He’s watching my lips as I speak, the flush on his neck deepening. “In L.A.?”
“That’s the goal.” A goal I have to keep in my sights at all costs.
“You want to move to L.A.,” he says stiffly, as if he’s learning each word for the first time.
I nod. “If I get the show, I’ll move my mom out there with Maral and me. It’s the biggest Armenian community in the country. Maral’s parents already live there, and my mom would loveliving near them again. Our parents would all be over the moon to have Mar and me close by again. It would make them so happy.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” I ask.
“What would make you happy?”
His eyes are intense on mine, like he genuinely, desperately wants to know. Like it’s the most important answer in the world, despite the question bordering on ridiculous—a senseless, meaningless question I’ve never been asked before. But he’s looking at me like the sky could fall outside and he wouldn’t even glance toward the window if it meant breaking eye contact for one second.
What would make me happy?
I picture my mother’s smile, a flame only I have any hope of igniting. A flame that’s been extinguished for years, since my father’s death. Longer…since she had to give up everything she’s ever known to build a whole new life on the other side of the planet, so her daughter could have opportunities she never did.
For the first time, another image overlays it—advanced reader copies next to a maniacally preset alarm on a nightstand. Twin laptops side by side on a coffee table. The scent of a fresh pot of dark roast and pancakes as snow falls outside, dusting skyscrapers. Warm fingers kneading tired feet. A hand reaching for mine under a blanket. Strong arms wrapping me up tight, holding me close.
Forever, baby.
The picture is more ridiculous than the question that inspired it. The ache so profound it’s unfathomable. As in, I can’t fathom it—I won’t.
“Moving to L.A.,” I answer. “That’s what would make me happy.”
This time, my voice doesn’t falter at all.
Chapter 16
“Nobody,” I repeat for the third time. “You’re telling menobodyis interested?”
Nadia is holding on to her patience, I can tell. I picture her in a canary-yellow suit at her giant old-world mahogany desk in the Verity offices, pinching the bridge of her nose as she deals with her distraughttalent.
“It’s not that nobody is interested,” she says, impressively calm, “it’s that I don’t think it’s the right time to be booking you meetings.”
“But we can meet in person tomorrow,” I say, pacing the terminal for the fiftieth time. If the other travelers can’t see the earbud in my ear, I 100percent look like I should have my meds recalibrated. “Trust me, if people think I’m good on-screen, just wait till they get a load of me in person.”
“You’re the freaking sun,” she coos. “It’s not about that, Ana. You don’t want the kind of interest you’d get right now, not given the first thing people will see if they look up your socials. It’s too fresh.”
I envision myself on the set of some frothy, gossipy reality TV show, all tarted up in low-cut necklines and tacky lashes. I look pretty hot, if I’m honest. But I get her point.
“I know you’re anxious,” Nadia says. “But trust me. Lay low for a few days, then we can put out feelers.”
Feelersdoesn’t feel particularly encouraging. “Or maybe you can do a bit of in-person feeling—wait, that sounds—you know what I mean. When you’re in L.A. tomorrow? We can meet for lunch and discuss which of the producers you scouted on previous rounds seemed most promising.”
The line is silent. All I can hear is the airport announcement system above my head, the call for mispronounced passenger names to check in at gate B19.
“Did I lose you?” I ask, checking the screen of my phone.
“No,” she rushes to say. “Ana…I canceled my flight. I’m not coming to L.A.”
The muscles in my face, my shoulders, my whole body droop. She canceled her trip? She canceled her trip because there’s no point in coming out here, trying to sell something nobody wants.
“It’s all about timing,” she assures me. “We’ll regroup after the tour.”
“Right,” I say, my voice sounding faint, even to me.
