Page 15 of It's a Love Story

We’re quiet on the phone.

“Are you still in your closet?” he asks.

“Yes.”

This is the spot for a zinger.I’m wide open here, Dan. Sock it to me.But he says, “You could go to Long Island. Jack plays Saturday night. Finn could get you into the Owl Barn. And you might even run into him in town—people say he’s really friendly with fans.”

The thought of this makes my stomach churn: running into Jack, who has taken his humiliation skills up ten notches by not remembering who I am, then refreshing his memory and waiting for the laughter. Something about this thought makes me angry. Everything about Jack makes me angry, not even what happened between us, but more the way he’s tangled up in the memory of what came after and how quickly my understanding of the world and myself changed right then. The anger pulls me back from the ledge of my self-pity. It feels like action. I could go. “I could check in to a hotel and sort of stake out the town.”

“There are no hotels in Oak Shore.”

I’ve stopped crying, and I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “Okay, then I’ll rent a house.”

He laughs. “I’m guessing every rental was booked a year ago. Listen, I can put you up at my parents’ house.”

“Seriously?” I’m trying to picture this. Dan’s parents are definitely rich. You don’t study photography and joke about your long-term plan being an early death without some kind of a trust fund. I bet he keeps saying he’s broke just to keep up his die-for-my-art vibe. He’ll be sheepish as we pull up in front of his parents’ stately brick home on the water. The kind with wings that need to be aired out when guests come. White trim, black shutters, and a matching set of English bulldogs by the door.

“Seriously. It’s my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary Friday, and my brothers are doing a whole anniversary- week thing. Everyone’s going to be there. I wasn’t sure I was going, but now that I’m a hundred percent sure you’re paying for my flight, let’s go.”

“To Long Island. For a week.” With the most annoying man alive. I’m picturing ascots and riding crops. Readings from Chaucer in a worn but thoughtfully arranged drawing room. So much tweed. They’ll want to know about my people, where we’re from.

“Yes. It’s August seventeenth, Jane. Nothing’s happening here anyway. Take the week, clear your head, and maybe catch the tiger.”

I sit up rod straight. “Okay. Let’s try. We’ll leave in the morning. Text me your full name and birthday.”

*

I AM Aterrible liar. I am an okay actress, but that hits a different register emotionally. Acting feels fun, like dressing up at Halloween and going trick-or-treating. Lying feels like breaking into someone’s house and stealing their candy. My heart races; my nose goes red. I add extra words to my explanation; details spill out of my mouth that are sure to trip me up later. So I decide to email Nathan instead of call:

Hey! Had a quick call with Jack Quinlan’s people. I am headed to New York tomorrow to meet with him and finalize things. I’m staying with friends so I’ll take the week. Back in the office Monday the twenty-fifth. Mandy (cc’d) can always reach me.

This email took me an hour to write and in its longest iteration was over six hundred words. The fact that I got it down to forty-five makes me feel like I’ve won something. Plus, none of it is really a lie besides Dan being my friend.

I call my mom. “So I’m going to Long Island for the week. That guy Dan says that Jack is going to be at a music festival there, so hopefully I can talk to him.” When she doesn’t reply, I add, “About the script?”

“Yes,” she says. “And that feels okay for you?”

I let out a huff. “Well, none of this feels okay since I’ve screwed up so badly, but I have to at least try.”

“I mean about Jack. Two days ago you seemed pretty iffy about contacting him.”

“I still am,” I say. I can feel the dread, the way my heart rate quickens just talking about it. “But I’m going to do it anyway. I really want to make this movie.”

“Of course, but—” She stops. “You’re right. You’re a tough cookie, Jane. You’ll be fine. Wait till he sees how gorgeous you are now.”

“Mom.”

“Well, you are. Gorgeous and successful and funny and warm.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“And you give the best hugs.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“Do. He’s the one who’s missed out all these years.”

I laugh. It feels good to see myself through my mom’s heart-eyes every once in a while. “Yeah, I’ll brag about the hugs first and then get to the movie. I leave in the morning, call you when I land.”

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