, but I’ve been coming to see her every two weeks since I was sixteen.

  “Hey, Anya.”

  We walk through the lobby and into her duck egg blue office. I take a seat on her cream wingback chair, and I unscrew the cap of my bottled water. It always smells like vanilla in here. She has unlit scented candles and explained that vanilla is a comforting smell. It wasn’t to me before I started coming here.

  “Are you looking forward to going home?” I ask her.

  “The Caribbean is beautiful.” She smiles and sits opposite me on a chair identical to my own. “You would love it.”

  “I’ll bet I would.”

  “How have you been this past fortnight?”

  “Spencer is home.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “He is? This was a planned visit, though, no?”

  “Yeah. He’s early—he wanted to surprise his parents—but I knew he was coming home soon.” Everyone is going home. I have no idea what it’s like to want that.

  “How do you feel about him being back?”

  “Confused. I mean, I’m happy to see him, obviously.”

  “Why the confusion if you’re happy to see him?”

  I take a sip and screw the lid on my bottle. “It’s temporary. Very temporary. He’s talking about auditions and a second movie. He will get one, of course. Then a third, fourth, fifth. We’re doomed.”

  Her smile is friendly. “Doomed is a little strong, don’t you think?”

  “That’s how it feels. Our friendship has always been strong but recently—the last six months really—it’s felt so fragile, I’m scared to breathe in case it breaks.”

  “Have you spoken to Spencer about this?”

  Like hell. “No.”

  “That might be an idea. He could have other plans.”

  I frown, fiddling with the curled edge of the bottle’s label. “Plans?”

  “To keep in touch. To remain close friends through the inevitable distance.”

  “I’m not saying he will chuck our friendship away happily. I just think we’ll slowly fall apart. He’ll have less time, and so will I. Next year I graduate, and then I need to focus on starting a career.”

  Anya tilts her head to the side. “I guess you need to decide how a future friendship with him will look. When we grow up and take on jobs, mortgages and responsibilities, we have less and less time for our friends. It happens to most people. I see my friends about once a month now. In university, we were together every day.”

  “I’m being unreasonable.”

  “It’s not unreasonable to want something that has been a constant source of stability and happiness to continue. It can, Indie, but things will inevitably change, whether Spencer spends months away working or he stays home with a nine-to-five job.”

  “One day he’ll get married, and his wife won’t want him hanging around with his childhood friend every night.”

  “Are you hoping that things could have worked out between you two when you tried?”

  My shoulders sag. I long for that every single day. I will never be enough for him. “It wouldn’t work, even if he was here with a nine-to-five.”

  “Because you would have to eventually introduce him to your parents. Or at the very least, tell him about them.”

  I nod. That, and he can do better than the unwanted girl with the broken family.

  “There is nothing for you to feel ashamed about. Your parents’ actions do not reflect on you.”

  My fingernails dig into the plastic bottle. Anya’s dark eyes flick to the bottle then back to me. I let go.

  She gently pushes further. “The stats on children living with a parent or parents abusing alcohol or drugs is devastating. You are not alone, Indie. The very fact that you’re excelling in university and planning a successful career speaks volumes about your character.”

  I feel like I have a million ants crawling all over my body. I wrap my arms around my waist, letting the bottle drop onto the chair.

  Anya remains silent, letting me digest her words and consider how I want to progress with this session.

  Honestly, all I can think about is running out of the door.

  “I understand that I can’t do anything about them.”

  She smiles sadly. “Will you consider telling someone about your parents? It doesn’t have to be Spencer. It could be Wren or Mila.”

  My eyes widen in fear, as if she’s forcing me to do this.

  “Consider it. You don’t have to do it, but I do want you to think about how you would open up and what you would say.”

  I press my lips together.

  “What do you think they would say?” she asks.

  Ice-cold fear trickles down my spine. “They would be sympathetic, feel sorry for me, tell me they wished I’d told them earlier. They would want to be there for me like I’m a five-year-old.”

  “No. They would love you, tell you how amazing you are, and insist that you lean on them when you need to.”

  “They would definitely feel sorry for me.”

  “Who wouldn’t feel sympathy for a child who has been through what you have? That doesn’t mean they will think you’re fragile or in need of rescue. You have proven that you can take care of yourself since you were a child. All I’m saying is that you don’t always have to. There are times in friendships and relationships when you aren’t equal; one of you may take more care of the other from time to time. That’s normal.”

  “That’s the thing, I don’t want anyone to take care of me.”

  The last time someone was responsible for looking after me didn’t go so well.

  I don’t need anyone.

  Twelve

  Spencer

  What can a person be doing so early besides lying in? I mean, it’s six in the morning, for Christ’s sake. What library opens so early? Unless it’s the one on campus. It wouldn’t surprise me if Indie lobbied for it to open before sunlight.

  It doesn’t seem right. Something is off. Most places open at nine a.m. Could she be doing something else? Maybe she’s meeting a guy and not ready to talk to me about it yet.

  I make a coffee, flinging the spoon into the sink with a little more rage than needed.

  My parents are out already. They left an hour ago to meet my aunt and uncle at a farmer’s market.

  I check my phone again and reply to a text from Denny, one from Ella, and another co-star called Ethan. Jared has also messaged, telling me he’ll meet me at LAX when I land, rather than have a driver collect me.

  I reply to them all. There’s not a thing from Indie.

  I’m tempted to go to her house, but I know that will cause a massive shitstorm.

  Well, I can’t stay here all morning. Then again, I don’t really fancy putting on a disguise to leave my own home. I’m just Spencer here, but I’m too worked up to pretend everything is rosy. Denny said that I should have someone with me here. So far, I’ve not felt the need for security in my hometown.

  My phone dings with a text. This better be Indie.

  It’s a number I don’t have saved and don’t recognise.

  Unknown: Can we meet and talk? Mila.

  Mila? What the hell can she want to talk about? I’ve spent one evening with her. It must be about Indie, so I’m obviously intrigued. I’ll also feel like a traitor if I go and talk about her behind her back. That stil
l doesn’t stop me from replying.

  Spencer: Sure. When and where?

  Mila: Now, at my place?

  Spencer: Where is your place?

  She replies a minute later with her address. It must be about Indie. I text back telling her I’ll be there soon, and then I go get ready.

  I grab my keys and get in the car with my stomach churning. Fucking guilt. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with Mila. Would that even bother Indie? I think it would. We might not be together anymore but there are lines you don’t cross. I have no interest in Mila like that, anyway.

  No woman has swayed me from Indie, and I’ve met a fuckload of them now. She’s my queen.

  Ten minutes later, I pull up in front of Mila’s house and take a breath. Indie will kill me if she knows I’m here. I don’t even know why I’m here.

  Getting out of the car, I take a look down the road in case Indie is coincidentally driving past. It’s unlikely, but I’m feeling guilty as hell.

  Mila opens the door at almost the same second I knock. Her wild, amber eyes flash down the street. She grabs me by the wrist and tugs me inside. I almost fucking trip over.

  I turn around as she’s slamming the door shut. “Jesus!” I scowl.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, wincing. “I already feel like Judas.”

  “What’s going on?”

  She splays her hand out. “Step into my office.”

  She leads me to the kitchen.

  “You live with your parents?”

  “So do you.”

  I hold my palms up. “I’m not judging.”

  “Good. I like it at home. I love my family, and I’m not ready to do my own cooking yet.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She places her hands on her hips. “Pleasantries. Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? Anthrax?”

  “What?”

  “That’s the guilt talking. I’m not a terrorist.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  She shakes her head. “Not currently.”

  “Just tea would be great.”

  Her shoulders slump. “Fine. I’ll boil the kettle.”

  Fighting a smile, I sit on a stool and watch her make two cups of tea.

  Her hair is insanely long, and it’s as black as her sense of humour.

  “Are you going to tell me what I’m doing here?” I ask.

  She stirs the tea and places mine in front of me. “Indie.”

  “… would be mad as hell if she knew we were here talking about her.”

  “Hence the anthrax.” She sits beside me. “I love that girl, and I know you do, too. Probably in different ways.” She holds her hand up as I open my mouth to speak. “Your ‘friends only’ bullshit isn’t fooling anyone. You two go ahead and pretend all you want, though.”

  Fucking hell, she wasn’t this annoying last night.

  “Can you skip to the part where you tell me why I’m here?”

  Sipping her tea, she says, “Indie is hurting. All the time.”

  I drop my eyes. “She is guarding a big part of her life.”

  “I’ve never been to her house or met her family. Do you know much about them?”

  My eye twitches. “Only that they don’t get along. It doesn’t feel right, talking about her like this.”

  “Not my finest moment as her friend either, buddy. Suck it up because we’re trying to help her. I’ve pushed a little harder over the years and she’s clammed up completely.”

  “What did you ask her?”

  “Just what her parents do, how they spend Christmas, that kind of thing.”

  “Her answer?”

  “Oh, she never replied. Subject change every time. I didn’t want to push as she might never trust me. You know, over the years, I thought she might open up. She knows everything about me. I’m an open book. She’s not.”

  “What are you expecting me to do? I don’t want to push her too far, either.”

  “Spencer…” Mila looks at me like I’m slow. “You’re the only one who can push her.”

  “I’ve tried. She knows that she can talk to me about anything, I’ve made that very clear.”

  “I’ll make it very clear, too. Help her.”

  I sip my tea just so I don’t tell her to fuck off. “Mila, I love that you love her, but I’m not sure anyone can help her until she wants it.”

  “Not true. Some people need a gentle nudge, while others need a shove off a cliff. Indie is the latter. Last night she was her old self again. You’re the one she needs, whether she admits it or not.”

  “You’re single, right?” I say.

  Her eyes narrow. “I’m yet to meet a man who doesn’t scare easy. Liam scares often.”

  Tipping my head back, I laugh. “Good luck with that. Maybe find a cage fighter.”

  “I don’t like the smell of blood… and it’s slippery.”

  “You’ve slipped on blood?”

  “I’ve never walked through a puddle of oil, either, but I imagine I’d slip.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Has anyone ever told you that talking to you is kind of like slamming your head against a wall?”

  “An ex-boyfriend once did. He was a dick.”

  I see why Indie likes her. She’s straight talking and loyal. There’s nothing I identify with her more than wanting to help Indie.

  “Will you try with her? While you’re in LA, and while she’s so far away from whatever it is she’s scared of here.”

  “Mila,” I groan.

  “Oh no, I know that version of my name. You’re not doing this for me, you’re doing it for her. Because you love her.”

  I lift the mug to my lips. “You’re very annoying.”

  “That insult bounces, Spencer. I’ve heard it way too many times. Anyway, now that’s sorted, can you introduce me to Ethan Franklin? That guy is fine.”

  “Ethan is great but he’s not the cage fighter type.”

  Her shoulders sink. “That’s disappointing.”

  “I’ll try with Indie. Of course, I will. I want her to be happy, too.”

  Mila smiles as she looks over at me. “Make it happen.”

  Thirteen

  Indie

  I get into my car, and I exhale for what feels like a year. There’s probably not a single thing about forensic mental health that I do not know. My mind is done. I’m drained, but I feel good for it.

  I can’t go home now because they’ll be awake in a few hours, and I definitively need to nap longer than that. Maybe Spencer will be up for a movie marathon earlier than planned and I can sleep on his bed.

  I unlock my phone and call him.

  “Indie, hi,” he says after the third ring.

  “Were you asleep?”

  “Erm, yeah. What’s up?”

  “Nothing, just wondered if you’re up for a movie day.”

  “Give me thirty minutes to get up and have a shower, then you’re on.”

  It’ll take me ten minutes to get to his house. “Okay, I’ll see you soon.” I’m not going home before. Starbucks is close so I can grab a quick coffee before heading over.

  We hang up, and I get out of my car. My legs feel heavy as I walk towards some much needed caffeine. It’s freezing outside but I know a cappuccino is waiting. Why is Spence now taking thirty minutes to shower and get dressed? He’s always been ready within ten.

  Bloody fame is getting to him.

  My cheeks are frozen by the time I get to Starbucks. I order a large cappuccino and take it to an empty table, which isn’t hard to find because they’ve just opened. Two hours of non-stop reading has turned my mind to mush.

  Taking a sip of my drink, I look out of the window at the frost sitting on the ground, and the tiny icicles hanging from the window frame above me. Winter is pretty, but I don’t like being cold.

  Before I was old enough to navigate utilities and things, we would often get the heating cut off because my parents forgot to pay. I would sit in my room with my fluffy pyjamas, dressing gown, slippers, and q
uilt wrapped around me while playing with toys.

  I continue to people watch as I drink. A few elderly couples walk past hand in hand, heading towards Marks and Spencer to shop.

  Spencer.

  Will he be out of the shower yet?

  Don’t think about him naked.

  I have twelve minutes until I can leave. I bite my lip, hardly able to contain my excitement.

  Why can’t I go now? I could turn up early and he would just send me into the living room while he finished getting ready. He’s never given me such a specific time before. He’s only ever said ‘come whenever’ or ‘come now’ if we were meeting up.

  He wouldn’t have a girl who wasn’t me over.

  Unless he went out to meet one?

  No, not this early. He’s not on set now so there’s no way he would get up before ten at the weekend.

  A few people come and go as I wait for the minutes to pass. No one seems to notice me sitting alone by the window. I kind of like that. I can spy without being seen. I wonder about each one of them. They look happy, but are they really? The couples seem madly in love, but you can’t be happy all of the time.

  Nothing is ever as it appears.

  Exactly twelve minutes later, I pick up my bag and head back to the car. The high street is getting busier now the shops are open. I weave between crowds of people out Christmas shopping, and others hanging around as if this is just a really cold beach.

  I slide into my car and turn the engine on. My heating takes a few minutes to kick in, so I don’t bother to wait. Spencer would wait until his car had warmed and his heated seat was burning his toned butt. The only way I’m getting a heated seat is if I sit on a hot water bottle. At least I have a car. It’s not fancy but it’s independence, and it means I can get away.

  Ten minutes later, my tension ebbs away as I pull up outside his house.

  I cut the engine and lock the door behind me.

  Spencer yells for me to come in when I knock.

  “Where are you, Spence?” I ask once inside.

  “Living room.”

 

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