Page 11 of It's a Love Story

He stops walking and turns to me. “He’s just trying to tell me something he doesn’t know how to say. He’s not trying to win design awards. Also, he’s six.”

“Of course,” I say, and we walk toward his car. “And why ‘Peanut’?”

“Just came to me one day and I said it. Won me these bracelets, so I guess it was a fit.” He’s casual about it, as if he doesn’t understand the enormity of having given a well- received nickname to a kid who needs it.

CHAPTER 7

I WAKE UP TO A SUNDAY MORNING EMAIL FROM NAthan’s assistant. She wants to know when the details of the soundtrack will be firmed up so she can schedule a meeting with the green light committee.

I lie in bed imagining all the dramatic ways people walk through fire to get the thing they want. Going to law school, for example. Training for a marathon. Or actually walking through the fiery shame of their adolescence to ask for a favor. I grab my phone and pull up Hailey’s contact.

It takes me five minutes to compose this text: Hey Hailey! Hope you and the girls are good. I’m working on a new project and the studio wants to get in touch with Jack Quinlan, any chance you’re in touch with him still?

I cannot press send. I leave my phone on my bed and grab a Pop-Tart and bring both it and my phone into my closet. When the door is shut and it’s mostly dark, I eat the Pop-Tart and hit send.

Bubbles pop up immediately: Omg I just laughed out loud. How great would it be if we were still in touch with him

My heart sinks. This is so stupid. Me: I know, right? Will or Dougie probably aren’t either?

Hailey: Ha! Will’s trying to get on one of those reality Realtor shows, and Dougie works at a restaurant in Anaheim, so probably not. I love that you’re still trying to make it in the industry!

Oof.That hits like a sucker punch and a pat on the head all at once. And she didn’t even break a sweat. This conversation is making me feel like I’m time traveling and losing twenty years of progress along the way. I need to change the subject, so I say: How are the girls?

Hailey: Loud, but good. Nelly screams all night and I actually think I’ve had some hearing loss because of it. I’m not complaining, enough hearing loss and I could sleep

That was her Instagram post this morning. I saw it just before I texted her. People thought it was funny and asked where her sweater was from (link in stories). I feel embarrassed for both of us that she’s recycling a joke on me.

Me: Ha!

I refuse to lie and sayLOL.

Hailey: You should reach out to Angelica’s office, she might know how to reach Jack. I bet he’s still managed by his weird uncle

When this conversation has come to its natural end (We should get together!), I get out of my closet and find Clem sitting on my bed with her tea and my coffee.

“What’s going on?” she asks. I wipe a crumb from the corner of my mouth. “I heard the closet door close.”

I accept the coffee and get into my bed, holding the quilt out for her to join me. I straighten the covers over our legs before I say, “Thank you. I was texting with Hailey.” I close my eyes and brace for the blow.

“Jane.”

“I just wanted to see if she could get in touch with Jack?”

“But let me guess, she can’t, and you left the conversation feeling terrible about your life.”

Hailey is a little bit like that black light they use to detect traces of blood at crime scenes. Just her presence shines a light on my less-than bits.

“She thinks I should ask Angelica how to get in touch with Jack. Which actually isn’t a bad idea.”

“Or maybe you could come clean to Nathan, find another script, and quit living in the nightmare of your early teens?”

I love the sound of that. Just come clean and move on. “I can’t,” I say.

“Because you’re in a committed relationship with this script now?”

“Sort of,” I say. It’s the truth. Some part of my heart is weirdly attached to this story. “I’m going to call her.”

Angelica was the showrunner onPop Rocks,and calling her isn’t such a huge emotional leap. I call her from my bed in the broad light of day and without the help of any additional sugar—that’s how easy it is.

---