Page 78 of Bottle Shock
And then she told she had been a fan of mine for years.
I nearly cried.
It was everything I needed to hear and more. To be believed. For someone to see past the narrative he’s trying to control.
So the decision was easy. I said yes.
But it hasn’t fully sunk in that I found a place at a new improv company, even for a fill-in job.
“Anything I should be worried about,” I ask him.
“Looked pretty standard—eight-week run with an option to extend. You’ll do three shows a week, plus the Saturday workshop if you want the extra pay bump.”
“Sounds great.”
“Go read the paperwork, then call me if you have questions about the exclusivity clause. And maybe open a bottle of something celebratory after.”
After our call ends I open up my email and read through what Russel sent. Just like he said, it’s standard.
I’m excited for the opportunity and I’m very grateful for it, but I keep waiting to feel more. For that little buzz under my skin to come alive.
Maybe it’s because I didn’t formally audition, so the excitement isn’t landing quite right.
Or the wedding consumed too much of me.
Because as soon as I said yes, I didn’t give it another thought until Russel reached out about the contract.
I should be preparing, studying their performances, honing my craft. I haven’t done any of that. And I really don’t care to either.
I’m not sure what to make of that.
Rather than dwell on it, I get ready and head toward downtown.
I make a quick stop at the pharmacy first. I give them my new insurance information and, thankfully, it goes through without a fight. I pick up my ADHD meds—the familiar orange bottle feels like holding a lifeline. I slip it into my purse, trying not to think about how good it will feel to have my brain quiet down again, to finally stop feeling like I’m vibrating out of my own skin.
Outside, the day is already warming. I pass by the theater and I’m reminded of Irene and our conversation. It sounded ridiculous at the time, but the more I sit with it the more it doesn’t sound like the worst idea. If only it meant I would’ve have to be stuck in this town, with people who see me as nothing more than Hester Prynne.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I find parking next to my mom’s car.Inside, both of my parents are chatting with Sheila, their part-time receptionist.
“Hey, sweetie,” My mom greets, eyes bright. “We were just talking about you. How’s it going, living in Gavin’s pool house?”
I hang my bag on the back of my chair and try not to read into her tone. “It’s fine. Quiet. Nothing too exciting.”
Not like I’m secretly married to him or anything.
My dad raises a brow. “There’s a lock on that place right? He hasn’t done anything creepy has he?”
“Gordon,” my mom chastises.
I roll my eyes, laughing. “No, dad. He hasn’t been creepy.”
Once my computer is booted up, I go to check my email before I start preparing for the showing. At the top of my inbox is a new message from Sandy Hale, the listing agent for the Wallula Lake property.
Hi Scottie!
The sellers were really impressed by you and Gavin and would love the chance to get to know you two better. They’re hosting a small weekend retreat at the property this weekend for potential buyers and wanted to extend an invitation to both of you.
Let me know if you’re available.
