“But not nothing. You found that book. And your friend.”
She looked at him, as if appraising him for the first time. “Yeah. That’s true.” She paused, her gaze drifting away. When she spoke again, it seemed like she was talking to the pool, rather than to him.
“I didn’t even plan on majoring in film, I was just doing the gen ed thing at first. I was never really that into school; I missed a lot when I was working. I had no idea what I wanted to study. Intro to Film ended up being the only elective that fit into my schedule my first semester. That’s how I met Kamilah, actually. We had to do a group project for our final, and the two of us ended up doing all the work.”
Ethan snorted. “God. Group projects. I was always useless at those.”
“Color me shocked.” She took another sip of coffee. “But it was fascinating. Putting it all into context. Like, I had been on set a ton, obviously, but I’d never really thought about movies as art, as culture, as history. Breaking them down from every angle, how all the different elements add up to the whole, beyond my part in it as an actor. It just reinforced that this was the only thing I wantedto do. Unfortunately.” She laughed sardonically. “And then I immediately booked a series, so that went down the drain. Not that I’m complaining. But I would love to make something that gets taught in film schools one day.Makeit, not just be in it.”
She looked down and fidgeted a little in her seat, as if caught off-guard by her own earnestness. “Do you wish you’d gone? You still could, it’s not too late.”
Ethan laughed. “Yeah, I’d blend right in with all the freshmen. I think that window has closed.”
“You could do online classes or something. What else are you doing with your time?”
Something in the air shifted slightly. Grey seemed to realize that she had misstepped and quickly tried to recover. “I feel like I’ve been talking about myself for, like, an hour. What about you? What’s your big comeback project?”
Ethan suddenly wanted a cigarette. He let out a long exhale, practically a sigh. She toyed with her napkin, clearly unsure if she’d said the wrong thing.
He considered deflecting the question, but hesitated. If he was going to do it, he needed to be able to talk about it.
“Sam and I—” He cleared his throat, the words coming out more choked than he intended. “Sam and I…we’d started working on something.” He paused. She stared at him, very still, as if trying not to spook a wild animal. “We bought the rights to this Korean movie we both loved. The option expires next year.”
“What’s the movie? Would I know it?”
“Bitter Pill?”
He expected her to give him a blank look in return, but instead her eyes flashed with recognition. “Oh, yeah, the one with the brothers who murder their dad? I think we watched that in one of my classes. Kind of a bummer.”
Ethan snorted. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.”
Grey seemed like she was about to say something, but instead sipped her coffee. “What?” he prodded.
She shrugged. “Nothing. I mean…there are some good remakes,” she said diplomatically.
“It’s not a remake. It’s an adaptation,” he retorted, more defensively than he intended.
“Right. Of course. Sorry. I’m being such an asshole. You two have an amazing track record, I’m sure it’ll be great.”
“You meanhad,” Ethan said softly, almost to himself. “It’s just me now.”
Grey looked at him with those big limpid eyes, dripping with that familiar expression of sympathy he’d long ago come to loathe. Somehow it seemed less cloying when it came from her. It transformed the pervasive ache inside him into something different, harder to define. She put her hand on the table and hesitated, as if she wanted to touch him but thought better of it.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan. I can’t imagine.”
He didn’t respond, just swallowed hard and stared out at the pool. Despite the best efforts of the coffee and sandwich, his hangover was beginning to creep over him, the sun glinting a little too brightly off the water.
“It’s fine. It’s been five years. It’s time,” he said, his voice hollow and mechanical.
“For whatever it’s worth, I…I think you’re really brave to finish it. If something happened to Kamilah…I don’t know what I would do. I don’t think I could even look at our script again. Ever.”
Ethan was startled at the tremor in her voice, the cordial distance that had been present since their disastrous dinner date nowhere to be found. He let himself meet her gaze, which was so full of compassion that it was almost physically painful.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else.
They held their eye contact for a loaded moment before she looked away. She seemed as unnerved as he felt, and he sensed her walls immediately returning to their rightful place between them. She pushed back her chair and stood up, reaching over the table to gather both their dishes.
“I need to get going, I really should go for a run or something before it gets too late. Thanks for breakfast, see you soon?”
