‘You didn’t have to do that,’ Callie said, because it was easier than saying any of the other things spinning around her head likeI’m sorryorI broke my own heart tooorI know I’m a piece of shit and I hate myself more than you do.
Mae didn’t look at her. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I really did.’
Callie wished, briefly, for the boom back over their heads, for the red tally light, for anything that would force her to keep half her brain on delivery and diction instead of the fact she’d just been publicly accused of breaking Mae’s heart.
‘They’ll cut it,’ she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. ‘I’ll talk to Neil. He’ll–’
‘You really think that?’ Mae interrupted, with a sort of tired disbelief.
‘He’s not a monster.’
‘He’s a producer,’ Mae said. ‘You just handed him a free soap opera. You think he’s going to say no on principle?’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Callie said. ‘I can… I don’t know. Offer to shoot something else. Give him something to use instead.’
‘Oh, that’ll fix it,’ Mae said. ‘You offering more of yourself up for public consumption.’
The sarcasm landed like a slap.
Callie swallowed. ‘Mae.’
‘What?’ Mae snapped, that fast. ‘You don’t want to talk about it? We can pretend it didn’t happen, if you like. I’m very good at that. Practised from all the years of not having the opportunity to ask anyone about it because they’d fucked off to London to swan about while I was here, with…everything!’
Callie deserved that. She knew she did. And she found herself quite willing to take it. Wanting to take it, even.
She moved closer to the Mae, but only a small step. ‘Wecantalk about it,’ she said.
Mae didn’t answer that. Not directly. ‘You really didn’t think something like this could happen when you came here?’ she asked. ‘That it could come out in front of a camera?’
Callie hesitated. ‘I didn’t think,’ she admitted. It was the simplest truth available.
Mae huffed. ‘That’s not new.’
Callie let that one burn her, too.
Somewhere out front, someone laughed, high and thoughtless. It felt like it was happening a million miles away.
‘You said I broke you,’ Callie said finally. ‘But I want you to know that I was broken too.’
Mae blinked at her. Then she laughed, a short, incredulous sound. ‘Oh. DidItellyouto fuck off afteryoutold meyourdad was dying? Did I forget that part?’
‘I didn’t say I was innocent,’ Callie said. ‘But the way you said it… There wasn’t a big break-up scene where I twirled a moustache and cackled. I was a stupid teenager who said awful things because I was scared.’
‘You implied my dad was making up his diagnosis,’ Mae said.
Callie shut her eyes for a second. She remembered that bit far too well. The look on Mae’s face afterwards had played a part in Callie’s nightmares for years.
‘I didn’t…’ she began, and had to stop, because anything she said would sound like an excuse.
‘You did,’ Mae said. ‘I was there.’
Callie forced herself to meet her eyes. ‘I know I did,’ she said. ‘I know what I said. And Ihavebeen ashamed of it since you asked before. For twelve bloody years.’
Mae’s gaze softened ever so slightly, just for a second. Callie almost reached for her hand. She kept talking instead.
‘I was eighteen,’ she said. ‘I’d never loved anyone…’ She broke off. ‘It wasus, you and me, planning our future. And then he told you he was dying, and the “us” disappeared and I…’ She made a helpless gesture.
‘Thought he was manipulating me,’ Mae supplied, eyebrows raised.
