ethan & emma: talking with you.

Moonlight

Thanksgiving week passed in a blur. 

Emma was groggily emailing with her manager as her Sad Boi Hour merch went live, forcing her mom to proofread her dutiful announcements on Instagram and Twitter in case her mono-addled brain said something stupid. She did say hi to her Grandma and Grandpa. She visited with her dad and her grandparents from his side. She texted Ethan, who was back in New Jersey, and tried to convince (threaten/beg/persuade) him to listen to Mac DeMarco (or at least her favorite song by him, Moonlight on the River). 

But mostly she spent her time sick in bed, her mom looking after her. 

She'd missed this.

There was something immensely comforting about having your mom take care of you. Not having to worry or stress, because just for a moment, someone else, someone capable, knowledgeable, confident, steadfast, could step in. 

Emma was probably closer to her mom than to any other person in the world. 

Maybe that was weird for a 17-year-old, but as she got older Emma appreciated how much her mother anchored her to reality. She had no qualms about telling Emma off, or warning her when she was acting irrational or ridiculous. She wasn't weighed down by petty arguments. No matter what Emma was earning, no matter what she looked like, no matter her profession, her mom would still be there for her.  

After filming so many collabs with James Charles, Emma could see the danger of surrounding yourself with people who relied on you or wanted something from you. 

For a week, she burrowed into her mother's arms.  

And then she had to leave. 

Going from being fussed over in her Mom's tiny apartment, back to her packed schedule and ten different deadlines in LA... it felt like culture shock all over again.

This week was especially difficult. 

"I don't know," Emma said, nearly on the verge of tears. "I haven't gotten any emails about it." 

"Have you checked your spam folder?" Her manager, Derek, did not sound happy. Emma knew that he was generally a nice guy, but the only time he ever called her was when something was going wrong. Whenever she saw his name pop up on her phone, it was accompanied by dread. 

"Um, no. Hold on." Emma fumbled with her computer. 

Apparently, there was a potential controversy with her new Sad Boi merch line. The suppliers were unexpectedly increasing shipping costs without warning, meaning her merch prices were liable to skyrocket. Some problem with weather and overseas shipping? She needed her signed copy of their contract to dispute it? 

She didn't know how to ask Derek what the hell he was talking about. 

This is why she had a manager. So he could deal with this stuff. 

Her management company, United Talent Agency, offered to sign Emma back in June. She barely hesitated before accepting the opportunity. UTA managed all the huge stars. Mark Ruffalo. Johnny Depp. Jim Carrey. And now, Emma Chamberlain.

There was a reason they were so prolific. Her manager - although technically he was called an "agent" - was good at what he did. Great, in fact. He presented the plan that would get her into the fashion world, pairing her with Hollister. He connected her to Mad Merch, the company that then oversaw her merch and website. He handled any and all emergencies.

And now he was asking her for a specific email. One she was 95% certain she'd deleted. 

"Do you see it?" he urged over the phone.