The elevator doors opened, and I stepped into the thankfully empty lift. “This isn’t their fault. I’ll call and talk to Mom—”
“Of course it’s not their fault, you pumpkin head. But you can’t just go around Kansas City swinging your dick around like King Kong.”
“Don’t talk about my son like that.”
“Can you please for once in your life take something seriously?”
“I take pizza seriously,” I told her.And Winnie Baker, I thought to myself.
“You know, I was pissed about you up and leaving to do this movie, and I still am if I’m being honest. But it’s probably for the best. You’d make this worse, and I’m already trying to help Payton get into damage control mode. But if you’re going to be flouncing around Vermont for a few weeks, can you at least take some time to get your shit together and think about what it means to be an adult?”
“I’m sorry,” I finally said, even if I believed this wasn’t entirely my fault. I hated the thought of embarrassing Mom and Dad and ruining a good thing for Payton. I didn’t want to be that guy.
I stepped off the elevator and into the quiet lobby. “Please tell Payton I’m sorry. Maybe I should call this Adan person—”
“No,” she said firmly. “No. But I will tell Payton. And you should check on Mom. Tell her you’re sorry and that you’re done sleeping your way through every Jewish bridal party in town.”
“It wasn’t just Jewish bridesmaids,” I clarified. “There were afew Catholic and Hindu weddings in the mix too. Oh, and then there was that Unitarian wedding out in Lawrence.”
“I don’t need to know this,” she said.
“You still love me?” I asked sheepishly, despite the muddy feeling in my chest.
“I couldn’t stop if I tried,” she said. “And I have.” Her head swiveled. “Tristan—no, Theo—no, wait—Toby! Get down from there! You’re going to break your arm—again!”
“I’ll let you go,” I told her.
She opened her mouth to say one last thing, but the video cut and she was gone, probably trying to catch a kid in midair.
I stuffed my phone into my pocket and walked to the fifteen-passenger van waiting to take me to the movie set.
Tamara wasn’t right about everything. I knew that. I couldn’t be responsible for Payton’s short-lived engagement—at least not completely. But maybe if I’d just talked to her for five minutes and caught up with her for a little bit before we started boinking in the bridal suite, I might have known. And if I’d known, I never would have hooked up with her... right?
And poor Mom. First the sex tape, then the sexy Santa movie. Now this.
What bothered me most, though, was knowing that this was how people saw me. I felt like a total hypocrite pretending to be a leading man when back home I was nothing but a homewrecker, apparently. No matter how hard I tried to be a responsible business owner or a good son or a reliable friend or the best uncle, I’d always be the guy with the bridesmaid sex tape who broke up someone’s engagement. And that just wasn’t the kind of guy who saved the day and got the girl.
“Okay, so we’re going to run you two up and down the ski lift a few times to get some B-roll for the skiing montage. And this is Ralph. He’s our ski lift consultant and operator,” Gretchen said as we stood on a deck next to a grouchy-looking old man with the most wiry and impressive eyebrows I’d ever seen.
“Nothing much to consult on,” he said with a grunt. “You use the lift. I hit the buttons.”
“Well, it sounds like you know exactly what you’re doing,” Winnie said brightly, her eyes briefly darting to me.
Since the moment we got out of hair and makeup, she’d been swallowing back a smile and biting that damn lip of hers. Every time our eyes met, her chest would bloom with a deeper shade of pink and she’d look away again. It made my mouth water.
Today we were filming at an old ski resort an hour outside of town. It was a family-owned operation that was a little rough around the edges, but nothing the camera couldn’t hide.
“Great,” Gretchen said with a nod as her walkie crackled with some sort of craft services emergency. “You two hop on and we’ll probably stop the lift a few times for a few different shots. Do either of you have a phone on you?” she asked. “You can just call down if you need a break or anything. I can get a walkie too.”
Winnie patted the pockets of her very tiny red velvet skirt. “I couldn’t fit it in my pockets.”
“I’ve got mine,” I said, digging into the very ample pockets of my jeans.
Gretchen nodded with a sigh. “The fucking patriarchy,” she said before turning back to Luca, who stood holding the skisto fasten to our feet. “Luca, can we do something about getting Winnie some pockets on her other costumes?”
He sniffed. “I’ll see what miracles I can work. In the meantime, Winnie, I’m so sorry to say this, but I’ll need your puffer.”
“Right,” Winnie said as she shed the floor length puffer coat she wore between scenes to keep warm. Underneath, all that was left were her hunter-green tights, the red velvet mini skirt, and a short white fur coat that looked about as warm as the fancy but thin throw blankets Tamara had on display in her house. (She had a secret stash of real blankets that actually did the job of keeping you warm, of course.) Winnie looked like the kind of fluffy holiday dessert that made me glad Nolan’s mom, Mrs.Kowalczk, always invited me over for Christmas. But there was no hiding the way she gritted her teeth against the Vermont chill, especially up here in the mountains.
