Page 88 of Reckless Hearts
I can’t say the truth, that I’ve never slept well. Nightmares always plague me. And my sleeping patterns have been more disrupted recently because nighttime is the best time to talk to Seb.
What is Seb doing right now? It’s late afternoon in New Zealand. Is he at the zoo weighing chicks, in his office at the biological sciences department doing research, or is he teaching a lab?
I know so much about Seb’s day-to-day life now.
Since Fiji, Seb and I have been messaging constantly. And a few weeks ago, after I drunk-dialed him because I desperately wanted to see his face, we’ve added video calling into the mix as well.
I’m trying not to think about what it means. I’m trying not to examine the flutter I get in my chest every time my phone beeps with a message or incoming video call from Seb.
When I check my phone, there’s no message from him now. He must be busy.
Instead I start scrolling through the reviews now coming in for the movie.
Marcus Johnson delivers a tour de force performance inLove in Zero Gravity. His portrayal of an alien struggling to understand human emotions is both hilarious and heartbreakingly poignant.
Happiness shoots through me.
But my happiness fades when I scroll to the next review.
It’s lucky Marcus Johnson was playing an alien because I don’t think he’s capable of acting like a human. PerhapsJohnson should stick to roles that don’t require him to emote—or speak.
My stomach lurches. The words seem to burn into my retinas. They confirm every whispered doubt that has ever echoed in my head. I’m a fraud, a pretty face who got lucky, and sooner or later, everyone will figure that out.
Just as I’m about to read the review again, my phone buzzes with a message from Seb.
How did the premiere go?
I let out a deep breath. Seeing Seb’s name is like a shot of happiness injected into me.
Because I love this. I love having someone not on my payroll know my schedule. Someone who cares about what I’m doing.
Good. Just on my way to the after-party now. How was your day?
I got vomited on by a chick.
If I stick around at this after-party long enough, I’ll probably have the same experience. But unfortunately, it won’t be because I’m being all heroic and saving endangered species.
I guess bird vomit will be more ecofriendly than whatever designer drugs might be vomited up by your chicks.
I can’t help chuckling.
What are you doing tonight?
Going to a guest lecture from a visiting professor about the efforts to bring back extinct species.
This is the other thing I love about any conversation with Seb. Our lives are so different, and talking to him sometimes gives me the same escapism I get when I’m slipping into a role for a movie.
How do they bring back extinct species?
Kind of like Jurassic Park. They use advanced genetic engineering techniques to recreate the extinct species’ DNA, then implant it into the egg cells of a related species.
Does this mean I could finally get that dodo I’ve always wanted for Christmas?
Seb sends me a laughing face emoji, and then he’s typing again.
I’m kind of skeptical about it, to be honest. De-extinction is never going to recreate the exact species we lost. We might create something genetically similar, but it won’t have the same behaviors, adaptations, or ecological role. You can’t bring back the past.
The limo pulls up outside the Beverly Hills Hotel, its iconic palm trees swaying gently in the evening breeze, the red carpet stretching like a crimson river leading to the entrance.
