The Beautiful Truth

// 139

"Ok, Micki, I gotta run, I'm going to meet with Dr. Bovich for a few minutes to talk about the movie," I told her, precariously cradling my iPhone between my cheek and my shoulder as I traded my cut-off shorts for my favorite battered jeans.

"Awesome, have fun!" she cheered on the other end of the phone. "Oh hey, wait, I have a favor to ask you."

I hesitated. "Last time you asked me to do you a favor you bamboozled me into handing my dad's ex-fiancée the movie script I wrote about their failed relationship."

Micki laughed nervously on the other end. "No, no, seriously, can you pick me and Alex up at the airport when we get back?"

"When do you get back again?" I asked, wrinkling my nose as I slipped on my flip flops and grabbed my bag from my desk before heading out for campus.

Micki scoffed. "I should expect that my best friend would have the date I return to the United States after a five-and-a-half month exile committed to memory."

I rolled my eyes.

"I know you just rolled your eyes at me."

I laughed sarcastically. "Of course you do. And first of all, it's not an exile—you got to tour the Pacific Rim, on a rock tour...for college credit, so screw you. Second of all, your return date has been, to this point, floating, because you guys keep tacking on days for quote, touristy things."

Micki laughed happily. "Fair enough. Alex and I are coming back on August 5th."

"Ooh, I'm going to be in LA that day," I grimaced, bracing for her wail of disapproval. Forget editing my movie, I would be expected to pick her up and that's all there was to it!

"Well, conveniently," Micki surprised me with her calm non-reaction, "we're flying into LAX. Barton has to see the label or something, so to LA we go."

I frowned. "And you want me to drive you back to Berkeley after you've flown a bazillion hours from Australia?"

"Eh, it will be nice to travel by land at that point, I think," she responded quickly.

I shook my head and crossed the street in front of our/Travis's house. "You're weird."

"Oh whatever, just tell me you'll be there to get us. We get in at 6:30 that evening."

"Fine, 6:30 on August 5th. Done. See you there."

"You bet your hot little ass you will," Micki teased.

"OK, get back to making me jealous, I'll talk to you soon," I assured her. "Tell Alex and Seth I said hi."

Micki snickered. "Yes, I'll tell everybody you said hello. Have a great night, SF."

Dr. Bovich was predictably tap-tapping away at his computer when I barged into his office fifteen minutes later. He looked up at me and grinned.

"Hey Hollywood, what's happening?"

I flopped down in that same over-sized, overstuffed leather chair I'd once argued from two years ago, before the start of my freshman year. "Oh you know, just about to make a movie," I sighed. "No big deal."

"You've got what, about two weeks before everyone descends upon campus?" he asked, moving to pull something out of his desk drawer.

"Yep, we start July 6th," I reminded him, absentmindedly twirling a strand of my summertime sun-kissed hair.

Dr. Bovich sat about pulling two highball glasses out of the cabinet behind his desk. I never knew those were back there, but here he was, pulling them out and filling them with the liquor he'd removed from the bottom drawer of his desk. I smirked—he was a grown man, a tenured professor...in the English department, nonetheless, and he still felt like he had to keep his booze in a drawer.

"Here," he spun around in his chair and handed me a glass. "Every writer drinks scotch."

I took a whiff and tried not to grimace.

Dr. Bovich almost smiled. "I only said they drink it. They don't have to like it."

I laughed. "You know I'm not 21 yet, right?"

He stared down his nose and over his wire frame glasses at me. "You know you've drank alcohol before, right? I'm celebrating a moment with you, Miss Fitzgerald. Recognize it and reciprocate."

I laughed again. "Thank you."

He finally smiled and raised his glass.

"No, I mean it," I waxed sentimental for a moment. "Thank you. So much. You and I both know this is about so much more than just a movie," I told him. "I have...there's so much about this whole experience that I wouldn't change for the world. I mean, you know all the things I'm talking about—everything with my dad, and understanding some things about my mom, and meeting Amy, and well, like I said. You know. It has meant so much to me."

Dr. Bovich seemed to consider me for a moment. "You don't have to thank me for anything. All of this is happening because of you. It's been my pleasure to stand by and watch."

"And to think, I tried to get out of it," I remembered with a fragment of a thought. I looked back up at him and raised my own glass. "To The End of It All."

Dr. Bovich shook his head, yet raised his glass to mine. "No, Sawyer, trust me. This is only the beginning."