The rain lashesat the window, my wipers struggling to keep up.My “To Miles” playlist strums softly over the speakers, but I hardly evenregister a song. My thoughts are tucked firmly in that journal as snugly as the red ribbon bookmark my dad placed on the page he wants me to read. As if I need a bookmark. I’ll read the whole thing, over and over, until the words are tattooed on my eyes. I’ll be able to close my eyelids softly and reread them at my leisure.
Part of me wants to pull over right now and read it cover to cover. But I’m torn. The other part thinks I should save some, not spend it all at once. I keep going back and forth. Spend it, save it. Spend it, save it. I’ve landed on spending it. Gobble up all of it at once like a starving man finally sitting down for a fish dinner.
Shimmering eyes and massive antlers pull me back to the present with a jolt. A red deer is standing in the middle of the road. I swerve, and an enormous pop echoes through the night, sending the deer sprinting away. The Land Rover skids off the slick asphalt, the steering impossible to handle, as I head straight for a ditch.
MILES
Me: I miss your eyes…
Trying to speak from the heart without sounding too cheesy, I type some more words. I reread my text to Skye before hitting send. I don’t have any service to speak of out here, so there’s no hurry anyway. It probably won’t go through till we’re wrapped for the day and back at the cabins.
We’re out in the middle of nowhere, a huge snowcapped mountain with a waterfall rushing down it in the distance. There’s a charming path of boulders dotted through a stream and then a pebble path beyond through long golden grass leading all the way to the falls. It’s so beautiful; it looks like it's been painted.
I read the text again. Is it too sappy? I’m not a writer, but I thought she might appreciate it if I were a little poetic. A sonnet in text form. I don’t know, though. I keep sending these long, drawn-out texts, pouring my heart out, and she sends one or two words back hours and hours later. Or sometimes even a GIF. I don’t expect her to sit around miserable and missing me, but a little pining might be nice.
“Ooh. Who are you texting?”
Elsie sits in the director's chair next to me. I pocket my phone and smile. “No one.”
“Sure. Tell her I say hello.” Elsie smiles. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
My big fight scene with Ty is today. The fight coordinator has run through all the moves with both of us several times.
Ty has a monologue they’re going to shoot beforehand. They’re setting that up now.
Elsie smiles at me. “Are you excited that you get to knock Ty out? I wrote that in especially for you. You’re welcome, by the way.”
I laugh. Honestly, I haven’t thought about it much. I’ve been too busy missing Skye and trying to figure out what my passion is. Is it still acting? If someone had asked me a couple of months ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. But now, I’m not so sure.
Ty walks out of the costume tent. “I’m here! Let the fun begin.”
The light guys laugh. A couple beats after Ty comes out, Minnie follows, buttoning up her shirt with a quick hand. I look away. It is not my business. Grown adults.
Ty and Natalie are talking low, their heads almost touching. A car drives up as close as the vehicles can get to where we are. Out steps a woman with a button nose, long blonde hair, and even longer legs. She is wearing black leggings and a Prada puffer jacket. She walks over confidently to where we all are.
For a moment, Ty’s eyes look scared, but he recovers quickly.“Charlotte!”
She waves.
Ty runs, picks her up, swings her around, and then dips her before planting a sloppy kiss on her mouth.
My eyes find Minnie. She’s frozen, holding two coffees, her lips in a tight set line. She starts to move as Ty and Charlotte keep kissing, PDA be damned. Minnie thrusts the coffee at Elsie.
“Oh, Minnie,” Elsie whispers.
Minnie shakes her head, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. She turns and heads back to the craft services tent.
Ty leads Charlotte over to the empty director’s chair right next to me.
“Hey, Elsie. Miles. I’d like you to meet my girlfriend?—”
Charlotte waves her long fingers, heavy with a massive diamond ring, in our direction. “Fiancée.”
Ty grins, but it’s tight. Not his usual easy-going,I’m just a laid-back guysmile. “Right, fiancée, Charlotte. Char, this is Miles and our indispensable screenwriter, Elsie.”
Fiancée? Ty has been leading Minnie on this whole time when he is engaged? The pain of this hits me hard and swift, like a splinter that slides right under a thumbnail. Too hard for it to reasonably be only about Minnie. Even I can see that.
