“Do you remember when you started feeling that way about your dad?” I ask.
“I think since he left us,” he says. “Definitely since I graduated from high school. I got my ADHD diagnosis when he and my mom were still married, and he was pissed about it because he said the school was just trying to label me. In practice I thought it was pretty cool, because my teacher started cutting me more slack, but I don’t think my dad ever adjusted to it. When I was a senior, he’d send me these articles about people who got diagnosed and went on to get doctorates and shit, and how I didn’t have to let my diagnosis define me. But I hated school, and I didn’t want to go to college. Even if the YouTube thing hadn’t worked out, I would have been happier managing the climbing gym than suffering through four more years of that hell. But I didn’t go, so I guess in his eyes, that means the diagnosis did define me, right?”
“Because he’s an idiot.”
Jason nods and doesn’t try to defend him, which is a big deal. Usually he takes the blame for everything, even though anyone can see his dad’s behavior isn’t his fault. “I’m sorry I wouldn’t admit I felt like that before. I think I’ve just been trying not to feel it for a long time, because it doesn’t change anything.”
“It doesn’t changehim. But maybe admitting it can change things for you, even if it’s just by letting yourself accept it.”
“Thank you,” he says.
“Yeah, of course. So . . .”There’s another question I want to ask, but I’m not sure how.
He looks over at me. “Just ask.”
“Doyoufeel like your diagnosis defines you?”
“No. I mean, I’m not good at sitting and focusing on things that don’t interest me. But it doesn’t affect my actual life, you know?Turns out that the boring things I would need to focus on, like taxes and accounting and shit, I can pay other people to do.”
“And you do well enough to pay other people for that. More than well enough.”
“I really don’t know how people can focus on boring shit, but somehow, other people do. Just not me.”
I shrug. “I know howIdo it. But I don’t think it’s a problem if you don’t. You can still be a responsible adult. Which you are.”
“Right,” he says. “I know that, even if my father doesn’t.”
“Speaking of being a responsible adult, I need to go talk to Rich.” What I really want is to stay right here like this forever, but that’s not a possibility.
“And threaten more lawsuits?”
“If I need to. Wrath of Emily and all that. I can bring back some clothes for you first, though, if—”
He kisses the top of my head, which I’m sure is gross and sweaty from the sprint. “Nah. It’s okay. I’ll just head back to our tent. Everyone’s going to be out at the photo site, anyway, all distracted with you raising holy hell.”
This time, I believe it really is okay.
I lean up to kiss him, and our mouths meet for a long, lingering kiss that sends that familiar and yet still delicious thrill all the way down to my toes. I’m more than a little tempted to see if it’s too soon after him feeling sexualized by reality-show divas for me to suggest we take advantage of this free time, but who the hell knows when Rich will send someone out to find us.
I really don’t want to make Jason any more uncomfortable than I already have today.
Once I finally manage to pull myself away from that kiss, I head back to the others. Not at a run this time, but definitely a determined, take-no-prisoners walk.This attitude is clearly obvious on my face, because when I arrive back at the wall, the Not-Wives—all except Genesis, who is getting her picture taken now—take one look at me and are suddenly very busy examining their nails. Monroe fluffs outTiberius’s small purple feather boa.
Rich visibly straightens when I stomp over to him. “Emily,” he says in this very practiced, composed tone. “Clearly you’re upset—”
“You’re right. I am.”
“—and clearly things got a little out of hand.”
“Right again.” I cross my arms. “They can’t do this, Rich.This is a workplace, and you know full well how out of line that was.”
There’s an arch to his eyebrow that makes me think he is of the opinion that Jason and I are exaggerating this, but it vanishes quickly. He nods in this appeasing way that makes my blood boil. “Of course,” he says. “I mean, it’s not like I can directly control what they say or do, but—”
“But you sure as hell don’t need to stand back and let it happen on your film set. I can’t imagine you want to when there are so many cameras around.”
Rich lets out a little chuffing breath. His eyes dart around like he’s looking for way out of this corner he’s backed into.
I practically see a light bulb turn on over his head when he finds it.
