Page 16 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
She’s totally stalling. She twists her hair up on top of her head like she’s going to hold it in place with a pencil, then she lets it fall back around her shoulders. It’s an adorable nervous habit. She sighs, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. That’s when I remember that it was orange last night and tonight it looks normal.
“Your hair is brown again.”
Now her face is twenty shades of red, but she latches on to the change of subject. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I can’t believe you didn’t say anything.” She holds up a strand of hair to examine it. “The stuff Immy and I used to get out the skunk smell did that. I should’ve known that would happen when we used straight peroxide. My hair feels like twine.” She dangles a lock in front of me to demonstrate, dropping it with a defeated sigh.
This might be the only invitation I’m ever going to get. I’m taking it. I reach over and lift the strand of hair off her shoulder and let itslide through my fingers. I examine it like I know anything about hair.
Sunny’s sharp intake of breath and frozen posture tell me I might be overstepping. Maybe. Or does she like this? I slide my thumb down the lock of hair and I can hear her short breaths beside me. I think she likes it. My focus shifts from her chestnut hair to her dark eyes and what I see there tells me she’s enjoying my fingers in her hair. I turn my fingers in the strands, letting them wrap around and tangle in her hair.
“Let’s Do This,” she whispers.
I choke on nothing and my hand grips her hair in a loose fist. “I’m sorry?”
“That’s my favorite Anders Beck movie.”
Oof. Now I’m the one blushing. Our sexy hair-playing moment is over. “Out of all of my work, that absolute rubbish is your favorite?”
It was the first movie in the first series Micah and I starred in together. I was nineteen years old when it was filmed. I was elated to even get an audition, let alone get the part, so I didn’t care that the script was trash. It’s one film in a sea of paranormal young adult love triangle movies that flooded the market at the time. Micah Watson was my co-star, of course. You could plug any generically handsome actor into our parts and the movie would be no different. It was a critical failure, but now it’s considered a cult classic by, well, women in Sunny’s demographic. I’ve heard of movie theaters showing it on throwback nights where groups of women show up dressed as the characters. I cringe thinking about it. I wonder if Sunny has participated in that nonsense.
Again: This woman is caring for my child.
I probably sound ungrateful. Maybe I am ungrateful. My partnership with Micah Watson has gotten me where I am today—I’ve been nominated for awards in these dipstick roles, and even won teen choice awards—but I’m ready to end it. I’ll never get the roles Iwant as long as we keep making movies together. I need to make movies where I’m not typecast as the scoundrel who steals the girl from all-American good guy Micah.The irony, I think, shaking my head.
Sunny breaks into my thoughts, “How dare you. That movie is iconic and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.”
Her violent defense of my earliest garbage work is charming, but I can’t let this slide. “Sunny.” My tone is scolding, and her doe eyes go wide, “I’ve worked on so many films, and every one of them is superior to that pile of dung. Please choose a better favorite.”
“No way.” She folds her arms, looking every inch the stern librarian. Her glasses slide down her nose and she pushes them back into place. I want to groan at the sight.
She’s the nanny, you moron, I remind myself.
“What aboutAtlas?” It’s my one successful movie, independent of Micah. There have been one or two others, but they’ve all flopped. I got an Oscar nomination for that part, though. Let’s see her defend a paranormal love triangle movie against that.
“Oh, that was good. Definitely my number two choice. The plot twist with the compass at the end was awesome, and the cave scene during the storm was” — she mimics a chef’s kiss — “You killed that scene. But it’s not Devin professing his love to Jolie on the edge of a cliff right before he morphs into a firebird and saves her.” She recites my lines with the same inflection I had used—something even I can’t do after thirteen years. “Sorry, but that is your best work.”
This woman knows nothing about cinema. “Let’s call a spade a spade: You have questionable taste in movies.” I turn on my barstool to face her, and my knee pushes against her thigh. I leave it there. It would be awkward to stand and move my barstool so that my knees don’t touch her when I’m facing her. This is weird, but less weird. She doesn’t move away. Victory. “Let’s get to the bottom of it. Why do you love that movie so much?”
“That’s personal, and we just met.”
Ilaugh. She can’t be serious. “Come on. It’s just a movie preference. I’m trusting you with my child.” And why do I even care?
Her brown eyes scan my face, so I school my features into my most trustworthy expression. “Come on. I’m a vault.”
“Okay.”
That was way too easy. It’s a good thing this woman lives in Podunk, USA and not Los Angeles. The sharks would circle. “Whenever you’re ready.”
7. Sunny’s Pants Are on Fire
Istare at Anders’ chin while I talk because it’s at my eye level, and because looking into his eyes makes my knees buckle. This conversation requires strength. No one but Mercer knows about my Micah Watson obsession and she doesn’t even know the “why” behind it. Maybe letting it out will be therapeutic. In a few months, Anders Beck won’t remember my name let alone what I’m about to tell him, but maybe this will help me get over Micah Watson once and for all.
“I was in a bad car accident when I was fourteen. I lost my dad.” I blink hard to stop the familiar moisture that comes whenever I talk about him, even after twelve years. So much was taken from me that day. Not only my father, but my ability to have children. That one patch of black ice changed my whole future.
Anders’ big hand covers mine and I freeze. He pulls it away just as quickly and I plow ahead. “I was in the hospital for a few weeks. It was a hard time. I missed the funeral. I cried that whole day—” I snap my mouth shut. I’m sharing way too much; more than I’ve ever told anyone. I don’t know why I’m so comfortable telling Anders this stuff—maybe it’s his easy going nature that loosens my lips. He alsofeels surreal. Sitting in this dim lighting with him feels dreamlike, like I’ll wake up in my bed at any moment.
His eyes catch mine and there’s that weak feeling. Will I ever get used to this guy and his blinding star power? It’s insane. I know enough about this guy that I shouldn’t be reacting this way to him.
“I’m sorry.” His blue eyes are intense.
