Page 103
“Oh.” It comes out lighter than I feel. “Well, I received some news today.”
His focus sharpens. “Yeah?”
I nod, a small smile slipping through despite the heaviness. “Drew’s taken me on. My trial is officially over. I’m staying in London.”
With you, I add silently.
Something like relief flashes momentarily across his face. “That’s amazing. You’re staying?”
“I am. I’ve also received a wildcard for a tournament in Kensington in two weeks.”
The consuming stress completely drops from his face, and he reaches across the wood to lift his water glass. “Congrats, Katie. You’ve earned it. I’m so incredibly proud of you.”
We tap our glasses together with a quiet clink, but the celebratory window slams shut almost instantly as his eyes drift straight back down to the stack of script modifications.
Disappointment wells up inside me. Of all the reactions I’d hoped for, this didn’t land on the list. My fingers tighten slightly against the edge of the table, the plum silk of my sleeve catching on a splinter in the wood. I feel a sudden sting of tears and blink them back. I’ve been waiting five hours to tell him this, and it feels like I’m reporting the weather to a stranger.
“I called you right after,” I say, my voice trembling just enough that he should notice. “I wanted to tell you before anyone else. I mean, I knew you’d be at the callback, but I’d hoped . . .” My voice trails off.
He nods, not looking up from the script. “Yeah. I’ll listen to it tonight.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. The noise of the tourists laughing at the bar feels as if it’s happening in an entirely different building. I exhale slowly, the words burning in my throat until I can’t keep them swallowed.
“There was something else on that voicemail.”
“Oh yeah?” he says absently.
I dry swallow. “I also told you I loved you.”
For a second, the entire pub seems to go still around us. Max freezes. The script slides off the table and falls into his lap. He looks up at me, his eyes wide. “You—what?”
“On the voicemail.” I dig my nails into my palm. “I told you that I loved you,” I repeat, a little slower this time. “It was actually one of the first things I wanted to say when I got the news.”
“I didn’t—I told you, I haven’t listened yet, Katie. I—” He stops, frantically looking under the table. He pushes his chair back. It scrapes loudly against the floor. He bends down and retrieves the script, setting it on the table. “I just got this role. I start rehearsals the day after tomorrow.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “I don’t think I can process all this right now.”
I open and close my mouth several times before I know what I want to say. “Max, there’s no person who understands what it’s like to be overwhelmed more than me. But I’m not asking anything from you. All I wanted was to tell you how I feel about you. And I’d hoped that just for tonight we could spend some time together without any of this.” I nod to the papers.
He looks at me like a man who’s drowning.
“Katie, I’m trying to hear you. I swear I am, but my brain feels like it’s being split in two. I don’t want to answer you like this. I need a few minutes.”
I pull back, the plum dress suddenly feels like a costume I wasn’t supposed to wear. I nod, even though my chest feels like it’s being crushed. “Right,” I say quietly.
“Katie, it’s not—”
“Don’t. Like I said, I get it,” I interrupt, standing up and reaching for my bag. “You have to focus. You have a deadline.”
I look at him one final time.
We’ve both finally gotten what we’ve wanted and yet somehow, we’ve never been further apart.
“Go back to your notes and your script, Max,” I say. “I’ll let you focus.”
I turn and leave, letting the tears finally fall as the pub door swings shut behind me.
Twenty-Five
One night. That’s all I wanted. A few hours where the world didn’t revolve around that stupid script. Max knows his lines backward and forward. I’ve heard them enough to recite half the scenes in my sleep.
