This chapter is dedicated to cheesecakewhisperer, destroyer of hearts.
I couldn't care less: When you care so little that it would be impossible to care any less than you presently do.
I could care less: When you don't care that words mean things, so you string them together arbitrarily and let the rest of us guess what you're trying to say.
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I regret not knocking on his door, but I really shouldn't feel bad. I'm still dead tired, and I wouldn't have gotten any sleep at all if I'd gone to talk to him. It was bad enough clawing through this day on just a few hours of rest. I felt so unprofessional, forgetting my lines, struggling not to laugh during the manic phase of my exhaustion, and acting like a dry tree stump most of the time. That's what it felt like, anyway. I really hope it didn't show too much. I used to do full concerts on zero hours of sleep, but at least those were over after a few hours. Besides, I was younger then, and it there's a big difference between being up all night partying and being up all night alone. I really did need sleep, and I made the right choice, but still, I regret not talking to him. I didn't realize how soon he'd be leaving.
We're out to dinner: Scott, Baz, Nikki, Leo, Stella, Ramona, Tom, and I. I'm here because Scott is. He needs to take advantage of the opportunity to get to know everyone a bit before his flight back to L.A. tonight. We're right across the table from each other, but we can't really say anything with everyone present. The concepts I want to communicate, I can't even put into words, let alone facial expressions. I'm all expressioned out anyway.
Energy is beyond me right now. My eyes are drooping and my tummy is full, but everyone else is still talking and eating, so I zone out, tracing the patterns in Scott's shirt, then looking through him, then looking at the backs of my eyelids. No. No sleeping at the dinner table, Mitch. That's rude. Maybe it's good that Scott and I can't have a heart-to-heart just yet, considering how cranky I get before nap time. I'll just have to wait. What's another three weeks after three years?
Three years. Three years ago, my niece weighed 3 pounds, six ounces and ate breast milk through a feeding tube because she was too weak to nurse. Now she's walking and talking and making play dough pancakes. Three years ago, I had never kissed Alex, and now I'll never get to again. Three years ago, I had no idea where leaving Scott would take me. I would change everything. If I could do it over, oh if only I could do it all over...
Realistically, it's going to be longer than just three weeks. Baz always runs over schedule, and I counted on it, and I asked my agent to work overtime pay into my contract, but I'm still not happy with our pace. It's gonna take two more months at this rate. Baz will start moving faster, though, and it'll come out to five or six weeks, just two or three over schedule, before I can go back to my apartment in L.A. It's too soon to move in with Scott. I might never move back in. It was immature of us, acting like being platonic housemates was perfectly normal. It's not. Besides, maybe he's used to having his own space now.
When our two-billion-course dinner is finally over, we stand, and Scott starts shaking everyone's hand. I'm not quite sure what to do when it's my turn, but a handshake would be ridiculous between us, so I hold out my arms and we embrace. It's over almost before it begins.
That man waving goodbye, walking out the door, leaving for America—that's my soulmate. He's my soulmate, and that's why I couldn't get over him, and that's why I'll probably never be able to. "Scott!" He turns around. "I... I'll see you soon."
"I hate that word," he scowls.
"Well, then, justice is served, because I'm pretty sure you came up with it. Will you be in L.A. for a while?"
"A few months."
"I'll see you there. Now don't let me make you miss your flight."
"I was kind of hoping you would."
"Just because you can afford to doesn't mean you should waste perfectly good plane tickets. Maybe I'll text you when I wake up tomorrow morning."
"I'll be flying still."
"I'll tweet you." Most flights have free Wi-Fi now, and he's flying first class internationally, so I'm sure he'll be connected.
"Everyone will see."
"I'll DM you."
"I'd have to follow you. Our fans would notice."
"So?"
"Let's just call when I land?"
"Are you having second thoughts or something?"
"Please don't..."
Don't what? "Okay," I surrender. We'll work it out. "Just call when you're ready. I love you." He gives me a sad smile and a real hug, and then he's gone. I'm not sure he's going to call.
I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow. In my dreams, Scott and I are deciding between whole milk and skim, and Baz is telling him to take it easy; we're filming a commercial, not a soap opera. Scott starts crying, and now I'm the director, and I'm telling him he's no good at acting, he's doing everything wrong, he's a failure, why does he have to be so dramatic, why can't he just act normal? He drops the milk and runs away, and I chase after him until he runs off a cliff.
Alex helps me soak up the mess. My towel absorbs it, but his just pushes it around. He tells me not to cry over it; it's too late now, and it was just the skim milk anyway, and it was already sour. The whole milk is too indulgent for me, so I take the 2% Alex offers. It tastes different. It's not 2% at all; it's cream that he watered down for me. Baz cuts. Alex is brilliant, he says. A great actor, almost as great as me.
Alex isn't here when I wake up. I hug my stuffed lion close and pull out my phone to see if Scott's unblocked me yet. I reminded him to, right? Oh, and I said, "I love you." What was I thinking? I shouldn't have said that. I think he knew I didn't mean it like that, but I shouldn't have let it slip at all. You can't just say things like that out loud.
