Page 50 of What's in a Kiss?

“What... no!”

Who is Dr. Kenyon? A marriage therapist? Of course, we’d need one! But why do we pay someone who encourages the use of dom/sub pet names? And who the hell’s idea wasMistress Cherise? My stomach flips because I fear, instinctively, that it could have been mine.

“Sorry, I misunderstood,” Jake says, crestfallen and confused.

I’m starting to feel bad for the guy. He didn’t ask for any of this, and he seems to be genuinely trying to help. But he can’t help me. We come from two completely different realities.

“Ohhh.” His eyes light up again. “Ivy sent revised pages—is that it?”

Okay, so he understands me a little.

“And you’re trying to get in the zone for a scene?” he says.

“Bingo,” I say slowly.

“Then let’s fight, Doctor. I’m here for it.” Jake makes a grotesque face, lifts his arms, and plods toward me. “Me sue you for malpractice.”

A genuine laugh bursts out of me, because... he’s funny. The man just wentall inon a disgruntled zombie bit before eight a.m., nailing all the nuances that make the zombies on the show so wonderfully campy.

In the real world, I pretend Jake isn’t so comedically impressive. Because he hurt me. Because enough other people adore him. Because it’s easiest to mask my pain with contrarianism.

But this morning, when Jake shines his spotlight directly on me, I can’t help but drop my walls. I dissolve into hysterics, which makes him dissolve into hysterics, and for just a moment, when we’re laughing, I forget that I don’t belong here.

His arms come around me and his lips meet the top of my head, and he says in the gentlest voice, “Baby. You’re going to be okay.”

I push away, gasping for breath. “I’ve got to get out of this—”

“Show,” Jake says, letting his arms drop to his side.

I was about to sayworld.

“I know,” he says.

I laugh darkly. “You don’t—”

“This isn’t forever.” He gives me a sad smile. “Let’s just make it through the season.”

He leaves the room, but his words linger in the air, reminding me of what I said to Gram Parsons when I picked up that last fateful Lyft shift. The one that led me to Jake Glasswell, the one that led me here. Whatever role I play onZombie Hospitalin this life, I don’t like it either. And Jake speaks to me like I’m Gram Parsons.

I skim my emails for other clues and find myself clicking on the subject line of the last non-Zombie Hospitalmessage.

Your monthly donation to Food Forward

I hurry to open it, because this is something that resonates with my real life. Food Forward is a charity that picks excess fruit from private properties and gives it to people in need. Mom and I have volunteered for the past ten years, picking apples and oranges in neighborhoods all over Southern California.

But the subject line confuses me. I’ve given a hundred dollars here and there for their annual campaigns, but I’ve never had the cash to be a monthly-auto-debit giver. I scroll down to the middle and my jaw drops. I giveten thousanda month to Food Forward?

I swipe to leave the email app and let my finger hover over my bank app. Anxiety twists my chest, as it always does when I get here. I click, let it do face recognition, and wonder why that works. How much of me have I imported across this cliff’s abyss?

Then I see a very strange number in my balance. A feeling flows through me that I don’t recognize.

Can this possibly be true? Just in case it is, I double my donation. Maybe I should triple it?

I knew Jake did well, of course, though I’m not sure I ever thought specifically about his finances. Still, something about this unexpected bank balance gives me the feeling I might be crushing it professionally, too.

A notification appears on my phone, sounding the same chime I have set in my real life for Lyft trips. But it’s not a rider summoning my LEAF. Philippe’s on his way here to chauffeur me to set. I have twenty-two minutes to get dressed and out the door.

I scramble into my bathroom, wondering how to dress for a life I don’t understand. While I brush my teeth, I do what all Angelenos do when they find themselves in a social situation they can’t make sense of. I consult IMDb.

---