Chapter Twenty

If there's one thing having a publicist has taught me, it's that the average attention span is six seconds. The more optimistic, Rosalie-advice-flavored spin is that people are made to adapt to uncomfortable situations by turning them into our new normal.

I, like most people, have adjusted to the new normal in which I'm a raging fucking dumbass and haven't told Maeve that my directorial debut could be picked up by a festival, forcing me to leave her in the dust during possibly the most important semester of her teaching career. Possibly. If Oakley gets in anywhere. Which it won't. But it's still a possibility. Even as my name falls faster and faster on the IMDb STARmeter and Oakley in Flames dies with me, the prospect still simmers in the back of my mind. Not to mention Trish's Oscars idea…

I taught the Cats lecture with my body in full collapse post–panic attack mode, yet I somehow convinced Maeve and the students I was fine. I skipped end-of-the-semester celebratory drinks with Maeve and Ty by claiming to have food poisoning, just like I used to do with ill-timed press events.

The flare-up died by the next morning, as they tend to. But the worrying thoughts set in by the afternoon.

December passes in a surprisingly uniform pattern:

Maeve and I hang out. Maeve talks about academia or studying at Berkeley and asks me about what courses I taught at Oxford and King's College. Sometimes we discuss movies, music, family, or politics. We have really good sex.

I remember that I still haven't told Maeve about potentially causing her to lose a huge grant and the career-making prestige of it.

The cramps come back.

I take dairy, spice, red meat, alcohol, caffeine, and heavy fiber out of my diet, concurrent to 3.

I deliberately refuse to go to public places with Maeve. I tell her it's because of tabloids, and she seems to accept that.

Go back to 1.

Somehow, I've managed to make it to January fourth. Maeve's lying in my bed in the Cosabella pajama set I got her for Hanukkah, humming along to the German Beatles covers I put on as a joke as I finish up reading her latest paper on her laptop.

"Done," I announce.

She bounces up and takes her laptop back from me gingerly. I have a bolt of realization: I'm dating a noncelebrity for the first time in years. Maybe that's part of the reason I'm amazed by how gentle she is with every expensive thing she owns. I almost feel bad about getting her an expensive Hanukkah present; she's asked me like ten times how to properly wash these pajamas. And she hand-painted me ceramic bowls, which takes way more effort than driving to Bloomingdale's.

"The abstract sounds great," I say.

She asked for my opinion, but considering the proposal is due tomorrow, I know she doesn't really want it. Still, I'm not lying when I tell her I like it. I look over her shoulder and see she's still working on a new paper.

She gives me a tiny smile, scooting an inch closer to me on the bed as she sets the laptop back on her stomach. "Thanks for reading this. I'm sure it's eye-bleedingly boring for you."

I shake my head. "Nothing you write is boring."

And I genuinely mean it. Reading drafts of Maeve's latest conference entry, a study of I Killed My Mother and Xavier Dolan's early work, has brought a joy back into my life I haven't felt since Oxford. Back when I'd read Emily's papers for her, I'd write little jokes and questions in the margins that I always made her answer in the paper to appeal to the lowest common denominator in any academic audience. She got tired of the comments by the end of our relationship, but the light in Maeve's eyes as she reads my margin notes is something I wish I could etch into my heart forever. Maeve and I haven't exactly had the girlfriend talk yet, but I think our status is clear in the little things, like Maeve saying she can't wait to see my comments on her next paper, Maeve and I watching sapphic TV in small doses while we form theories together about future episodes, Maeve video chatting with me when she was home for Hanukkah with her family, letting me talk to her little brothers.

I get a pang of regret. I can't keep putting off telling her I'll potentially have to bail on her this semester. What we have is too perfect for me to be this dumb. Yet I can't shake that raw fear from the Emily days, that I'm one wrong move from losing her. I barely handled it last time; I can't go through it again, I just can't. And what I might risk is so much bigger than Maeve's ego.

"So what's your dream paper?" I ask.

Maeve purses her lips. "I'd love to do a paper on queer representation in modern genre film." She shrugs. "Just wish there were, you know, actual films."

I laugh. "Mason Wu and I are working on it."

Mason kind of kept me from spiraling into a deep depressive episode when we met. She went from being the only director in Hollywood who knew I was gay to one of my best friends. Before I came out, she was the only person I could do press with who'd make me act, well, like myself. I'm almost looking forward to doing press for Goodbye, Richard! 2 just because I'll have to hang out with her again for extended periods of time. She may be the only force in Hollywood who can save me from the gay pigeonholing. She also responds to my every Maeve update in under thirty seconds. So far, she hasn't said anything about Leonard complaining to her about my turning down the HBO role, but I'm waiting for it, certain the news will hit me when I'm least expecting it. I wish there was a world where I only ever had to work with her, but it's a fantasy, a numbing cream on an open wound more than any real solution.

"What's on her slate? I'd genuinely write a paper on it."

"She has this really cool semi-autobiographical coming-of-age indie filming this year. It's based on her experience being a Chinese American literary magazine gay in high school in OC. It's set in that nebulous time when you know you're gay but you still haven't figured out enough about yourself to try to date. The script is hilarious."

"Who would you play?"

I narrow my eyes as I think. "I wanna say we decided I'd play her white therapist who she had a crush on, but I was also up for white biology teacher who ran off to Florida with the Spanish teacher she also had a crush on."

Maeve laughs. "Oh my god, is Mason a Libra?"

I gasp. "I'm a Libra!"

"Yes, I know. I still like you very much." She touches my nose. Maeve's a Cancer/Leo cusp, and yes, I was very relieved to learn we were still somehow compatible on Co–Star.

"She's a Gemini."

"This explains so much about Goodbye, Richard!" She studies me a moment. "Is your character gay?"

I smile back at her. Mason and I have been bouncing this question around for a year now doing press for the film, and finally having the opportunity to answer it honestly is like throwing a nineties kid into Chuck E. Cheese. "Yes. So the reason I got Aurora is because I whispered in Mason's ear during an audition that I was gay. She trusted me to put out what we called ‘gay signs for idiots.' The studio heads were super nervous about canonical gay characters for a comic franchise, but Mason and I just knew Aurora was gay. We figured we'd just act like she was and have her do everything but say the word and kiss ladies. The way I walked, talked, looked at women, listened to men, everything was deliberate."

"Is anything changing for Goodbye, Richard! 2?"

"Mason is fighting for Aurora and Lacey to have a sex scene."

Maeve raises her brows. "Oh, okay."

I'd forgotten how good it feels to talk about this franchise. The playfulness of the film has always spilled into the way we talk about it, the way everyone on set treated one another—it's like telling someone about your favorite year at summer camp.

I laugh. "I mean, a PG-thirteen one. There's gonna be a scene where Lacey and Aurora check into a hotel, and then there's another scene—a major one—where they talk in bed. We know we can have them snuggling in pajamas, but Mason is hoping we can have a scene in the middle where they have one of those silent, bedroom-eyes, bodies-thrown-against-the-door-kiss-to-implied-sex scenes."

"Oh."

It occurs to me for the first time that, assuming we get through the yet-to-be-discussed Oscar situation, I could bring Maeve to GR2's set. As my girlfriend. And then she'd have to watch me slam another girl against a wall and mouth-fuck her, since we can't show the gays fuck-fucking.

Which maybe isn't actually fun to watch. Another part of the Hollywood thing Maeve might bristle at.

"Trust me, it's not sexy as an actor," I say. "They keep the room super cold and, despite the crew's best efforts, you're mostly just standing there hoping the men on set aren't staring at your pasty-covered nipples," I say. "Not to mention your lips start to hurt after about three takes, and you usually have to do more like fifteen."

I notice that Maeve still has a dent between her brows.

"Besides, Phoebe Wittmore is straight."

I lean into Maeve, teasingly close. My heart flutters as I look at her lips. "I'd never get to kiss her the way I get to kiss you. You'll be what I'm thinking of the whole time."

Butterflies flap up a storm inside me. I lean into Maeve and plant a firm kiss on her lips. "I can't do this with her." Then I barely brush my lips against hers, which leaves my own tingling. "Or that." I shrug. "You can't even use tongue on-screen unless you practically stick your tongue out into their mouth."

Maeve sets her laptop aside and, taking a firm grip of my waist, pulls me on top of her. Her worry has seemingly melted away. My muscles twitch under her touch.

"Oh? How do you like it with me?" she purrs.

I dip in for the kiss at the exact moment my phone goes off on the nightstand. I look to Maeve—Can I take this?—and she nods. It's Gwyn. I put it on speaker.

"Morning, sunshine," I say.

"Morning, Val," she says, in a very not-sunshine manner. "Hey, are you with Maeve?"

I raise a brow at Maeve. She smiles, a little red in the cheeks.

"Hey, Gwyn," Maeve says.

Maeve's been around long enough to have had a couple of quick conversations with Gwyn when she calls me, but they haven't met yet. In fact, no one in my family has met Maeve yet. Besides Charlie, Luna, and Mason, the only person who even knows we're dating is Ty.

"So my kids are having their fourth birthday this upcoming weekend, and I was wondering if you wanted to come?" Gwyn asks. "I figure if you're still with my sister by now, it must be serious."

Maeve's blushing even harder now. "Yeah." She pulls some hair behind her ear, but it falls forward again. I tuck it back for her, our hands brushing against each other. "Is there a theme or anything?"

Gwyn laughs. "No, it's just a dinner with our parents. Val will get a present, so don't worry about that."

I shake my head. "Hey, bitch, am I even invited?"

Gwyn sighs. "Oh my god, no, you're not. Don't you dare come."

Maeve stifles a laugh. My chest's fluttering. "Do they still love Frozen?"

"Dinosaurs now. I'll send you a text with the info."

Maeve's going to my niblings' birthday party in less than a week. I've never introduced anyone I've dated, not even my ex-fiancée, to my family. Two seconds after hanging up the phone, and my heart's already pounding. Maeve is going to meet my parents. Maeve is going to meet my parents, and I haven't told her about the film festivals. We're going to start the semester next week, and I haven't talked to her about the film festivals.

Maeve grabs my hand. "Hey, it's okay. I'm great with parents."

I look away. "No, I don't think— You're not what I'm worried about."

My stomach twists. I just need to tell Maeve. Even if there's no good way to transition to the topic. She can't meet my parents without knowing about my obligations for Oakley and how they could affect her. If she'd leave me over this like Emily would've, at least it can all happen before everyone knows and I get humiliated all over again.

Maeve's soft expression fades. She drops her hand from mine, scooting so she's fully sitting up. "Can we talk?"

I know there's no way anyone told her, but the thought lodges in my mind. Maybe it was Trish. Or Trish's assistant. Or Charlie, even though he swore he wouldn't tell her before I did. Maybe she saw a flash of the Oakley in Flames group chat with Luna and Romy where we were talking about festivals.

I haven't spoken yet. "Yeah. What's up?"

She bites her lip. "You're happy with how this is going, right?"

"Yeah, absolutely—"

"Because I am. You—I mean, you know. I've…always had such a hard time finding people who kept me engaged, pushed me to grow. Met me on that special brain level, you know?"

I find myself laughing. "So, like, you're happy I comment on your papers?"

She flusters. "No, I—I mean, yes, but I'm talking about connection in a broader sense. You have this incredible wealth of knowledge, like I learn from you every time I see you. Even among academics, that kind of passion is rare. It's important to me in a match and I'm, like, giddy that I've found that with you. I'm so glad you chose to guest-teach and we met and—" She exhales. "I really like you."

Something in me lights up, despite the tension I still feel. I reach my hand out to stroke her arm, just to feel that connection. "I like you too."

"And now I'm going to meet your family and I still don't even know what to call you."

I let my heart leap and forget about my anxiety for just a moment. Just long enough to say, "How about girlfriend?"

Maeve grins. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

She pulls me in for a kiss.

Dr. Maeve Arko pulls me in for a kiss.

Dr. Maeve Arko, my girlfriend, pulls me in for a kiss.

We kiss. We weave our fingers into each other's hair, draw them along the lines of our clothing and tuck them under waistbands and onto hot skin. We kiss as girlfriends, with the ease that comes from weeks of experience and trust and something bubbling up that looks like love with just the L and the O set in stone for now.

All that, and I haven't told her about the film festivals.

I pull away before Maeve's hand drops into my pajama bottoms. "Wanna go with me when I buy my niblings a birthday present? We can make sex a nice treat for being real adults?"

Maeve sits there and stares at me for a moment before lightly pushing me away. "You're my girlfriend."

My heart's buzzing harder and harder every time she says it. It overshadows the anxiety. I need her to keep saying it. "I am."

She giggles. "Oh god, my girlfriend's a—"

"Academy Award–winning actress?"

"Libra."

And I let myself collapse on her and laugh. I let the anxiety melt away. It may be poking the bear more and more each time I avoid bringing things up, but for now that bear is stuck in its cave.

There's literally an indie store called the Dinosaur Farm in Old Pasadena, so I figure that warrants a little trek east. Not that Maeve seems to mind much. Conversation fills the air, blending perfectly with the playlist she's curating from my Spotify. It hits me in little waves. Maeve is my girlfriend. I haven't had a girlfriend in five years. I haven't had a girlfriend since I started acting. The last time girlfriend meant anything to me, I was in England TA'ing Irish–African American Relations at King's College, coming back to a dorm room planning my marriage proposal. Maeve is my girlfriend, I'm teaching again, and do I dare toy with the possibility that Maeve and I could be marriage serious? I haven't made plans more than two years in advance since I got accepted into my PhD program. Hollywood just isn't built for that.

Yet as I take Maeve's hand to walk her down the Old Pasadena streets, I let myself run the film of our future. I imagine holding on to this hand for decades to come, seeing a ring on her left hand. Embarrassment creeps up my neck and, well, there are more than a few butterflies fluttering again.

"So this is your hometown?" Maeve asks as I open the door to the Dinosaur Farm for her.

I consider keeping my sunglasses on, but that's more conspicuous. Besides, I've been back to Pasadena more than a few times since becoming famous, and people tend to leave me alone. Some of them even remember me pre-fame and will ask how my parents' dental practice is going. I glance over at the cashier, the only employee currently in my line of vision. She's somewhere between teenage and early twenties, with short black hair and a nose stud.

"It's too cute, isn't it?" I reply.

Because this store truly is adorable. There's a light green jungle facade on the walls, and the shelves are lined with dinosaur-themed children's books and puzzles. A breakout section is stuffed to the gills with dinosaur toys—cars, plastic tchotchkes, stuffed animals, Jurassic Park–type LEGO playsets. I head to this toy section first. Part of me wants to pick the most obnoxious one to mess with Gwyn, but I can't tell if Maeve quite shares my jokingly petty/childish streak when it comes to my sister.

"I can't picture you growing up here," Maeve says. "It's so quiet. Your hypothetical children"—she visibly hesitates—"would be too edgy to live here even when they're in diapers."

In order to keep my cool, I try to focus on the bit of pink that raises to Maeve's cheeks at the mention of my future progeny as she picks up a dinosaur set that reads 3+. She can see me having kids? I know Gwyn's always joking when she says I shouldn't have kids, but no one has gone so far as to say that they could actually see me having them. I've always loved the idea of being a parent. I've been in love with tiny humans since Oz and Lily were born. Sometimes, on the hard nights when I was closeted, my only self-soothing tool was to imagine my future family. One day you'll have your own world that's full of gay love. You'll have a wife and raise kids who'll never go through what you're going through now.

Of course, my phone dings with a text right in the middle of that little euphoria moment. It's from the group chat.

LR:VAL are you reading this????? It came out like 5 minutes ago.

Romy loved "VAL are you">

Charlie loved "VAL are you">

She attaches a link.

My stomach sinks as I click the link. Please be Mason confirming to the press that Goodbye, Richard! 2 will contain gay sex.

Five Films We're Watching for SXSW

I force a deep breath, then stow my phone and continue looking for toys. Maybe I should just get the kids marginally similar-looking stuffed brontosauruses. Should I assume they've seen Land Before Time and its fifty direct-to-video sequels? Almost certainly, except I'm not sure if they're all streaming. Picture books are a good alternative. But no matter how hard I try to concentrate on my niblings' gifts, I can't escape the twisting in my guts.

That article is just speculation. People are excited for Oakley in Flames. As an A-lister making my directorial debut, there's bound to be some hype. It doesn't mean it'll get into South by Southwest. No need to throw myself into another anxiety episode for one article.

Then my phone starts ringing.

Trish.

My chest caves around my heart. Trish calls only with huge news. Usually, good news.

"Are you good at picking out picture books?" I ask Maeve. "No price limit."

Maeve mouth goes into a thin line. "Oh, uh, yeah."

"Be there in a sec." I fumble my AirPods in and accept the call. "Hey."

"Hey," Trish says. "Short and sweet…"

God, no, please. But no, maybe this is a blessing. Maybe if I know the dates, I can just tell Maeve, and SXSW is in March anyway. Not during, like, crunch time. We could make it work. I'll tell Maeve the reason I hadn't brought it up before is that I didn't want to talk to her about it unless it actually happened. This is a good thing.

"Oakley is on the short list for features in South by Southwest. It doesn't mean it's in, but we're getting amazing feedback. Fuck Sundance, you know?" Trish says, launching right in.

Okay. I put a hand to my chest, force a deep breath. I'm not in at South by Southwest, so there's no need to tell Maeve what Trish is reporting. I glance at the book section. Maeve is on her knees, staring intently at a shelf of picture books. She pulls one off the shelf and gingerly turns the pages.

"Val?" Trish says.

I shake my head. "Yeah."

"Reaction?"

Shit. "Uh, that's great!" I act for a living, and that was possibly my weakest performance yet.

"Yeah, I know, South by Southwest isn't quite prestigious enough, but it's a huge start. And there's still Tribeca, TIFF, some more, you know, up-our-alley festivals. This might put some pressure on them, you know?"

I swallow as I make my way over to Maeve. "Yeah, totally."

My heart pounding, I lean in. She's looking at a book about a dinosaur who's going to school.

"Find anything?"

"I think this is cute," she says. "Coordinate it with dinosaur toys that look like the main character, and…"

I have no clue how she finishes that sentence because suddenly I hear Trish in my ear saying, "Is that your new girl?" Trish says through the phone.

My heart nearly stops. I look at Maeve. If Trish can hear Maeve, does that mean Maeve can hear Trish? I'm losing it. "Uh, yeah…"

"Did you invite her to the Oscars yet? I'm not dealing with dating rumors about you anymore. Especially if they're true."

I settle my gaze on Maeve. She's looking at picture books again. Completely oblivious to the clusterfuck I've created around her. "I haven't asked her yet."

"Yeah, well, she's going. Let her know."

"Trish, I need more time to come up with a lead-in. She's up for this really prestigious grant, and I don't want this to interfere—"

"Then get your shit together and figure out what's going to have to give."

I exhale. I did make a deal with her. And the Oscars isn't as big of a deal as the festival thing. Maybe we can even use it as a good stepping stone for the conversation about festivals. "Who am I presenting with?"

Maeve looks up then. She studies me for a moment before pulling another picture book off the shelf. I'm too far away to see the title, so I just focus on her neutral expression as she watches me. Neutral for now.

"Charlie, like you requested. That guy's gonna owe you his career when he's back on set."

My chest aches; Charlie's the one who got me the Needlepoint audition back before Stroke got all the award-season buzz. "I already owe him mine."

We end the call, and my screen returns to the group chat with Luna and Romy. Guilt gnaws at my chest a little more. I shouldn't keep what Trish said from Luna considering her stake in the movie. I send the information through to the group and stow my phone.

"You wouldn't happen to know their favorite dinosaur, would you?" Maeve asks.

I don't, and how dare my sister not tell us on the phone. I'm now getting a stabbing pain in my stomach, so strong it's hard to focus on speaking or using fine motor skills. I need to focus.

I text Gwyn, swiping out of a surprisingly quiet group chat to do it.

She replies almost instantaneously. Oz loves…eerr they're like water t-rexes? Lil loves stegos.

"What's the water carnivore dinosaur called?" I ask Maeve.

Maeve shrugs. But we very easily locate oversize stegosaurus and whatever-the-water-ones-are-called stuffed animals to go with a handful of picture books. I pull out my credit card as we reach the cashier. I need to stop driving myself up a wall about the film festivals. I don't have to screw Maeve over if we plan ahead. She might not be that mad about my not telling her earlier. It could all be okay.

"It's called a plesiosaur," the cashier says with a smile.

Well, thank god it wasn't a dinosaur I should've known. I smile back. "Thank you. That would've bugged me all day."

She hands back my credit card. "You two are really cute together, by the way."

No recognizing me. No weird looks. Just a normal person looking at my normal person relationship and thinking it's cute. Maybe I don't hate Pasadena all that much after all. In fact, as we walk back to the car, I consider asking Maeve if she wants to go to another shop around here—a local coffee shop or the soda fountain down the block. But I don't have time to say it out loud before we reach the parking lot.

I get into the car. Strap in. Set my phone in the charging dock, confirm Maeve's strapped in. Turn the engine on. Going to a coffee shop is just a distraction. I need to tell Maeve about the Oscars, and I know I won't do that unless we're alone.

Then my phone starts chiming with notifications.

Maeve looks at it. "Here, I can read…"

No. No, no, no—

"No, it's okay," I say. The words come out like a plea for help. Too little too late.

"Luna Roth is asking when you'll get more news," Maeve says.

Luna wasn't specific. Holy shit, Luna, thank you. "Thanks."

She sets the phone back, eyes bright. "Anything worth sharing?"

Okay, this is my window. "Just Oscars stuff. Charlie and I are presenting." No one would turn down the Oscars. I've had dozens of women beg me to bring them to the Oscars. "You're welcome to come as my plus one, by the way."

I wait, mentally begging for a yes.

I wait, but there's only silence. My stomach tightens as I focus harder on the road. Grip tighter on the steering wheel.

"That's…very public," Maeve says. "It's not that I don't want to go, but I'd— They'd write articles, right? Use my name?"

All concerns I should've considered before agreeing to get her to go. The pressure only increases. "Only if you wanted. There's a different red carpet normal people go down if they don't want to be on the main one with the celebs. The cameras will focus on me." I pry a hand off the wheel to rub the back of my neck. "My manager would love for you to go down the red carpet with me, but it's totally optional."

Maeve sighs. "I…don't know how that'd look with us working together. Is this something you want, or is your manager pushing it?"

"My manager." I say it quickly, even though I'm feeling a twinge of hurt at her answer.

"Well, look, I'll ask around the department about optics. But you can always tell your manager I agreed to go and then got sick the night of, right? I don't want her to keep bugging you waiting for me."

"Yeah, for sure."

My fingers twitch to text Mason, to fess up and then ask how big the fallout with Leonard would really be if Maeve and I didn't go extremely public. Trish and I could weather the blow. And hey, maybe Maeve will even come around and eventually say yes. In the scheme of things, mine aren't the worst headaches Trish's clients have given her. But I'm still on edge as we drive home.

If this is how Maeve reacts to one night out with me as a celebrity, is there any hope for she'll be understanding when she finds out I might have to go to festivals? What happens when she sees that I won't, can't choose her over my career if I have to be at a festival on the date of her observation class? My not having Maeve at the Oscars is a blow to what's left of my professional reputation, but my not being there for Maeve during the most important class of her career could make her lose that grant. The thing she said about seeing me as her intellectual match rings in my head. She said she really liked me, but are there caveats to that? Would she join me in future appearances, stuff I'm genuinely proud of, like Mason's indie or any future Goodbye, Richard! films? Maybe even join me late if Oakley gets into a festival, come to a future premiere? I've never had to think about bringing a significant other around these flashbulbs of joy in my career. Thinking of Maeve not being there stings.

My knuckles go white on the steering wheel as I drive us back to Hollywood Hills.