But that’s exactly why I can’t call.
Claire is in bed because she’s growing a human being. She’s creating life, nurturing it, protecting it with every breath she takes. Her stillness has purpose. Her rest has meaning.
I’m in bed because as much as I want to fix myself, I don’t understand what broke. It wasn’t the letter. No, I was brokenlong before that secret reared its ugly head. That particular truth might’ve been the final nail in the coffin, though.
But I don’t want to start a conversation I know I can’t finish. So I don’t call Claire. Instead, I pick up my phone and open my text thread with Grayson.
The last message is from two weeks ago, right after the collapse. A single line from him:Heard what happened. That sucks.
That sucks. Two words. No follow-up, no check-in, no “are you okay” or “do you need anything.” Justthat sucks, like I’d told him I got a parking ticket instead of having an epic breakdown during a live performance.
I stare at the screen, thumbs hovering, trying to figure out what I even want to say. What I want from him. What I ever wanted from him in the first place.
Three months ago, I thought I liked him. We met at a party in LA I didn’t want to go to—some industry thing where everyone was trying too hard to look like they weren’t trying. I liked his laugh. It was a raspy bark, probably the consequence of thousands of bong hits. But it sounded so unpracticed. So un-charming and I liked that because it felt real.
We went on three dates. Dinners at places with waiting lists, walks on beaches closed to the public, the kind of performative romance that looks perfect in paparazzi photos. The conversations were short and empty. His eyes were on his phone more than on me, even when I wore my sexiest little black dress. He’s no Price Charming, but I’m twenty-three. There’s no time like the present to settle.
I almost spread my legs for him and offered up my most sacred secret. Thank God I surprised him that night at his place and interrupted him in bed with another woman. She was one of at least three in his rotation. It woke me up to reality.
I never gave him grief about it. What was the point? We weren’t official. We hadn’t made any promises. And honestly, part of me was relieved because what if I’d gone through with it? What if everything I’d been waiting for, everything my mom told me to wait for was…this? A constantly baked, self-important dimwit of a man who thinks the phrase “that sucks” is empathy.
No.The grass has to be greener somewhere else. Disney and Hallmark have to be pulling story ideas from some sort of real experience, right?
Grayson and I should’ve had a clean break but then the photos surfaced.Grayson and Charlie, America’s hottest new couple.It was overinflated celebrity gossip nonsense, but suddenly my ticket sales exploded. People who hadn’t thought about me in years were buying albums, streaming songs, following my every move. It helped his career too—gave him a softer image, made him seem like boyfriend material instead of the Hollywood dickwad everyone suspected he was…because he is.
I made a deal with the devil. Or Sage did, anyway. Our oh-so-loving relationship is mapped up in a stack of paperwork as thick as my fist. A PR relationship, carefully staged and managed, lasting until the end of my world tour. We’d be seen together at events, post the occasional Instagram story, sell the fantasy of Barbie and Ken to a world desperate to believe in something perfect and beautiful.
It was a savvy business move, and I figured fake-loved would feel better than being real-alone.
Now I’m not so sure.
Me
Hey. How’s the press tour going?
I watch the three dots appear almost immediately. At least he’s responsive when it’s convenient for him.
Grayson
Crazy busy. Back-to-back interviews all day. Did a late-night appearance last night. You see it?
Me
No, I’m sorry. I was asleep. How did it go?
Grayson
Killed it. Had ’em eating out of the palm of my hand. The host asked about you actually. Played the concerned boyfriend card. You’re welcome.
Me
Thanks.
Grayson
No prob. Hey I gotta run, car’s here. Talk later?
Me
