He’d dreaded this appointment with Dr. Lindsey. He hadn’t told anyone what had happened with Anna. What was even the point? He knew that after a while, she’d mention in some stupid article that she was single again—that had been in her and Simon’s plan, after all—and then he’d say something to his family about it. Someday, he’d figure out what to do with those sneakers Anna gave him. For now, he just muted the family group text, avoided Theo’s calls, and left the sneakers where they were, shoved in the back of a closet. But he worried that Dr. Lindsey would see right through him.
He sat down on her couch, determined to just get this appointment over with and go on with his day.
“How was your week, Ben?” she asked to start him off, the way she always did.
He shrugged.
“Not terrible—the premiere with Anna was last week.” God, it hurt to even say her name. He was pathetic. “So that was fun. That whole thing is over now, though.”
She looked over her folded hands at him.
“And how do you feel about that?” Of course she asked that.
He was going to lie, was going to say he felt fine, that he was ready to get back to his normal life.
But he just couldn’t do it. Why the fuck was he in therapy in the first place if he wasn’t going to talk about the hard stuff?
“I feel like shit about it,” he said. “I told her I fell in love with her. After the premiere. I didn’t realize it until then. So I told her.” He could feel himself getting choked up. Fuck. He had to stop talking for a second, so his voice wouldn’t betray him. “It didn’t go well.”
He looked down so he wouldn’t have to see the look on Dr. Lindsey’s face.
“Oh, Ben. Oh, Ben, I’m so sorry. From the way you talked about her, I wondered if maybe . . . but I didn’t—forgive me for saying this, but I didn’t think you’d tell her.”
He looked up at her. She looked so kind he had to look away.
“No forgiveness necessary. I honestly hadn’t planned to tell you, either, but”—he lifted his hands—“I had to tell someone, and that’s kind of your job. Anyway. I feel like shit. I guess I already said that, but . . . I don’t know, I don’t know how to deal with this, and it sucks. Can you . . . What can you do to make me not feel like shit?”
She laughed, but kindly. Laugh number five!
“Oh, Ben. I’m so sorry. Unfortunately, there’s no quick cure for feeling like shit after a breakup—if there was, I’d probably be out of a job. But—can I ask you—why did you tell her?”
He looked down at his hands.
“She said—a few weeks back, we were being kind of snippy with each other, and then I kissed her, just, I guess, to make it all stop, and she said something that I feel like you’ve been trying to tell me for . . . years now. That I use sex as a distraction when I’m upset or I don’t want to deal with something. And so that night, after I realized that . . . I loved her, and after we had sex, I thought about that. And also about what you said not long ago.”
She looked surprised.
“Which thing I said?”
“That thing about how sometimes it’s important to tell people how you feel just to say it. I hadn’t . . . I didn’t really understand what you meant then. But I guess I figured it out.”
“Are you glad you told her?” she asked. “Even though she didn’t respond in the way you wished she would?”
He thought about that for a long time. About how broken he’d felt in Anna’s bed that night, how he’d wished he could take it back, how ashamed he’d been, how stupid he’d felt.
And then he’d thought about what it would have felt like to keep pretending forever. To have her come to the Bay Area to see her parents and text him, and pretend all he wanted from her was a few hours of mutual pleasure. To pretend that to her, and to himself.
“Not at first. At first, I was so humiliated. I hated doing it. I hated myself for doing it. Everything about it felt awful. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I’ve hated every day since.” He bit his lip. “But yeah. I’m glad I did it.”
He took a deep breath.
“And while I’m talking about things. There’s something else I haven’t told you. I found out a few months ago that I have a sister. Dawn.”
Dr. Lindsey nodded slowly. That made him realize just how much he’d shocked her when he told her what he’d said to Anna—she’d been so visibly surprised then that she was almost relaxed at this bombshell.
“Oh wow. Okay, that’s a big deal,” she said in her soothing voice. “From your father, I assume? How did you find out?”
And then he told her the whole story. About the emails, and what he’d said to her, and what he hadn’t told her. And that she wanted to meet him.
“And I’ve been . . . avoiding her ever since then,” he said. “She sent a few emails about the Anna stuff when she saw it in the news, but I kept taking longer and longer between replies to her, and I finally just . . . stopped.” He swallowed. “Hearing from her . . . it brought up some stuff about my dad, that I thought I’d dealt with. And I guess I was worried that this would mess up what Theo and I have. But that seems stupid now. Maybe I was just afraid of more change. And of having to think about—and talk about—my dad again, when I thought I was all done with that.”
Dr. Lindsey raised her eyebrows.
“You thought you were all done with that?”
He laughed out loud, and she joined in. Six!
“Anna . . .” He let out a breath. “Anna said something similar when I told her about it.”
Dr. Lindsey smiled at him.
“You and Anna talked about a lot, it seems.”
She had no idea.
“Yeah. We did.”
He left Dr. Lindsey’s office feeling exhausted and wrung out, but also relieved. It had hurt—a lot—to tell her about Anna, and about Dawn. But somehow he felt better. Like he didn’t have to deal with all of this alone.
Speaking of.
I know you’re busy, but when are you free for a drink? Yes I’ll come to the east bay.
Theo texted back a few minutes later.
He’s alive! This week is a nightmare, but next week?
Okay. He could wait until then.
* * *
—
Anna woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. It was late, she was usually up by then, but she hadn’t been sleeping well. It had been taking a long time to fall asleep, and then she would wake up in the middle of the night and stare at her ceiling for hours, before she finally fell back asleep right around sunrise.
She sat up and tried to clear the sleep out of her voice.
“It’s not official, but . . . you got it,” Simon said when she answered.
She froze.
“I got it? IT? I got it?”
Simon laughed.
“The Varon film. Yes. Maggie should get the official call for you in the next few days.” He laughed again. “But you know me, I wanted to be the one to share the news first.”
Of course he did.
Anna dropped back down on her pillows.
“I can’t believe it. After everything. I got it.”
After Ben. After she’d broken Ben’s heart, just for this. And she’d gotten it. Was it worth it?
Yes, of course it was. Plus, hadn’t she realized she hadn’t really broken Ben’s heart, that he hadn’t meant it?
“Also,” Simon said, “we need to talk about the rollout. Once they announce this, everyone is going to want to talk to you, so I thought we should strategize about this first, so we can have a plan. Maybe come up with some reporters you’ve liked in the past, and do the interview with them. You can slide in there that you’re single now, too, so we can close that whole chapter. Oh, speaking of, I forgot to ask—did everything go okay there? With the end of it, I mean.”
Why had he asked her that?
“Oh yeah, everything went fine. No problems.” That wasn’t exactly a lie—Simon wouldn’t consider Ben’s heartbreak a problem he had to be concerned with.
“Good. That all went much better than I thought it would. Anyway, about the reporters—you liked that woman who interviewed you for Vogue awhile ago, right?”
Anna had liked her, as a matter of fact.
“Oh yeah, she was great. Let’s get her, if we can.” She and Simon came up with a list of a few more potential journalists for the interview.
She took a deep breath right before they got off the phone.
“Oh, and Simon. Can you get me some names of a handful of good charities that deal with mental health that might need some help?”
There was silence on the phone for a moment.
“Are you sure about this, Anna?”
She closed her eyes.
“No. But get me the names anyway, okay?”
A week later, a red sports car pulled up to Anna’s house. A Black woman with her hair up in a topknot got out and waved to someone inside, who drove off.
“Nice ride,” Anna said, when she opened the front door. “Hi, Nik, good to see you again.”
Nik Paterson grinned.
“Hi, Anna. It’s not my car—mine broke down this morning, so I had to hitch a ride.”
“Coffee?” Anna asked Nik as they walked toward the kitchen. “I seem to remember that you drink as much as I do.”
Nik laughed.
“You have a good memory. And yeah, I’d love some coffee.”
They made small talk about the weather, her new kitchen—she’d moved into this house since the last time she’d talked to Nik—and car disasters they’d experienced.
Once they had coffee in hand, Anna walked her out to the backyard. It wasn’t too hot yet today, so she figured it would be nicer to do this out there than inside. She already had—Florence already had—sparkling water out there waiting for them.
“So.” Nik took out her phone, a notebook, and a tape recorder. “Do you mind if I record this?”
“Not at all,” Anna said. She took a sip of coffee, hoping it would give her courage. Despite what she’d said to that charity yesterday, she still didn’t have to do this. They would understand, Simon would make polite excuses, she’d write a big check.
“Let’s talk about this movie you’re doing with Liz Varon. This sounds like the perfect vehicle for you.”
That could be empty flattery, but Anna didn’t think so. She’d read some of Nik’s other pieces.
“Thanks, that’s just how I feel,” she said. “As soon as I read the script, I called Liz. I felt like the role was mine from the first page, that I wouldn’t be complete until I played her, and until I got to work with Liz. I really can’t wait. It’s going to be tough, but I’m ready for it.”
They talked about the role more, and then Anna’s role in Vigilantes. Anna was very diplomatic about her work there, and Nik gave her a knowing look about it but let it pass. Nik knew this business as well as she did; she understood.
“What was filming that role like?” Nik asked her. “There were so many demands on you then, especially following your Oscar nomination—you filmed three movies back to back to back, didn’t you?”
Anna nodded.
“I did, in three different locations. It was . . .” She looked at Nik’s friendly, open expression. “It was really hard on me, actually. I’ve had . . . I’ve experienced anxiety for a long time, though for a lot of my life I didn’t realize what that was, I didn’t have the language to explain why my stomach hurt like that, why I could barely function some days. When I was a kid, my parents didn’t know how to deal with it. I think . . . you know, we don’t talk about mental health enough. My dad is a minister; we didn’t talk about therapy when I was a kid, just prayer. So I just thought that if I pushed on and worked harder and ignored my stress and anxiety, I’d get over it, and it would all be fine.”
Nik gave her a small smile.
“And that didn’t work out well?”
“Not at all!” Anna said, and they both laughed. “After . . . during, I should say, during that filming, I struggled a lot. I seemed fine on set, I don’t think anyone noticed, but inside . . . it was rough. Finally, after filming was over, I . . .” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I haven’t really talked about this with a lot of people.”
Nik’s voice was gentle.
“It’s okay. This stuff is hard, I know.”
Anna nodded. She opened her eyes and continued.
“After the filming was over, I had a real crisis. I think having to go there every day and be around people kept me from thinking about everything. But then I was just alone with my thoughts and it was all . . . really hard.”
She stopped talking and took a long breath. Nik didn’t say anything, but the silence was an easy one.
“I’m glad I had my family—they really helped get me through the past year.” She smiled. “My dad has evolved a lot—now he both prays for me and helped me find a great therapist. Therapy has helped a lot. And my friends were wonderful. Ben’s been so supportive. Now I know that when my anxiety gets bad in the future, I won’t feel so lost about what to do. Because this is a hard business, you know that, and I’m glad I know what I need to do to keep myself well.” She wiped her eyes. “But it’s not just people like me—there are a lot of people who need support to get through the hard times, and aren’t as fortunate as I am. And as we both know, health care is inaccessible for so many people in America, and mental health care even more so. And that’s why I’m going to be working with an organization here in L.A. that concentrates on getting free and low-cost mental health services to people—especially people in the Black community—who don’t have the resources I did. I want everyone to be able to have the tools and support I had—that I have—and I want to help combat the stigma against getting help for mental health. This feels like a great way to start.”
Nik smiled at her.
“A really great way to start,” she said.
They talked for a while longer, about why she’d been so excited about the Varon role, about working with the guy who was going to be her costar, whom she’d met briefly a handful of times but had never worked with before, about her house, and how much she loved her swimming pool, but the hard part was over.
When they were winding down, Nik picked up her phone.
“I’m sorry, I have to send a quick text to get picked up.”
Anna waved that away, and walked her through her garden as they waited.
“I should probably tell you I work really hard on this and I commune with nature as I weed and water and clip flowers, but really I have an excellent gardener who comes twice a week and does all of that and leaves me big vases full of flowers in my house.”
Nik laughed.
“Hey, we can’t all be good at everything.”
The gate rang, and Anna buzzed Nik’s ride in. She walked her outside to see the same red sports car driving up.
“Oh, is this a friend of yours? I assumed it was an Uber or something, but you usually don’t get the same one.”
Nik smiled.
“It’s my fiancé.” Anna looked down and saw what she hadn’t noticed earlier: the simple gold solitaire on Nik’s finger.
“Oh! Congratulations.” Anna seemed to remember Nik had started dating one of her former costars. “It’s not . . . that guy I worked with, right?”
Nik laughed. Hard.
“No, oh God, no. I met Carlos right after—just as, actually—Fisher and I broke up. Carlos is . . . really great.”
Carlos got out of the car and bowed to both of them.
“Your chariot awaits, ma’am.”
Anna laughed, and Nik rolled her eyes, but with a grin on her face.
“He’s also a ham. And a big fan of yours.”
Anna walked over to the car, her hand outstretched.
“Carlos? I’m Anna. Nice to meet you.”
Carlos grinned as he shook her hand.
“A real pleasure to meet you, Anna.”
Anna turned to Nik.
“When’s the wedding?”
Nik and Carlos looked at each other and laughed.
“That’s still . . . under discussion,” Nik said. “We have slightly different visions for a wedding, but we’ll get there soon.”
Anna looked at Nik and Carlos as they smiled at each other. She could feel the love flowing back and forth between them. She wanted . . . no. Not now. She couldn’t think about that now.
She gave Nik a hug good-bye and watched them drive away.
Twenty -Two
Ben waited at the bar for Theo. He liked this place—he’d been wanting to come here for a while, but between work and . . . Anna, he hadn’t been over to the East Bay in way too long. And between his work on that sneaker pitch—which had finally happened the day before, and he’d been great; Roger had even congratulated him afterward—and Theo’s planning for city council meetings, it had taken awhile before they’d actually been able to meet up.
He kept thinking one day he’d wake up and not care about Anna anymore. That he would be over her, like she never existed, like he’d never met her and fallen in love with her, like she hadn’t become wedged into his life. It hadn’t happened yet. He thought about her every night as he fell asleep, her name was on his lips every morning as he woke up. One night he dreamt she was there with him; waking up that morning had been awful.
He hadn’t even realized he’d been falling in love with her. If he had known, could he have stopped himself? He knew that this wasn’t what she wanted; he shouldn’t have let himself do it.
But he couldn’t regret a single moment he’d spent with her.
Suddenly his brother dropped into the seat next to him.
While We Were Dating Page 29
