Grey considered it. She was halfway through her six-week run as Yelena in a sold-out off-Broadway production of a new translation ofUncle Vanya,and the combination of the gruelingperformance schedule and the long days in the edit bay had begun to wear on her. She’d planned to head back to her apartment for a quick nap before her call time, but maybe the coffee would perk her up as much as the nap would have.
“Sure, I know a place around the corner.”
Fifteen minutes later, they slid into a secluded corner booth in Grey’s favorite coffee shop, clutching steaming lattes in oversized mugs.
“Is there something going on with you and that barista? That heart is awfully elaborate,” Nora said teasingly, peering into Grey’s mug.
“Who, Karl? No, I just come in here a lot.” She glanced up at the barista, catching him staring at her. He looked down and blushed. Nora observed the whole thing, smirking.
“He’s cute. Not your type?”
Grey dipped her spoon into her mug, dissolving the intricate steamed-milk heart.
“My type is nonexistent right now.” Though her therapist had encouraged her to break her habit of burying herself in her work after setbacks in her personal life, her schedule wasn’t exactly conducive to dating at the moment.
After things had imploded with Ethan, Audrey had offered Grey two ways to spin it: either she could set Grey up with an even more attention-grabbing rebound, or they could play up the “strong independent woman” angle. Grey had declined both options. She’d learned her lesson. From now on, to the extent that she had a say in it, her personal life was nobody’s business but her own.
Nora furrowed her brow sympathetically. Of all the strange turns Grey’s life had taken over the past year and a half, her friendship with Nora was the most unexpected. In those first blurry, excruciating weeks after she’d returned from New York, the two ofthem had been in constant contact. Nora had been the one to inform Grey that Ethan had gone straight from LAX into rehab, so she wouldn’t have to hear it from the tabloids.
The news had sent her into a tailspin. Part of her was relieved that he was finally getting the help he needed. But the bigger, more selfish part was devastated that he didn’t seem to care that he’d lost her in the process. He’d looked haggard and miserable in the pictures of him leaving the airport, the ones she’d sought out in a late-night moment of weakness. Those images had rattled her so much that she’d come dangerously close to breaking her vow of no contact, settling for unblocking his number instead. Unsurprisingly, she hadn’t heard anything from him. She dreaded the day she’d wake up to see his face splashed all over the internet, blissfully happy with someone decidedly not her on his arm, but so far, she’d been spared. It seemed like after leaving rehab, he’d returned to the same reclusive lifestyle he’d led before they’d met. She tried not to read too much into whatever that might mean.
But through it all, it was Nora who’d taken Grey’s late-night crying calls when she could tell Kamilah was tired of hearing about it. Nora who’d invited her on regular lunch dates to get her out of the house. Nora who’d listened without judgment when Grey confessed the true origins of her relationship with Ethan. Nora who’d sat beside her in the back row of the occasional Al-Anon meeting. Against all odds, the untouchably cool red carpet queen of yesteryear, ex-wife of the man who’d broken her heart, had stepped into the role of the big sister she’d never had.
When they’d started preproduction onThe Empty Chairin earnest, Grey vowed to keep their relationship professional for the duration of the shoot, banning herself from all mention of Ethan—to Nora or otherwise. Nora followed her lead, and they hadn’t discussed him since.
Throwing herself into the work had been Grey’s salvation.She’d thought she’d been devastated after her breakup with Callum, but that had been a gentle breeze compared to the category-five hurricane that had raged in her heart in Ethan’s absence. It had been easy to cast Callum as the villain, her as the innocent victim. Black-and-white and uncomplicated. But things with Ethan were Gordian knot–level convoluted, solvable only by carving him out of her life cleanly and completely. She’d blamed him at first, but once her head cleared and she’d talked it out with her therapist, she realized that was a trap. Neither of them was at fault, really. The only villain here was human fallibility.
She’d done her best to channel her rage and despair into her performance. It helped that she and Kamilah had spent years tailoring the script to their own strengths, but Vivian—seductive, manipulative, capricious Vivian—was by far the juiciest role of her career. Between the shoot and the play, her love of acting had been revitalized in a way that made the loss of the paper-thinGolden Cityrole seem like a blessing in disguise. If she’d signed on, she’d still have another two years of shoots and press tours ahead of her, with no guarantee that her career would be any better off on the other side.
On the opening night ofUncle Vanya,she’d practically blacked out from adrenaline. And watching theEmpty Chairdailies back in the editing room, she barely recognized herself. Nora gave her one glowing compliment after another to that effect as they sipped their lattes, and Grey allowed herself to swell with pride rather than deflecting it.
They chatted about Jeff and Nora’s recent trip to visit her family in Thailand, Grey’s struggles and victories wrangling Chekhov night after night, and possible festival submissions forThe Empty Chaironce it was completed. Grey drained her latte to dregs and excused herself to use the bathroom. When she returned, the mirth was gone from Nora’s face.
“What’s up?” Grey asked, easing back into the booth. Nora looked down at her mug, then fixed her with an intense look.
“Has he been in touch with you at all?”
Grey’s stomach did a flip, even without Nora mentioning Ethan’s name. They hadn’t discussed him in months.
“No, why?”
“He’s here.”
Grey whipped her head toward the door. Nora chuckled, her grave demeanor dissipating.
“Notherehere. In New York, I mean. I wasn’t sure if you knew yet. I think…I think he might be here to see you.”
Grey felt light-headed. She clutched her empty mug with both hands, her pulse racing in her ears.
“Oh.” A thousand questions ran through her mind, but she couldn’t manage anything beyond that lone syllable. Just when she thought she was starting to get over him, the mere mention of the shadow of a possibility that hemightwant to see her was enough to knock her sideways, the pain as fresh and raw as the day she’d left him.
“Is that…something you would want?” Nora held up her hands as if anticipating Grey’s response. “I’m not asking as his messenger, I’m not interested in getting between you two. I’m asking as your friend.”
Grey took her time considering it. She ran her finger around the rim of her empty mug.
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, of course. Of course I want to see him. The question isn’t whether I want to, it’s whether I should.”
“Why shouldn’t you?” Nora’s voice was neutral.
