Chapter Twenty-One

I don't think I've been this nervous to see the twins since they were born.

Which—fine, it's not really the twins. In fact, Oz and Lily are probably the ones who are going to warm up to Maeve the fastest. They're supposed to be the focus tonight, but I can't get the others out of my head. I also can't even get the fact that Maeve hasn't given me a definite reply about going to the Oscars yet out of my head, which isn't helping things.

But just like we'd talked about, when Maeve arrives at my place to head over to the party, she's ready to go. And even though I'd been planning to ask her if she'd made a decision about the Oscars the moment she got into my car, the time I spend prying my jaw off the car floor admiring her hot-but-family-appropriate black dress gives Maeve an opening, and she starts asking about my family before I can bring it up. And once someone gets me talking about the time back in middle school that I was fully convinced my dad was a serial killer because he was a dentist and I'd watched Little Shop one too many times, there's no getting me off the subject. Maeve's laugh is liquid gold, so it's not like I'm going to risk losing that to talk about the Oscars.

Not yet, anyway.

"I'm gonna say the presents are from both of us so they'll like you," I say as I steady the twins' rather large gifts in my arms.

Maeve shakes her head as she rings the doorbell of Gwyn's bougie Pasadena home. It has beautiful LA views, and, in fact, we once determined that she looked so far into the city that she could see Hollywood Hills. It's not quite as modern flashy as my house, but Maeve's getting a good idea of how far the wealth extends in my family. I can only hope it isn't deterring her.

"You have so little faith in my ability to win kids over," Maeve says.

"Well, from a four-year-old's perspective, you are the most boring person ever. You don't even get my SpongeBob references."

"My parents were no-TV parents, I'm sorry."

It's around then that Gwyn answers the door, standing eye level with me thanks to her at least four-inch heels and my slip-on sneakers. Gwyn's brown eyes light up as she makes eye contact with Maeve.

"Thank you so much for coming," she says, flashing the sparkly white teeth she gets through being a responsible teeth owner rather than incessant badgering from her publicity team. "I feel like I'm meeting a legend at this point."

Maeve blushes, tucking a hair that isn't out of place behind her ear. "That's a gross overestimation of my impact on the larger world, but thank you."

I love that she starts using bigger words and more complicated phrases when she's nervous.

"Well, I'm thrilled you're here." Gwyn looks to me and grins. "I haven't seen Val smile like this in quite a while." She pats my back as we walk in, leaning in to whisper in my ear: "She's cute."

I fiddle with my jacket sleeve. "I showed you her photo last week."

But before Gwyn can justify her sudden crush on my girlfriend, Oz and Lily, dressed in adorable color-coordinated overalls, squeal as they rush into the room.

"Aunt Val!" they say in near perfect unison, grinning ear to ear.

The little monsters straight up jump onto me, forcing me to drop their presents in order to catch the two of them. Thank god for the minimal training Charlie and I have been doing, because they're starting to get a little heavy. But I nuzzle them into me and spin them around.

"Happy birthday to my favorite people on the planet!" I say through my own dopey grin. "How old are my peanuts?"

Lily says, "Four!" as Oz shoves four fingers into my face.

"That's amazing," I say as I give them each a kiss. I adjust them to keep them in my arms. At their age, I know it won't be long before they're squirming like beached flounders. "Before we get started, though, I want to introduce you two to someone very special." I turn all three of us to Maeve. "This is my girlfriend."

Lily takes the sunglasses off my head and puts them on as Oz studies Maeve.

"Hi, guys," Maeve says, making easy eye contact with the toddlers. "My name's Maeve. What's yours?"

"Ozzie," Oz says. He points to his sister. "That's Lily."

Lily gives a little wave, burrowing into me. Maeve smiles and gives a little wave back. My heart flutters at the sight.

"Presents?" Oz asks me.

I raise a brow. "I think that part comes after dinner and cake, doesn't it?"

Oz grins. "Not with you!"

Of course, Gwyn manages to catch only that part of the conversation as she, Dave, and my parents enter the room. With Lily starting to squirm, I let the twins run off. While Gwyn shoots me a brief What the fuck is my son talking about? look, I cycle through hugging my family. A quick Hey, Dave to my brother-in-law, a hug with a squeeze from my mom, and a hug-and-grab-my-jaw-to-evaluate-my-teeth combo from my dad.

"Dad, what the hell? Now?" I say as I wrestle out of his grasp. Like, in front of Maeve?

Dad belly laughs. "Can't let your new girlfriend worship you too much." He shakes Maeve's hand in that aggressive-white-man way of his. I squint at him; has he started dyeing his hair blond? He stopped being a natural blond when I was a kid. "So, are you from Val's fan club?"

Oh god no. "Dad!"

Gwyn and I lock eyes, and she rolls hers. "Dad, they work together at USC."

Maeve still manages a genuine smile. "I'm Maeve. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

After dry introductions in which Dave makes a point to say that every adult in the room is a doctor, Gwyn serves dinner. It's, naturally, kid-food central—sloppy joes, homemade cheesy tater tots, roasted broccoli. Food that simultaneously makes my mouth water and my chest tighten with the dread that comes before a panic attack. Red meat, grease, fried food, dairy, and cruciferous vegetables. All things I've been actively avoiding for—oh, a month. Just fuck me.

I feel Gwyn's gaze as Mom nods toward me. "I made you a kale salad, sweetie."

I give her a brief smile as I pass the broccoli to Maeve. Deep in conversation about Berkeley with Dave, she doesn't seem concerned in the least about the kid food. I'm between Maeve and Oz and Lily, which leaves me perfectly exposed for prolonged eye contact with Gwyn, Mom, and Dad. And I vowed to not drink tonight.

"Thanks," I say.

Gwyn is still eyeing me. "When's Goodbye, Richard! 2 filming? Wouldn't expect Mason Wu to need you back in shape now."

I shrug as I try to serve myself enough kale to hide the fact that I've taken very little of anything else on the table. "It's never a bad idea to maintain."

Maeve nudges me with her shoulder. "Oh, come on, babe, you don't take nearly enough cheat days for how great you look right now."

It should make me feel better. Usually, Maeve's unwavering assurance that she'll find me attractive whether I have a six-pack or a belly is semi–world shattering. Still, I'm avoiding most of the food for IBS reasons; the salad, unfortunately, is my safest option.

"So, Maeve, Arko's a very Jewish last name," Mom says.

And like we're in a fucking slapstick comedy, I choke on the bite I was working on. I'm like full-on weak coughing, going red-faced at the table. Oz pats my shoulder.

"Yeah, my parents are from Boston and New York and moved to Ohio to teach," Maeve answers fluidly. She glances at me, head subtly tilted.

I scrape my dignity off the floor without missing another beat. "Mom, what if she wasn't Jewish?"

Mom grins. "I'm just so thrilled to see my Valeria with a grounded, smart young woman."

I want to say calling a thirty-two-year-old a young woman is weird, but I'm still kind of thinking about that Jewish comment.

"We were losing hope that it was going to happen for her."

Okay, Jewish comment officially forgotten for the gay comment.

I turn to the birthday kids, who really should be the focus right now anyway. "Oz, Lil, are you doing anything extra special this weekend? Your mom told me maybe you were going to LEGOLAND?" Their eyes light up when I say the magic words.

But before these poor children can answer, their mom has to butt into the other conversation.

"Jesus, Mom, can we leave out the gay remarks on my kids' birthday?" Gwyn comments.

Maeve exchanges a glance with me—Guess your sister is a badass—while my mom gets a little flustered.

"I meant her celebrity, Guinevere."

Gwyn goes right back to staring at me. I rip a piece of the white bread off my sloppy joe.

"Mama, we going to LEGOLAND?" Oz asks.

Gwyn shoots me a glare—they clearly weren't—before looking to the kids. "Sure, and maybe it can be a special thing with just you guys and Daddy."

Dave shoots Gwyn the same glare. "Or maybe Aunt Val."

But Mom is not off her shit yet. She now turns to Maeve herself. "Jewish-parent curse, you know. Can't stop worrying about our babies."

When she really could be worrying about her grandbabies on their birthday.

Maeve just chuckles, though, diffusing the whole damn thing. "I get it. My parents didn't think it was going to happen for me either."

Dad puts an arm around Mom. "No, honestly, it wasn't even about Val. We knew she liked women too much to never not find someone. This is the girl who committed to watching every single episode of X-Files every night"—he winks—"because she absolutely worshipped Gillian Anderson."

What. The. Fuck.

"No, we just thought she'd end up with a complete idiot like Phoebe Wittmore."

Which, okay, I'm a little too embarrassed about the X-Files thing to focus on how brutally my father just dunked on my Goodbye, Richard! costar. But—I repeat—what the fuck? They roasted me less at my own birthday dinner in October. Maybe it's time to legally separate from the family.

Maeve looks to me, an amused-as-shit smile plastered on her face. "Did Phoebe Wittmore hurt you?"

She starts to laugh as I go tomato red. "Isn't this a children's birthday dinner?" I mumble.

"Phoebe's nothing compared to some of the girls she's told us about over the years," Dad says.

"Finn!" Mom snaps, finally on my level.

A long beat of silence follows. Maeve knocks her foot against mine under the table. Reassuring, I think. If only I could be properly reassured that my parents wouldn't talk about my Hollywood exes anymore. Lily asks me for one of my tots, and I give her two.

Dave looks between Gwyn, who's still mildly pissed at me for the LEGOLAND thing, and me, who looks like I was choking two minutes ago. "So, Maeve, it must be weird, though, right? Being with someone as famous as Val?"

Just the conversation I need to lower my anxiety. Thanks, Dave.

Now Maeve's the one shifting her food around her plate. My stomach tightens, hard enough that I don't even think I can eat the kale.

"It's…strange, I suppose," Maeve says. "I've never dated anyone who's had more than three hundred Instagram followers, let alone a platform." Maeve looks at me. "There's a lot I don't know if I'll ever understand about it. I wish I could have her more to myself." She takes my hand. "But it's not like, a huge deal for me. I try not to think about it. I've just never really had any investment in celebrity culture."

She looks me in the eye, which I think is supposed to make me feel better about what she's saying, but my insides just go tighter, like an invisible rope is ripping through my flesh. "I see you for you," she says to me. Then she looks back at my family, who seem like they know exactly what Maeve means. "I wasn't like, a superfan of hers or anything before. I wasn't seduced by the glamor or fame or any of that. Just Val herself."

I know what she's trying to say. I believe she's telling the truth.

I just also know the subtext of what she's saying. She's saying that there are very specific parts of me she likes. Hell, even if she loves those parts, there's a lot she could do without. Including fame. Also known as the thing I can't just work away with therapy.

Dave coughs a laugh. "Guess Val isn't taking you to the Oscars to impress you, then."

Fucking Dave!

Another bout of silence fills the room as the adults look to Maeve. Like we've already decided what we're doing and they're waiting for her to tell them.

But she isn't speaking.

She isn't speaking and it's saying volumes.

"I'll be right back," I say.

I used to obsessively read reviews of Stroke, as though I was begging any- and everyone with an internet connection to explain to me why the hell I won an Oscar for my first role when it seemed so unfair. One of the reviews had described the subtlety in my performance, how emotion came across in the smallest movements of my body and face. How grounded my performance felt. How real confrontations weren't about screaming and flipping tables.

I guess I follow my own school of acting as my "storm out" looks exactly like I got up to go to the bathroom—there's no outward expression of how crushed I am other than how quietly and swiftly I leave.

I manage to sit in the powder room for about twenty seconds, trying to breathe in the diffuser they put in there, until Gwyn ever-so-quietly knocks on the door. I open it a crack, just enough for her to slip in.

"To keep this from becoming a huge deal, I told them I'm checking on the cake. Let's make this quick and effective, yeah?" Gwyn says after she shuts the door behind her.

I take a seat on the floor. Gwyn joins me. "First of all, are you feeling okay, physically? I noticed you picking at your food. Are you having a flare-up?"

I can't help but smile as I blush. "Sort of."

Gwyn frowns. "When's the last time you had life-inconveniencing symptoms?"

"December."

Gwyn puts a hand on my shoulder. "Val, it's the second week of January. Please go back to your normal diet and tell Rosalie about this."

I take a deep breath, and the claws of anxiety start to slip off. "Okay."

"I'm following up on that, by the way." She exhales. "Can I guess what stress is inducing your symptoms?"

I hold my gaze heavy on the bathmat. "I just— I really do think Maeve likes me and it's been so, I don't know, healthy for me to be dating someone who isn't in the industry. But there was this slight with a Goodbye, Richard! producer that Trish is gunning for me to remedy by getting Maeve to go to the Oscars with me. But look at her. Sometimes I just think she only likes my personality and looks or whatever but is compartmentalizing the fact that I'm famous and actively hates that. I mean, at least people like Phoebe understood what fame is like and wouldn't think twice about this posturing I have to do." I pause, the words heavy on my tongue. "I've been thinking of quitting acting for a while, but to do that, I have to finish fulfilling my obligations to Mason, and I thought—I thought I could do that and commit to Maeve and academia."

Gwyn takes a deep breath. "I really like Maeve. I think she's quick-witted and intelligent enough for you not to get bored quickly, yet grounded, and she has a calming energy that balances you." She frowns. "But if she can't handle your fame, I don't think she likes you enough."

A chill runs down my spine.

"Look, none of us are thrilled about how fame affects you. The amazing acting and humanitarian career you've set up, yes, we love that. But I don't really like the way people try to control what you say, how you look, your work-life balance. I don't really like having to be concerned that my kids will be photographed by strangers when they're spending normal bonding time with their aunt. But you know what? This shit is ten times harder on you, and I love you so much and want you to be okay. So I'll go to your tedious award shows whenever you need me." She takes my hand. "And if Maeve doesn't realize that she has to support you unequivocally, even if it's temporary, through the truckloads of bullshit, then I don't think she's right for you."

I take a deep, slow breath as I hold back tears. "Gwyn, I like her so much…"

Gwyn gets to her feet. "Just be careful, okay? But I'll try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Your fame shit is insane."

I hug her. "Thanks."

"Put the twins to bed tonight and we'll be even," she says, winking.

I massage the tension out of my shoulders as I return to the table.

Maeve smiles up at me when I sit back down, seemingly oblivious to the fact that anything happened. Dinner continues with a few less awkward conversations: more basic information about Maeve's family, Ohio, her PhD journey, and then she asks Dave far more questions about hospital administration than I've asked the guy in the six years I've known him. The twins tear into the homemade birthday cake and rip through presents as Gwyn dutifully photographs their every micro expression.

By the time Gwyn's lovingly demanded that they get in their pajamas, brush teeth, and head into their room for bedtime, I'm starting to think Gwyn's still annoyed about LEGOLAND and put me in charge of bedtime as a punishment. Yeah, of course I'll be able to get two sugar-high toddlers to bed.

"Read dino book?" Lily asks as the two of them run back into the living room, where my dad's handing out coffee. She holds out the stack of picture books Maeve and I picked out.

"Aunt Maeve too?" Oz asks, joining her.

My heart does a big leap on that one. It throws me a little off-balance, but when I look at Maeve she's smiling.

She gets down into a squat to make proper eye contact with my nephew. "I'd love to."

So Maeve and I take on the task of putting two sugar-high toddlers to bed. And she's amazing with them, doing voices to read the book and letting the kids snuggle into her as she reads. Any doubts I was having about our relationship are washed away.

Oz eventually falls asleep in his bed with me beside him, Lily in Maeve's arms. The bed creaks when I get out of it, and Maeve bites back a laugh, putting a finger to her lips. We pad our way outside to Lily's room, where Maeve tucks Lily into bed, and we both make our way back into the main hallway.

And I can't stop thinking of the image of Maeve holding Lily.

Maybe it's the fucking estrogen in my hormonal body, but I'm pretty sure men don't get as head-over-heels with adoration/desire/fuck me I love this person seeing a woman with a baby, but ooh boy. I sure as shit do. I'm suddenly drowning in the feel-good chemicals, making it difficult to move, to fully take in what I'm seeing, to hear anything around us. It's just Maeve. Maeve, whom I so deeply want to be my future. I feel more strongly about her than I've felt about anyone ever, even Emily. It's suddenly so clear, how naive I was back then. How I thought any good feeling I had would stay forever because I had it in the moment. Even when I don't feel good with Maeve—which, frankly, I'm still anxious about the Oscars—I still care about her. Every step she takes makes my heart flip.

"Thanks," I say.

"Of course. They're really sweet kids."

As we head back into the hallway, back into the adult world, that air of serenity seems to diffuse. Maeve's easy smile fades. Her gaze is heavy on me, but she doesn't say anything for what feels like forever.

"So do I have to buy a dress for the Oscars?" Maeve asks.

My heartbeat all but stops.

Moments pass. My heartbeat returns, quicker, frantic. "What changed your mind?"

"Well, I guess I should slow down," Maeve says. "I did ask around the department, and the general consensus is that we can date; that's fine. I'm sorry it took so long, but I was trying to be thorough with who I asked."

In that moment, thinking about Maeve going with me to the Oscars, thinking about Trish not being mad at me and my not having to ask Mason if I pissed anyone important off, I can't feel the sting of losing a potential rec letter. I can't quite grapple with what that means yet, but I know my answer. "No, that's fine. I'd still love for you to go with me. I— Thank you."

"There isn't a huge time commitment prior to the event, right?"

Was that why she was so hesitant? "No, as a presenter, I go to like one rehearsal."

She exhales. "Okay. With the new semester starting this week, I know it's selfish but I was…a bit concerned."

I brush her hand. "Don't be." I'll be enough of that for both of us.

Maeve gives a tiny smile and nudges me with her shoulder. "So, the dress?"

"Uh, no. You—they dress me in custom dresses by designers usually. They'd make you one too. So we'd, uh, match."

Maeve nods slowly. "Okay."

"It's ridiculous, I know, but—"

Concern floods Maeve's features as she grabs my hand. "No, I'm just"—she laughs, lighting up my heart—"nervous about wearing something that expensive."

I let my gaze fall away from Maeve, where I make eye contact with Gwyn. She's shamelessly eavesdropping like we're kids again, and I should be annoyed, but her beaming smile spreads right to me. My breathing and my heart rate slow, and the stomach pains are finally gone.

I squeeze Maeve's hand. "Charlie literally picked me two feet off the ground at last year's Oscars and my gown didn't rip. You're going to be fine."

She smiles. "Can't wait to see you in your original element."

It's going to go perfectly. There's no other choice.

Because if I have it my way, it'll be the first event out of many.