“Sure.” He didn’t move.
She shrugged on her coat and looked up at him warily. He took a step toward her. Her eyes widened slightly, but she stood her ground. He lowered his head and pressed his lips against her cheek. She couldn’t hide her sharp intake of breath. When he pulled away, she looked so flustered that for a split second he was worried he’d lost control and done what he’d wanted to do instead, which was wrap his arm around her waist, bend her back over her dressing room counter, and kiss her so deeply that they’d both forget the past year and a half had ever happened.
But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. He had to earn it. He took another step back, placing his hand on the doorknob.
“Tomorrow.”
Grey’s eyelids fluttered.
“Tomorrow,” she echoed.
GREY LET HERSELF SLEEP LATEthe next morning; a heavy, dreamless sleep. But as soon as she woke up, she got down to business. Between her days in the editing room and nights at the theater, her generously sized studio apartment had begun to resemble a rat’s nest: perfect for curling up and falling asleep, not so much for being able to walk in an uninterrupted straight line.
Kamilah stopped by in the early afternoon, after Grey had finished scrubbing the bathroom.
“You’re going to fuck him tonight, aren’t you,” Kamilah mused, moments after shutting the door behind her.
“I’m not!” Grey protested. “I mean, probably not. I haven’t decided yet.”
She wiped her hands on her ripped jeans and leaned against the kitchen counter as Kamilah perched on the couch, digging a spoon into a pint of mocha almond fudge coconut milk ice cream.
Though they were only living a five-minute walk away, they barely had a chance to see each other outside of work. Kamilahwas even busier than Grey: when she wasn’t overseeingThe Empty Chairedits, she and Andromeda were early in preproduction for an ambitious visual album to accompany Andromeda’s new music.
In order to make sure their friendship didn’t completely revolve around the movie, they’d started scheduling twice-monthly hangs where they were banned from discussing it. Kamilah coming over to watch Grey clean certainly ranked as one of their more underwhelming ones, but these were extenuating circumstances.
Once they returned to Los Angeles, Kamilah and Andromeda planned to begin house hunting together. “It’s so bizarre,” Kamilah had said when she’d broken the news to Grey that she’d be officially moving out. “Like, am I an adult now?”
“You just directed an entire movie,” Grey had laughed.
“Yeah, but this feels different. This is, like, first-day-of-the-rest-of-my-life shit. Besides, the movie I was prepared for. Andromeda…” She shook her head, smiling. “I never saw them coming.”
Grey occasionally felt a bittersweet pang for this chapter of their friendship coming to a close, but it was quickly overtaken by excitement for the future of their creative partnership. The process of makingThe Empty Chairhad brought them closer than ever, and they’d already started discussing possibilities for their next film together. That is, when the topic wasn’t banned.
Kamilah offered the ice cream to Grey, who accepted it, taking a thoughtful bite. “Am I being stupid about this? Should we meet somewhere public? Should I just cancel?”
Kamilah shrugged. “I can’t answer that for you.” She placed her hand on her chest in mock seriousness, delivering her next sentence melodramatically. “What isyour hearttelling you?”
Grey tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a sigh. “I don’t know. When I try to listen to it, all I can hear is the dial-up modem sound. Is that bad?”
“Maybe you need to unplug it and plug it back in again,” Kamilah giggled.
“I think I just need to return it. It’s obviously defective.”
—
ETHAN ARRIVED PROMPTLYat seven, laden with enough Thai food to cover both her tiny kitchen counter and even tinier table. Their only option was sitting on either end of Grey’s couch, overloaded plates balanced on their laps. The arm of the couch dug into Grey’s back as she tried to put as much space between them as possible.
“I could never do what you’re doing. It’s so impressive.”
“What? Theater? You never thought about it?”
Ethan shrugged, dipping a skewer of chicken satay into the little plastic tub of peanut sauce.
“Sure. Sam and I talked about doing a run of that Sam Shepard play—you know, the one with the brothers? What’s it called?”
“True West?” Grey tried to hide her surprise that Ethan mentioned Sam’s name so casually, without the gloomy, faraway look that normally accompanied it.
“That’s the one. But I backed out at the last minute. Not having that second-take safety net, having to be perfectly on point night after night…it’s fucking scary.” He tore the chicken off the wooden skewer with his teeth and chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t think I had the discipline for it then, either. The lifestyle that comes with it, I mean. I would’ve burned out and stopped showing up after the first week.”
