“Yes, speaking.”
“This is Miranda Harris from Departure Gate Productions. I’m calling about your application for The Big Race.”
My hand tightened on the phone. “Yes?”
“We’ve had over ten thousand applications this season, so you should be very proud. Your video was one of the most compelling our producers have seen.”
I thought of Leo’s careful editing, the way he’d managed to capture glimpses of the connection Ray and I once had, and theraw honesty of our conversation about Ray’s affair. “Our son made the video. He will be thrilled to hear that.”
There was a pause on the line, just long enough for my stomach to drop.
“Just to be clear,” Miranda said, “this isn’t a confirmation that you’ve been cast. You’ve made it to the next round of consideration, which includes a producer interview, a chemistry check, and some on-camera interaction.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to sound gracious and not like I’d just imagined us jumping into rice paddies in matching windbreakers.
“We’d like to schedule a Zoom with you and your husband sometime this week—preferably tomorrow if you’re available. It’ll be about twenty to thirty minutes. Very informal.”
“Sure,” I said automatically, even though the wordinformalfilled me with dread. “What time?”
I collected the details mechanically, thanked her, and hung up. For a long moment, I just stared at my computer screen, the lines of code blurring before my eyes.
We were in contention for a spot on The Big Race. The theoretical last-ditch effort to save our marriage was now a lot closer to a concrete reality.
Ray was at the office. Should I call him? Text him? Wait until he got home? The uncertainty about how to communicate even this basic information underscored how far we’d drifted.
I settled for a text:Need to talk when you get home. Good news.
His response came almost immediately:The race?
Yes.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally:Be home early.
Ray arrived at five-thirty, still in his sales attire—button-down shirt, slacks, his tie already loosened. He found me at thekitchen table with my laptop open to the email from Departure Gate Productions.
He scanned the subject line—Next Steps: The Big Race Application Process.
A grin spread across his face, the unguarded excitement reminding me of the Ray I’d fallen in love with. “I knew Leo’s video would do it.”
“Miranda Harris said it was compelling.”
“Miranda Harris? That’s so cool. I see her name on the credits every time.”
“We’re not in yet,” I said before he could say anything. “They want to do a producer Zoom interview. Tomorrow morning.”
Ray’s expression shifted—part grin, part game face. “We’re in the running. Like a callback.”
“Exactly,” I said. “But they’re watching now. Everything.”
“Guess I’d better iron a shirt and brush up on my charm.”
I closed the laptop. “You’ve never had a problem with that.”
By 10:55 the next morning, I had triple-checked the lighting, wiped the webcam twice, adjusted my chair for optimal posture, and told Ray not to wear anything with a visible logo.
He emerged from our bedroom in a snug T-shirt with “Florida Men Don’t Quit” across the chest.
“That’s the outfit you’re going with?” I asked, already sweating slightly.
