by Roxy Reid
Something must show in my face, because Clara pauses. “Of course, if there’s something you think your audience will want to avoid …”
“It’s not that, I just … that one made me think about someone I know. What’s the next chart?”
“This one’s coworkers dating. Obviously we do have to be careful we’re not romanticizing workplace sexual harassment. But when done right, it keeps the story tight and focused, and it ties in to a lot of people’s fantasies and experiences. Everyone’s had a crush on that cute person in the office. Of course most people don’t act on it …”
She keeps talking, but I’m lost in memories.
Stella acted on it. Charged straight in, brave as anything. And all she wanted was for me to be brave enough to tell Duke she mattered to me.
Memories I’ve been fighting off for weeks wash over me. Stella picking furniture, turning my house into a home. Stella calling me on my shit at work. Stella laughing and gasping in my bed. Stella in her tiny, bare apartment, where she can’t reach to change the lightbulbs.
Who’s going to change the lightbulbs if I’m not there? Who’s going to buy her Thai food? Who’s going to cheer her on in her new job?
She was the best part of my day, every day. Even when she was making my life inconvenient as all hell, just being around her … Fuck, it felt good.
Why did I let her leave again?
Because no one lets Stella do anything. If she wanted to leave, nothing I did could have stopped her.
But I didn’t even try to stop her. What if she didn’t one hundred percent want to leave? What if a part of her wanted a reason to stay? And instead of giving her one, I sat on my ass.
“Now, all of this data is great for showing what attracts people to a movie.” Clara says. “But I think what’s really telling are the repeat viewing numbers. This is where the tropes start being less predictive, because it doesn’t matter how many successful ingredients you have if you burn the crust.”
Clara smiles at me expectantly, and I blink, trying to catch up. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow?”
She leans over the table like a convert spreading the gospel. “It doesn’t matter how many fun things you throw in, if people don’t believe the love story. If they don’t at the end of the day, think this couple is going to make it.”
“But how do you convince people of that?” I ask. “We can’t even tell what’s going to make a couple last in real life. Most of us can’t even tell when it’s happening to us.”
“Easy. It’s unconditional love. At first, you’re interested in someone because of how they look, what they say, what they do, how they make you feel.”
I think of Stella in that damn pencil skirt, going toe to toe with me from day one, and nod.
“But at some point it’s not any one thing anymore. They can get a new haircut, lose their job, show you their weakness. Say something that would have been a deal breaker for you, in any other relationship. But it’s not a deal breaker here, because it’s not any of the surface things you love. It’s not how they make you feel. It’s who they fundamentally are. It’s just them.”
Clara leans back and taps the page. “Which is where the repeat viewing numbers are interesting. That’s where you start seeing which movies are flashes that will fade away, and which movies are damn good storytelling that will stand the test of time.”
She keeps talking while I sit there, stunned. My heart is racing.
From the beginning, Stella has blown through everything that should have been a deal breaker for me. She’s my employee. My friend’s sister. Zero interest in the tech world. A history of leaving.
And with each barrier she blew through, with every new side of her I saw, I fell harder, faster.
With Stella, there’s nothing that’s a deal breaker anymore. I know, because I’ve been doing the thing you do when you’re trying to get over someone: focus on the part of them that wasn’t quite right for you. When my high school girlfriend the vegetarian dumped me, I ate hamburgers for a week straight.
But that hasn’t been working with Stella. Every flaw I can think of with her, with us, is irrelevant. Because it’s not a checklist. It’s not a collection of traits.
It’s just her.
Fuck. I’m in love.
Not falling, either. I am well and deeply mired in this shit.
I love Stella Harrington.
I love her so much my whole body feels bruised with missing her.
“Am I boring you?” Clara asks acerbically.
I know this is the part where I’m supposed to return my attention to the meeting. Focus on being charming. Win Clara back over as a business ally.
People like Clara Covington don’t give you two chances to apologize.
But I love Stella. And she doesn’t know it. And right now that’s the most important thing in the world.
“I’m sorry,” I say, bashing my knee on the tiny table as I stand up. “I need to go.”
“Are you serious?”
I grab my briefcase and back towards the door. “I just realized: I love her. And I need to get her back. Even if it means walking out of this meeting, even if it means walking out of a million meetings.”
“And it can’t wait thirty minutes?” Clara asks, exasperatedly.
Which is a perfectly reasonable question to ask.
But …
“No. It can’t. I fucked up, and she’s … she’s my unconditional.”
For a while we just stare at each other, but Clare’s face is unreadable.
I turn to go, knowing this is going to be fun to explain to my board, but not caring.
“Wait,” Clara says.
I turn back, exasperated. “Look, I know this is rude, I know I’m shooting myself in the foot, but I need to go—”
“You needed a business meeting and a spreadsheet to realize you were in love, so forgive me if I don’t trust your romantic instincts.” Clara drops a giant binder on the table.
It’s so heavy the table wobbles.
“What’s that?” I ask, in spite of myself.
“That,” Clara says, “is the big book of romantic gestures. Think of it as love life CPR.”
“I really don’t need—”
Clara looks at me over the top of her glasses. “How badly did you fuck up?”
I kept our relationship a secret, asked her to lie to her brother, wrongly accused her of sabotaging my company, didn’t try to stop her when she walked out, and waited until she’d been gone for weeks before I realized I love her.
I drop the briefcase and sit down.
Clara slides the binder across the table to me, and I start flipping.
An embarrassing amount of time later, I slump back in my seat. “None of these are right. I don’t want to do something with doves.”
“Don’t be silly,” Clara says. “There’s other options. Horses, for example.”
I groan. “None of them mean anything. Not to Stella.”
Clara crosses her arms in her chair, and surveys me. “Ok then. Back to basics. Every big romantic gesture comes down to two questions: Why does this Stella think you can’t be together? And what are you going to do to fix it?”
I blink. “That’s it. That’s it, Clara. I could kiss you!”
“Please don’t.”
I grab my briefcase. “And don’t forget what I said about Jamie’s Diner. Best milkshakes in town.”
“Lee and I will try it out this weekend,” she promises, but I’m already rushing out the door, and out toward my car.
Stella thinks we can’t be together because she doesn’t want to be a secret. So that’s my answer. I tell the secret. I tell Duke.
I get in the car, and take out my phone. Here goes nothing.
“Hello?” Duke says. There’s the dulcet tones of swearing and honking in the background, which means he’s heading home from work. “Dude, you never call—”
“I’m dating Stella.”
The line goes silent. Well, as
silent as a line can go when someone’s standing on the sidewalk in New York City.
“Say something, Duke.”
“… I thought you were in love with this other girl? I know you and Stella get on great, but I don’t want her to be your rebound.”
I press my fist to my forehead. “There is no other girl. The person I’m in love with is Stella.”
“Oh. Ok.” There’s a strained pause. “I guess that’s great, if you’re both happy … hey, hold the fuck on. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I wince. Knew that was coming. “I wanted to wait until we knew it was serious.”
“Why? Stella’s a grown up, she can date whoever she wants—”
“You say that,” I say, “but name one of our friends who dated Stella that you actually stayed friends with after it ended.”
“Oh, come on! If someone breaks her heart, I’m on her side, always.”
“I know that! That’s why I didn’t … that’s why I didn’t want to tell you until I thought it wouldn’t end. ‘Cause I … I care about you, doofus. And I didn’t want to lose you.”
I sit motionless in my seat, waiting for him to answer. On the other end of the line, someone yells at Duke to check where he’s fucking walking.
Duke must be really thrown for a loop, because for once in his life he doesn’t swear back at the person, just apologizes absently.
I wait, barely breathing.
“Huh,” Duke says at last. “You and my sister.”
“Yeah.”
“You love my sister.”
“Horribly.”
“Poor bastard. Well, welcome to the club,” he says, and I laugh.
“And I wouldn’t care if you guys broke up,” Duke adds, indignantly. “I’m not a teenager anymore. I know life’s complicated. And anyway, you’re my best friend, dude.”
I’m starting to relax, not really believing how easy that was, when Duke makes a horrified gasping sound. “Oh God. My mom’s going to be your mother-in-law. You poor fucking bastard.”
I groan, then slump deep into my seat. “Unfortunately, that’s uh … a little premature.”
“Dude. You just said you’re in love. You don’t think it’s going to end. And you’re into all that picket fence shit.”
“Well, that’s …” I blow out a breath. “Sort of why I’m calling.”
“What do you mean?” Duke asks.
“It already ended.”
There’s a beat of silence.
And then, “You fucking bastard.”
“See! I knew you’d react like that!” I slam my fist on the steering wheel. “You fucking hypocrite.”
“I’m not a hypocrite.”
“‘I’m not a teenager, life is complicated,’” I mimic.
“I … ok, yeah,” Duke admits. “But you know what, love isn’t.”
It’s an unusually deep thing for my bro-y friend to say, and it takes the wind out of my sails. That’s the thing with Duke. He tells the truth. Normally it’s Strippers are hot and Concussions are a bitch.
But sometimes. Sometimes it’s love isn’t complicated.
“No,” I finally agree. “No it’s not.”
He sighs. “I guess this is where a good friend would ask for your side of the story.”
I snort. “My side of the story isn’t going to make you feel better. We had a fight. I fucked up. And she left. But one of the things we fought over was me not wanting to tell you we were dating. So I’m telling you now. And then I’m going to hang up the phone and drive to her place tell her that I told you, and that I love her, and ask her to take me back.”
Duke lets out a low whistle. “Dude.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s terrifying,” he adds.
“I know.”
“Stella’s going to stab your heart with little drumsticks.”
I laugh, then groan. “Probably. Oh God, probably. But I can’t stop myself.”
“Wade …” he trails off.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. Now that I’ve gotten the big confession over with, I’m anxious to get going. It’s like every cell in my body is buzzing with the need to get to Stella.
And I really don’t need an anti-pep-talk from Duke.
“What?” I say at last.
Duke hesitates. “It’s just, you’ve never done anything like this for a girl before.”
My heart thumps. Another one of Duke’s truths.
“It’s never been like this before,” I say. Then add, “It was never Stella before.”
“Wow,” Duke says. “This is actually happening. And to think I thought this was going to be a normal Wednesday.”
I laugh, and it hurts, but it’s good. I know exactly what he means.
“Well. Fingers crossed dude,” my best friend says.
“Yeah. Fingers crossed.”
I’m about to hang up, when Duke adds, “And Wade? We can still be friends. Even if she shuts the door on your sorry ass.”
“Some consolation prize,” I tease, but I’m grinning, and he’s laughing. I immediately feel better. I’m still all sorts of knotted up over Stella, but it doesn’t feel as lonely as it did before.
Does telling Duke count as a grand gesture if it was this good for me?
Duke hangs up, still laughing.
I punch in the GPS to Stella’s apartment.
Ok. This is it. I’m really doing this.
I put my key in the ignition, take a deep breath, and drive to Stella.
15
Stella
I’m feeling surprisingly on top of it as I drive to the clinic. Turns out me and T.L.D.—The Little Dream, as I’ve taken to calling it—lucked out. One of nine clinics in the entire state of North Carolina is in Winston-Salem. But my good mood takes a hit when I have to make it through a small crowd of protesters to get to the clinic.
Strangers yelling at you when you’re already feeling alone and rickety will do that to you.
The bad mood persists in the waiting room, where everyone’s running late, and into the examination room, where everything has that sterile hospital smell.
“Maybe when you grow up you can invent a way to fix hospital wait times,” I mutter to T.L.D.
The doctor is nice enough when she finally arrives, but I don’t think there’s enough nice in the world for Yes, You’re Definitely Pregnant With Your Ex’s Kid, Mazel Tov!
But all that fades away when they do the ultrasound. The doctor explained it’s not necessary for a few more weeks, but I can do it now if I want.
And I want.
“Yep, everything looks like it should,” the doctor says. “Only one, so definitely not twins–”
Oh God. I hadn’t even thought to be worried about that.
“And, oh look. There’s the heartbeat.” The doctor breaks into a grin. “You can’t always see it this early.”
I swallow, and stare at the screen. It’s like an abstract painting. I don’t really know what I’m looking at, but I know what I feel. This rush of tender wonder, and optimism, and determination.
T.L.D. is going to be a person. I’m going to grow a person. I’m going to have a little kid.
I wonder if it will be a short, angry extrovert with fluffy blonde hair like me, or a kind, serious, dark-haired, crazy-tall brainiac like Wade.
The thought hurts, so I shove it aside.
Besides, this kid’s not going to be me, or Wade. It’s going to be its own person. And that person is going to be marvelous.
So fucking marvelous.
The doctor passes me a tissue, and I realize I’m tearing up.
“I think I love it,” I say, swiping at my cheeks. “I think I love it already. Is that weird?”
“No,” the doctor smiles gently. “That’s not weird.”
I rub my heart. It’s so full. Aching, but full. Still broken from Wade.
But big enough to hold this new love too.
I look at the doctor. “Thank you,” I say. “This helped a lot.”
I’m not just talking about the medical side of it, and she smiles gently like she knows that.
“You’re welcome, hon. It’s what I’m here for.”
I’m still looking at the ultrasound photos as I walk across the grass to my apartment building, when a shadow falls across the papers, and I look up to see Wade.
“Jesus!” I say, the papers flying everywhere. I dive to get them all before he can see them, then stuff them in my purse.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Wade says.
I put my hands on my hips, my heartbeat slowly settling back to its normal pace.
Well. As normal as it ever gets around Wade.
My eyes drink him up like he’s precious. Strong and good and irreverent and everything I want out of life.
He’d make such a good dad.
The thought springs to my mind, unbidden, and it’s a spur in my side. I need to get him to leave. For my heart, but also because no court in the world would turn down sole custody if he wanted it.
I don’t think he’d do that. I would bet my life that Wade wouldn’t do that.
But it’s not just my life anymore. And I can’t risk losing T.L.D.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, shouldering past him to my door.
“I came to talk,” Wade says.
“Then you can leave,” I say. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
And isn’t that the biggest lie I’ve ever told in my life.
I stick my key in the lock, not trusting myself to look at him. I try not to think of that moment, here in the doorway, when I goaded him into kissing me. Into losing control, for once in his life.
He still owes me a bed. We never did get around to picking one out.
“Stella, please look at me,” Wade says.
I don’t.
“I told Duke.”
I fumble and drop my keys.
This time Wade’s faster than me, ducking to grab them for me, kneeling at my feet. It’s hard not to think of the other reason men normally kneel at women’s feet.
He passes me my keys, but he doesn’t stand up. Maybe because I’m finally looking at him.
He told Duke. After all his protests. He said he didn’t want to tell Duke in case we broke up. And then we did break up. So why …?