by Susannah Nix
And yet, despite the utter absence of any plot, there was something more to this one, underneath all the artifice. Esther could almost see what Jonathan was trying to do with it, he just wasn’t getting it done.
It was definitely a more personal story than the other one had been. The main character was a blatant author insert, and she’d bet cash money the girl was based on some ex who’d broken his heart. Or maybe an unrequited love who’d gotten away.
She was going to have to be even more careful how she couched her feedback this time. She’d already brutalized him once, and Jinny was about to do it again. Plus, she couldn’t dump all over an autobiographical story without dumping on him personally. It needed to be handled delicately.
But how?
Fuck, how did she get herself into this situation?
Did you read it yet? Jonathan texted on Friday afternoon.
Yes, Esther texted back.
When do you want to talk about it?
Sunday?
He was going on his last date with Jinny tonight. If Esther put him off until Sunday, maybe his wounds would have time to scab over from being dumped. You know, before she ripped them off again.
OK, he replied. Same time & place?
Esther texted him back a thumbs up emoji.
Man, this was going to suck.
“I did it,” Jinny announced when Esther answered the phone later that night. It was only nine o’clock. She must have come straight home after dumping Jonathan at dinner.
“How’d it go?” Esther asked.
“Really, really well. Best breakup I’ve ever had.”
That was… Huh. She’d anticipated more drama. Crying, maybe. Jonathan seemed like he might be a crier.
Esther set her laptop aside. She’d been working on her notes for Jonathan all night. Trying to make them sound nicer, which didn’t come naturally to her. It was an uphill struggle. “He really took it okay?”
“Yeah, we were both very mature about it. I told him I didn’t feel like we were right for each other. And he said if that’s how I felt, then we should just be friends.”
“Wow.” Okay. Esther had not expected him to be so mature about it. Given his emotional state earlier in the week, she thought he’d take it harder than that. She was glad though. Hopefully, it boded well for their next critique session. Or as well as possible, anyway.
“The friends thing is total bullshit, obviously. It’s not like we’re going to be hanging out platonically after this. I’ll probably never see him again except when I bump into him at your place.”
“That’s going to be awkward.” They might need to stop hanging out at the pool. At least for a while.
“I don’t think it’ll be too bad. It’s not like we slept together or anything.”
“Sure,” Esther said. “Yeah.” Thank god.
“I’m kind of wishing I had now though.”
“Uh—why?”
“Curiosity. I still want to know what he’s like in the sack.”
“It’s probably just as well you didn’t. If you didn’t like him, I mean.”
“I guess. I mean I liked him, I just couldn’t see us getting serious. To be honest, he reminded me too much of Stuart.”
“How?” Esther couldn’t think of a single thing Jonathan had in common with Stuart other than superficial stuff like his beard and his beanie habit.
“He just seemed…I don’t know. Distracted? Like he was going through the motions. Like he wasn’t invested. I didn’t want to do that again. I deserve someone who’s all in.”
“You definitely do,” Esther agreed. That was what she’d been trying to tell Jinny for months.
“Although…”
“What?”
“He was different tonight.”
“Different how?”
“More subdued, I guess? Sweeter. It almost felt like the guy from the first two dates was an act and I was finally starting to get a glimpse of the real Jonathan underneath.”
“Huh.” Esther stared at his script, lying open on the couch next to her, and felt like shit all over again.
“Honestly, I almost changed my mind about dumping him at the last second.”
Esther squeezed the phone. “Really?”
“Yeah, but then I thought, this is what I always do. I make excuses for them. I tell myself they’re going to change, and things will get better. But they never do, do they?”
“Not usually, no.”
“I’m done waiting for guys to change. If they aren’t treating me the way I deserve to be treated, then I’m out.”
Esther reached over and flipped Jonathan’s script closed. “Good for you.”
“I’m turning over a new leaf. Go me!” At least Jinny sounded happy. Esther hadn’t ruined Jonathan’s week for nothing. That was something.
“So you’re really okay with the Jonathan situation?” Esther asked, riffling the edges of the script pages with her thumb. “And with Stuart?”
“Yeah, totally. I’m way over Stuart. Going out with Jonathan was clarifying. I know what I want now. No more Payless shoes for me.”
“That’s great.” All Esther wanted was for Jinny to be happy. To understand her own worth. To not settle for some shithead who treated her like crap.
“Yeah, so, I was gonna suggest a pool hang tomorrow to celebrate, but it’d probably be cruel to lurk outside Jonathan’s apartment right after dumping him, huh?”
“Probably. We could meet for brunch though. Let someone else make the mimosas for a change.”
“You’re on.”
After they hung up, Esther went back to working on her script notes for Jonathan. She really wanted to do a good job with them. He had a lot riding on it, and she felt like she had to do right by him.
She owed him that much, at least.
Chapter Ten
“You brought your weird coffeemaker,” Esther said when she opened the door for Jonathan on Sunday.
“Chemex.” He strode past her, carrying it into the kitchen. It was already ready to go with a filter and coffee grounds. “Do you have a kettle?” he asked, setting it on the counter. He was back to his signature plaid shirt and beanie look today. There was a pack of cigarettes tucked into his front shirt pocket and a brown canvas messenger bag slung across his chest. “If not, I can go back for mine.”
“Next to the fridge,” Esther said.
He filled it up with water from the tap. “I’m going to show you how much better this coffee is than that sludge you’re used to drinking. You’ll never look at coffee pods the same way again.”
“Sure, whatever,” she said, chewing on her thumbnail.
He seemed oddly perky for a guy who’d just been dumped. A little too perky, maybe. Almost manic, like he was working extra hard to pretend everything was great.
“Mugs?” he asked over his shoulder as he started the kettle.
Esther got out two mismatched mugs and set them in front of him.
His fingers drummed impatiently on the edge of the counter while he waited for the kettle to boil. “Thank you for doing this,” he said without looking at her.
“Getting out coffee mugs?”
He shook his head, frowning. “Helping me with my scripts.”
“You might want to hold your thanks until you hear what I have to say.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “That bad, huh?”
She’d considered just telling him what he wanted to hear—that this screenplay was great and only needed a few minor tweaks. But if she did that, he’d probably fail his class, get kicked out of grad school, and have to move back home with his parents. In order to actually help him, she had to be honest—as kindly as she could possibly manage.
“I liked it better than the last one,” she offered.
He turned away, lifting his messenger bag over his head as he went into the living room. “I guess that’s something.”
“It’s got potential,” she said, following him.
He dropped his messenge
r bag onto the couch and pulled out his laptop. “Great.” He hadn’t actually looked her in the eye since he’d walked in.
“Look, if you don’t want to do this—”
“I do,” he said, still looking down. “I need this. It’s just not very much fun.”
“Okay. As long as you’re not going to hate me.”
“No promises.” He looked at her, finally, mustering a thin smile. “But I’ll try.”
The electric kettle clicked off. “Water’s done,” Esther said.
He went back into the kitchen and started the insanely tedious process of pouring water over the grounds. Seriously, if they’d used Esther’s coffee pods, they’d both already be drinking their coffee by now.
When he was finally done brewing his special fancy coffee, he divided it up between the two mugs and pushed one toward her. “Try it.”
“I don’t like black coffee,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“You have to drink it black to appreciate the complexity of the flavor. Diluting it with sweeteners and additives is like putting fruit juice into wine.”
“You mean like sangria and mimosas and a hundred other popular cocktails?”
“Those were all invented as a way to make bad wine drinkable. You don’t use Dom Pérignon to make mimosas. This isn’t shitty donut shop coffee, it’s artisan-roasted beans. You want to be able to taste it.”
Esther rolled her eyes at him as she picked up the mug and blew across the top. It did smell amazing. She took a tentative sip and made a face. “I don’t like black coffee. I’m putting cream in this.”
“Barbarian,” Jonathan said as she poured half-and-half into her mug.
“Snob,” she shot back.
“Not sugar too,” he said when she reached for the sugar bowl.
She smirked at him as she dumped a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee.
“You’re hurting my soul.”
“Get over yourself. It’s just coffee.” She took another sip. Wow. Okay, as much as she was loath to admit it, his stupid fancy coffee was genuinely incredible.
It was Jonathan’s turn to smirk. “It’s great, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “It’s okay.”
His smirk got wider. “It’s better than okay. It’s the best coffee you’ve ever tasted.”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “It’s still just coffee though.”
Still looking pleased with himself, he went into the living room and dropped onto the couch, setting his coffee mug on the table.
Esther took the opposite end of the couch. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked, cradling her coffee in her lap. He hadn’t said anything about Jinny yet, and she was afraid to ask. No point in poking a sore tooth.
He clenched his jaw and nodded. “I can take it.”
She wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but she leaned over for the notes she’d left on the coffee table.
Sally had worked up the courage to venture out of the bedroom, and she wandered over to the couch, jumping up between them.
Jonathan startled at her sudden appearance beside him. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“That’s Sally,” Esther said. “As in Sally Ride.”
“Like the Clapton song?”
“Like the astronaut. The first American woman in space?”
“Right.” He nodded, watching warily as Sally stepped onto his leg, purring at him.
“She likes you.” Esther was surprised. It had taken six months of concerted coaxing before Sally would come near Jinny, and she still wasn’t exactly friendly to her. Jonathan had only been here twice, and Sally was already investigating his lap. “She doesn’t usually like new people.”
“Does she have to do that?” he asked as Sally started to knead his thigh.
“Are you allergic?”
“No, I just don’t like cats. Or cat hair all over my clothes.”
“How can you not like cats?” Esther leaned over to stroke Sally’s back. “Cats are great.”
“Cats are assholes.” He held a hand out tentatively, and Sally smushed her face into his palm. Like a real asshole, clearly.
“They’re not assholes.” Esther leaned back against the armrest as Jonathan scratched Sally’s head. “They’re just not servile like dogs.”
“I happen to like my animal companions servile.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What? You don’t like dogs?”
“Dogs are great.” She shrugged as she sipped her coffee. “I love dogs. I just like cats better. When a cat shows you affection it means something, because they don’t do it for everyone. They’re selective.”
“I guess.” He picked up his laptop and gently displaced Sally from his lap. She turned around twice and then flomped down with her back pressed against his thigh, rolling her head to gaze at him through half-lidded eyes.
Jesus, was he wearing some kind of cat pheromone or something? She’d never seen Sally like this with anyone but her. It was like being cheated on right in front of her face.
“Let’s get this over with,” Jonathan said, blowing out a long breath.
Right. The script notes. The whole reason he was here.
Esther stared at the pages in her hand, gritting her teeth. There was no way out but through.
“Okay.” She pulled her feet up under her. “I really liked the scene where the two main characters first meet, when he offers to buy her a coffee. It was charming.” It had taken her forever to think of something she liked about the script. But she figured she ought to start off with something positive to ease him into it.
He nodded warily. “That’s good to hear.”
Unfortunately, that one observation had pretty much exhausted all of Esther’s positive feedback. Time to rip off the Band-Aid. “I guess, overall…the biggest problem I had with it is that it’s not really about anything.”
“Yes it is,” he said. “It’s about love.”
Esther shook her head. “That’s what the characters talk about. It’s not what happens. Nothing happens.”
“Things happen.” They’d barely even started and he was already bristling. This was going to go great.
“I’m not trying to be mean,” she said. “I’m just giving you my impression. That’s what you asked for, right?”
He shook his head, clenching his jaw again. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just—go on. I’m listening.”
Esther flipped through the first few pages of the script. “She loses her wallet, and he offers to buy her coffee—so far so good. But then they just wander around the city talking. There’s no action.”
“There’s the encounter with the homeless vet.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t have any consequences. It doesn’t change either of them. In fact, neither of the characters change at all over the course of the story. By the end, when he puts her in the Uber and they go their separate ways, they’re both the exact same people they were when they first met.”
“That’s not true.” Jonathan shook his head. “She has a profound effect on him. He never forgets her.”
“That may have been what you were trying to convey, but it’s not on the page.”
He scowled and leaned his head back against the couch.
“Maybe if the characters had a little more depth, it’d be easier to show how they change each other?”
He rotated his head in her direction. “You’re saying my characters have no depth?”
“Not no depth,” she tried to explain. “Just…they could use a little more, maybe. They’re both a walking grab bag of quirky stereotypes and personality tics, but I don’t feel like I know either of them. They don’t feel real.”
“Great. That was the one thing I thought I did right.” He shoved his laptop aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed the sides of his head.
“Your male lead is a busker in a train station,” Esther said. “That’s not real life, that’
s a cliché.”
“Buskers actually exist.” He pushed up his glasses so he could rub his eyes. “Just like asteroids,” he added, throwing a bitter glance her way.
“Okay, but do you actually know anyone who’s a busker? Have you spent time talking to one of them about what it’s really like? I think you might be over-romanticizing it.”
Sally bumped her forehead against Jonathan’s arm, but he ignored her in favor of rubbing his temples some more. “Fine, what else?” His entire body was taut, like he was bracing for an attack. Like every word Esther said was hurting him.
She set her script notes down on the couch between them. “Maybe we should stop. I don’t think I’m helping you.”
“No, please.” He dropped his hands, turning his head to give her a beseeching look. “This is exactly what I need to hear.”
“Are you sure? Because I feel like a real shitnugget here.” It was like kicking a puppy. Over and over again. Esther had never considered herself a particularly nice person, but she wasn’t a puppy-kicker either.
He dragged his beanie off and tossed it on the table, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. You really are helping, it’s just hard to hear.” He stretched his arm across the couch so his fingertips brushed against her leg. “I promise I won’t hate you.”
She looked down at his hand, nodding. “Okay.”
He retracted his arm and sat back on the couch again. “What about Emily, the female lead? Did you like her?”
Esther winced. “Well…”
Jonathan groaned. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s a Manic Pixie Dream Girl—you know what that is, right?”
“I’m in film school,” he said with a scowl. “Of course I know what it is, and Emily’s not a Manic Pixie Dream Girl. She’s real.”
Esther shifted on the couch so she was facing him more. “You mean she’s based on a real person, right? Someone you cared about?”
He looked down at his hands, which were clenched in his lap. “Sort of.”
Esther tilted her head to catch his eye. “Tell me about her. The real Emily. What made her special? What did you like about her?”
