While We Were Dating

by Jasmine Guillory

  “I just thought . . . this whole thing has been about me. I thought . . . you’d like this better than you liked the farmers market.”

  Why was he so touched by that?

  “Anyway.” She slid her hand over his. “Thanks for making all of this—the celebrity stuff, I mean—fun for me again.”

  He pulled her close.

  “It’s fun for me, too.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’m glad that you’re okay about what I said earlier. I’m glad that . . . that we’re okay.”

  He swallowed. He didn’t know if it was because of the darkness, or the conversation from the car, or the sex, but he suddenly wanted to tell her the thing he’d told no one else.

  So he did.

  “I, um. I have a sister.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud.

  She pulled back, and he could feel her looking up at him, but he didn’t look down. It was easier if he couldn’t see her.

  “I thought it was just you and Theo.”

  He nodded.

  “That’s what I thought, too. Until a couple months ago. She emailed me, out of the blue. She’s my dad’s . . . daughter. So she must be my sister. Half sister, I guess. Dawn. She lives in Sacramento. We’ve emailed. For a little while now.”

  He rolled onto his back, and Anna laid her head on his chest. Good. He needed that right now.

  “Have you met her?”

  He closed his eyes.

  “No. She wants to meet me. A few weeks ago, she said she was coming to the Bay Area for the weekend. But it was the first weekend I was here. So I didn’t see her then.”

  She put her hand on top of his, where it lay on her hip, and moved her fingers in slow circles on his skin.

  “What does Theo think? Has he met her?”

  He swallowed.

  “Theo doesn’t know. She didn’t email him—I was the one who took one of those stupid DNA tests; that’s how she found me. I haven’t told him.”

  The slow movement of her fingers stopped when he said that. A few seconds later, she started again.

  “Why haven’t you told him?”

  “Because I don’t want to meet her!” He hadn’t realized this until that moment. “I don’t want her! I don’t want a sister! I have Theo, I have my mom, I have my cousins, I don’t want anything having to do with my dad. I don’t want his second family to try to intrude on mine. He left, he’s done, I’m done with him! I went to fucking therapy, I talked about my fucking feelings, I moved past everything, I figured it all out, I was done! And now she’s trying to waltz into my life, to be part of my family, to take my brother away from me, I don’t want it! I don’t want any of it!”

  Anna put her arms around him and pulled him against her. He tucked his head into that space between her shoulder and her neck. She rubbed his back and didn’t say anything. They breathed together for a while, until his burst of anger subsided.

  He pulled away and put his head back on his pillow.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to . . .”

  She put a finger on his lips.

  “I’m glad you did. You don’t need to be sorry.”

  He sighed.

  “I haven’t even told my therapist about this.”

  He could feel her looking up at him.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  He took a long breath.

  “It feels like . . . after all the work we did, that she did with me, that she’ll be disappointed in me. For not, like, thinking this was no big deal, for not being ready to embrace this woman with open arms, the way she seems ready to embrace me. For not being fixed.”

  Anna took his hand.

  “Oh, Ben. She won’t be disappointed in you. Life is a constant work in progress, you know that. There’s no being ‘done’ with any of this stuff.”

  He looked at the ceiling.

  “I guess I wanted to be done. For her to be proud of me. It feels like something is wrong with me that I’m not ready for this.”

  He hadn’t planned to tell Anna this, not any of it, but now that he’d started, everything was pouring out.

  “I think this would be hard for anybody, no matter how well adjusted they were, or how many years of therapy they’d done,” Anna said. “It’s a big deal!”

  That made him feel better, that she thought it was a big deal, too.

  “But . . .” Oh no. He didn’t want her to say “but.” “You said you think she’s trying to take Theo away from you.” Her voice was very gentle. “Why do you think that?”

  He took a long breath.

  “It’s been just me and Theo. Forever, it’s been just me and Theo. We watch over each other, we take care of each other—well, mostly he takes care of me, but I’ve had my moments—we take care of our mom. We always have. We irritate the hell out of each other constantly, but we’re always there for each other. A girlfriend is one thing, especially Maddie, because she’s great. A wife, fine, I can live with that, since I’m pretty sure that’s where they’re heading. That’s not a sibling. There is one person who has Theo as a brother; I am the brother to one person. I don’t want him . . . or us . . . to change.”

  Oh God. Now Anna was going to think he was an asshole.

  But her hand was still in his.

  “Oh, Ben. Love isn’t a zero-sum game, you know. You don’t have to meet this woman if you don’t want to; you don’t have to invite her into your life. But one thing that I’ve known about you from the very beginning is that”—she slid her hand up to his chest—“you have a very big heart. And I know your heart could expand to embrace Dawn, and you would lose none of your love for your brother. And I saw him with you, I could tell how much he loves you—there’s no way that anything would make him love you any less. I’m certain of it.”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly on the lips.

  “Thank you. That’s . . . I have a lot to think about, but thank you.”

  She curled her body back against his.

  “You’re welcome. And thank you for telling me.”

  After a little while, he could tell by her regular breathing that she’d fallen asleep. But he lay awake for a long time.

  Eighteen

  “They’re all up in the dressing room,” Florence said to Ben when she let him into Anna’s house the following Friday morning.

  “The dressing room?” Was that some sort of code that he didn’t know?

  “I’ll show you,” she said.

  They stopped at the door of what he’d just assumed was a guest room next to Anna’s bedroom.

  “Oh. The dressing room,” he said.

  Some people might call this room an enormous closet, but that would understate it. Clothes lined the room on all four sides, with breaks for floor-to-ceiling mirrors. One big corner had shelves just for shoes, and then another was full of purses. There were more racks and bins for things like sweaters and . . . ahh, that’s why Anna seemed to have on a different bra every time; it was like a whole lingerie shop over there. Damn, he thought he treated his sneakers well.

  “Hi, Ben!” Anna said from a platform in the middle of the floor. She was wearing a black, very slinky dress that emphasized her curves and barely covered her breasts. One woman was kneeling at her feet, and her stylist was a few feet away, looking at her with a frown on her face. And, oh, excellent, there was Simon, scowling away in the corner.

  Anna had told him that she’d be in the midst of a fitting for her premiere dress when he arrived, but he hadn’t realized just what a fitting like that would entail.

  Ben cleared his throat.

  “Hi. Is it my job to take off my jacket and sweep it over you if some of that fabric slips a little too far when we’re on the red carpet?”

  Everyone in the room laughed. Well, everyone except Simon.

  “That�
�s what the fitting is for,” Anna’s stylist said. “Don’t worry, she’ll be more covered up at the premiere.”

  He hadn’t been . . . worried exactly, but he was relieved he wouldn’t have to live in fear of a wardrobe malfunction. And very pleased he’d gotten to see Anna in this version of the dress.

  “That is, if I even wear this one,” Anna said.

  “You should wear this one,” Simon said.

  Anna ignored him and pointed to the corner.

  “There are a few other options I haven’t gotten to try on yet; we’re figuring this out now. They have your tux, by the way, if you want to try it on.”

  Ben dropped his bag by the door.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Why not” was that he had a feeling that if he tried on his tux, the fitting would take even longer, and he was already frustrated that the first time he saw Anna after a week apart was in the presence of Florence, Anna’s stylist, whoever that other person was, and of course, Simon.

  He hadn’t seen her since Sunday night, and while they’d texted all week, it wasn’t the same. He wanted to be able to kiss her hello, tell her how incredible she looked in that dress, ask her how her meeting with Varon had gone, and so many other things. That was partly why he’d come this morning instead of tonight after work, so he could spend more time with her. But he’d forgotten—or maybe hadn’t realized—how much went into being Anna Gardiner.

  He should probably go over there and kiss her hello in front of all of those people so they could ooh and aah and then tell people about how cute Anna and her boyfriend Ben Something were, right? But it felt . . . wrong to do that. As much as he was fine with holding hands with Anna in public and acting just like she wanted him to, he appreciated that they still had their private whispers, so it felt like it was a big inside joke for the two of them. But he didn’t want to kiss her for public consumption, even just “public” for the people on her team.

  Ben picked up the hanger with the tux on it and went into the bathroom to change. He felt sort of silly doing that, he was sure Anna was changing in the middle of the room, and all of those people probably saw men in various stages of undress all day. When he’d been a dancer, he’d gotten used to changing in front of a million people. But that was a long time ago.

  When he came back into the room, Anna was in a different dress. Everyone turned to whistle at him. Even—he was shocked to see—Simon.

  “Anna, did you know he looked like this in a tux when you started dating him?” her stylist asked.

  Anna shook her head, but with a wide smile on her face. That smile made him realize how stressed she’d looked the rest of the time. Was it the premiere? Was she anxious about what that would be like, with all of the photographers and the cameras?

  “I didn’t know he looked this good in a tux,” she said. “But I highly suspected.” Her eyes were locked on his. He blushed and went to stand where the stylist pointed, so they could pin the cuffs and hems and . . . the sleeves?

  “You’re taking in the sleeves?” he asked her.

  She looked at him, then over at Simon.

  “We thought we might as well take advantage of those biceps of yours,” she said.

  He knew who the “we” was there, but he’d let that go.

  He left the room again to change back into his regular clothes, which took longer than usual because he had to do it without stabbing himself with a pin, but he managed. When he came back into the room, he stopped cold at the doorway.

  “Wow,” he said. “You look incredible in that dress.”

  Anna looked up and into his eyes. A slow smile spread across her face.

  The dress was red, with a simple, snug, strapless top and a very full skirt. It wasn’t as overtly sexy as the first dress, but that wasn’t why he liked it. It just looked like Anna to him. Bright and powerful, but also fun and beautiful.

  “I like this one, too.” He liked that smile on her face. “Simon likes the first one better, but I’ve always wanted a tulle dress.” She looked at herself in the mirror, and then at her stylist. “I’ve never worn one—people have always told me that with my shape, the big ball-gown skirt doesn’t work on me, but . . .” She looked in the mirror again and swung her hips from side to side. “It’s just so fun.”

  Something happened to him as she danced in the mirror. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Fuck it, he didn’t care how many people were in the room, he had to kiss her. He moved toward her. She turned and smiled right at him.

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” Her stylist stepped in front of Ben. He stopped.

  “Remember the Golden Globes?” Simon said. “You loved that dress, too. That time, I also said—”

  Anna turned away from Ben and looked at Simon.

  “I remember the Golden Globes, how could I ever forget? Yes, yes, you were right that time.” She looked at herself in the mirror again. “Get them both ready, Devora? I’ll decide next week.”

  Simon looked irritated, but then, Ben figured he probably did, too. He sat on the couch amid the piles of clothes to wait.

  He wished he could send Maddie pictures of all of this—she would love to see the clothes Anna was choosing from, and he’d be able to ask Maddie all of the questions he didn’t want to ask out loud right now. Not with Simon around, anyway. What happened at the Golden Globes? Did Anna pay for all of these clothes? If not, did she get to keep them? And his tux—where had that come from? Anna had just told him she’d take care of it and he hadn’t argued with her about it, but now he wanted to know if she’d paid for it or if some designer had given it to her for him.

  Holy shit. He was really, actually going to be on a red carpet with her. He’d known that from the beginning of this whole charade, of course. But he hadn’t really thought about what it would be like. Would he have to pose for pictures with her?

  If so, he hoped someone would give him some tips.

  “Okay, I think we’re all set,” Devora said, and unpinned the red dress from Anna. Anna stepped out of it and . . . holy fucking shit. He’d seen her body, nude and in lingerie, so many times now, but it blew his mind every time. He tried to disguise the naked hunger that he was sure was all over his face, but when she looked at him, it was almost impossible. She beamed at him.

  Anna threw on a sundress, and Ben tore his eyes away from her. He saw Simon looking at him, but he couldn’t care less. Everyone in the room other than Ben was getting ready to leave, and after too many side conversations and “just one more things” and “have you thought abouts” and “Oh wait, Anna, I forgot to tell yous,” they all finally left Anna’s house. Everyone but him and Anna.

  “Hi.” Ben met her by the stairs when she came back up after walking Florence out.

  “Hi, yourself.” She walked toward him. She had that look on her face again, the one he’d noticed earlier. The worried, anxious look. He pulled her into his arms, and she nestled her head in his chest.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She laughed.

  “How did you know something was wrong? It’s nothing.”

  He tilted his head back and looked at her. She smiled when she saw the expression on his face.

  “Okay, it’s not nothing,” she said. “It’s nothing new, nothing major, that’s what I meant. It’s just everything—I’ve gotten my hopes so high over the past few weeks about everything, and this fitting just made me think about what if I’m wrong about all of it? What if I show up to this Vigilantes premiere and smile and pose on the red carpet and then I’m barely in the movie? I’ll be so crushed, so humiliated that I did all of this for nothing. I want this role in the Varon film so bad I can taste it, and I’m just so worried that all of this won’t work. I’ll feel like such a failure, and everyone will see that I’ve failed, and laugh at me, and I won’t know where to go or what to do.”

  Her arms were tight arou
nd him, and all he could do was brush back her hair in that way he knew soothed her.

  “Do you want to sit down?” he asked.

  She lifted her face up and kissed him softly on the lips.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  They went to his favorite couch in her den, the cozy little room that just had a TV and couches and a coffee table and felt lived in.

  “I’m sorry this is all so stressful,” he said. “How did the meeting with Varon go?”

  She let out a long sigh, and his stomach dropped until she started talking.

  “It was great. She was great. But it just made me want it even more—I want it so bad, Ben. I see so much in this role. It could be . . .” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Everything I want. At first I just wanted it because it felt like it could be the thing that would get me back to the Oscars, to maybe even win this time. But now . . . now it’s not about that. Well. Not just about that. She gets me, I get her, I feel like I could really . . . grow in this role, I could learn so much from it, from her. But that may have just made everything worse, because it’s still the same situation as before—I have to get the buy-in from the studio, and I have no idea what they’re thinking. I think Varon was trying to make them show their hand a little by having a public meeting with me—she knows how this game is played, too—but who knows, that might just piss them off.”

  He hated to ask this, but—

  “What does Simon think?”

  She looked up at him with a wry smile on her face.

  “I know you and Simon didn’t—exactly—click, but he’s my fiercest advocate, you know.”

  Ben sighed.

  “I know. That’s why I asked. I figured if there was something to worry about, Simon would know.”

  She leaned back against him and pulled him down until they were both lying back on the couch.

  “He says we’re doing all the right things—he never bullshits me, so I know it’s true. But I think he’s also worried.” She put her hand in his, and he squeezed. “He gave me a pep talk today, said I’m doing a great job, just keep doing what I’m doing, and we’ll know more in a few weeks.” She laughed softly. “That made me feel better, it always does when he gives me a pep talk, but this time I didn’t even ask for one, so he could obviously also tell something was up.”