16 Surprise Me for a Change

16

surprise me for a change

Danielle

“Hold the door!” The elevator is closing. I’m already five minutes late. I didn’t even know this building existed on the Warner Bros. lot. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve come here. I’m off my game. A person in the elevator peeks around the closing doors as I’m running down the hall yelling, “Hold it!”

She’s hitting something frantically. “I’m pressing the button,” she whines. I shove my hand through the doors, stopping them and triggering the mechanism that opens them back up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I say loudly. It’s Beth Zinn. Where is the hidden camera? “Have you never stopped elevator doors from closing before?” Whatever kind of cosmic glitch is happening right now, it’s not deterring my attention from the fact that she doesn’t know how to stop elevator doors from closing.

“You,” she says in a scolding tone. Her scowl is a canyon between her eyes.

“Me?” I say in the highest voice I’ve ever heard come out of my mouth. “Why are you in my magical dream-job opportunity meeting? Why? Why are you here?”

“I work here!”

We’re alone in the elevator now. I press the fourth-floor button and notice that 3 is already lit. Good, she’s not going to my meeting.

“Is that what you call it? Do not talk to me,” I say.

“Why would I, except maybe to tell you about the giant sweat marks under your armpits.”

Dammit, why did I wear silk? It’s so not my style at all, but I wanted to seem professional. Now I just look like a middle-aged wreck.

“I can’t believe you haven’t been blacklisted from this business.”

“You mean like you are?” She raises one eyebrow and smirks.

I’m seeing red.

My rage overtakes me. I pull the emergency stop button, bringing the elevator to a standstill somewhere between the second and third floors. At this moment I don’t care if I’m late, I know I’m getting the job. I know they wouldn’t ask me to come in and do a presentation at this stage in my career unless they planned on green-lighting the show. I know this meeting is for protocol. It’s literally just to meet the people who will be working for me, producing the show I have written. Those people on the fourth floor will happily wait ten more minutes so that I can murder Beth Zinn in the elevator.

I didn’t get a single minute of sleep last night, and the boys were running late this morning, Alex had put their clothes in all the wrong places. Ethan forgot his math book, which we had to backtrack to get, and Noah wouldn’t stop blabbering about Elon Musk. I haven’t eaten a crumb in twenty-four hours, my armpits are individual humid swamplands with their own ecosystems… and I’ve got a wonky contact in my left eye. Still, none of that can stop me. I’m operating on caffeine, bitterness, and retribution.

I take one giant breath, close my eyes, open them again, and glare across to the other side of the small elevator. Beth looks terrified…as she should. For the first time, I notice her age. It has not been a graceful process. I think she might be too skinny for a 45-year-old. She has mousy hair that used to be strawberry blond but is now dirtier than the dishwater in a third world country. Her skin is not only wrinkly, it’s ruddy. She has the kind of nose where you can see halfway up her nostrils. I used to think it was regal looking, but right now I can see a gray nose hair and it’s giving me an unreasonable amount of satisfaction, followed by shame for thinking about how terrible she looks.

I’m not letting her off the hook, even though it does seem like life has swallowed her up, partially digested her, and then puked her back out into a garbage bin. I cannot believe the nerve she has. But ultimately, I know that getting mad and screaming at her, or stabbing her to death, will get me nowhere.

I calmly and quietly say, “Why’d you do it, Beth?”

Her breath hitches. “I—”

“Why? You know how this business is. For the first ten years of my career, I lost jobs—gave up jobs because I wouldn’t kiss ass or sleep around. I didn’t even fake a smile or stroke an ego, let alone…God knows what. I clawed my way here with worn-out nails. I wrote, I typed, I bled into everything I created, Beth. I hired women…hell, I hired you. I kept you around, on the payroll, even though I wouldn’t trust you to write my goddamn grocery list.” I pause, shake my head. “I don’t get it. Why?”

She’s just staring at me, periodically glancing at the buttons as if she is trying to will the elevator back into motion.

“I don’t know what I expected from you,” I say. “Like, is there a thought in there and you just can’t unscramble the words? Why would someone like you aspire to be a writer? There are so many other jobs. In this business alone, there are hundreds! Why a writer? It’s such a lonely and tall order. Most writers don’t even want to be writers.”

She’s exasperated. “I…I…Everyone loved you, Dani. Even though you were a hard-ass about the episodes. The other writers still loved you despite the fact that you were a bitch to everyone.”

“They didn’t love me, they respected me. I wasn’t a bitch at all. Somehow everyone else knew Lars and I were trying to create something we could all be proud of. You included. Apparently, you didn’t get that memo. But I guess you figured out how to get what you want anyway, right?”

I push the Stop button back in, starting the elevator up to the third floor. A moment later the doors are opening to production offices. I see a sign that says, GRACELESS . How appropriate! How totally inspiring in this moment . She must be writing for that show now. I’ve never seen it, but I hear it’s terrible. She’s holding the door open with one foot in and one foot out. It looks like she’s searching for something to say. I can’t believe she’s not sprinting away from me.

“Surprise me,” I say. After all, having Beth Zinn on a woman-hating rampage around town is not going to help anyone.

“Huh?” she says. She’s truly dumbstruck

“Surprise me, Beth. Go pitch a good episode.” With my foot, I nudge her foot out the door. “I gotta go, okay?” I say with a genuine and humble smile. “Good luck.”

The doors close. The last image of Beth’s face will forever be ingrained in my memory. She wasn’t just shocked. Her brow was furrowed, her mouth was open slightly and frozen into shape. It was a slightly rueful expression. She was ashamed .

The moment I exit the elevator on the fourth floor, I’m greeted by Eli Ross. Eli and I had worked together years ago on a pilot that never made it.

“Danielle,” he says as he’s walking toward me. I knew Eli was the person Connie had spoken to, the one who said execs at Apple were high on my pilot and wanting to meet and get things fast-tracked.

“Hi, Eli.” I greet him with a touchless side-cheek kiss. Eli is a very short man whose personality makes him seem much taller. He talks extremely fast but he’s not a fast talker per se. He’s well respected and viewed as someone in the business who puts integrity first. I’m surprised he’s interested in heading up the production of my pilot, considering my tabloid run. “Sorry I’m a little late. I just ran into Beth Zinn in the elevator.”

“You’re kidding? What are the odds?” Obviously, he knows the story. Everyone does. “Don’t let that get to you. What a crock of shit that whole thing was, right?” I nod. “No one even thinks about that anymore, it’s ancient news.” He pats my back.

I’m walking beside him down a long hall with small makeshift cubicles on each side.

“For the record—”

He stops abruptly and turns to me. “It doesn’t matter. I know you, and I know Lars very well…” There is something implied in his statement that I can’t quite put my finger on. I nod and he continues, “I never thought the rumors were true, but even if they were…even if you and Lars had a mutual relationship that was more than work, it shouldn’t have mattered. It’s nobody else’s business. Litigators was a great show. It ran its course though. The reason it didn’t get re-upped is because there was already something else in the hopper for that network…and it was time.”

I take a deep breath. “You think so? ”

“I know so. Listen, these people you’re about to meet are putty in your hands. They love the pilot, Dani. They’re going to greenlight it. They just want to meet you. How long have you been working on this anyway?”

“I wrote it a few weeks ago in one sitting. It took me about four hours.”

“Wow.” He arches his eyebrows and smiles. “Well, maybe don’t mention that part. Let’s go.”

I follow him toward the end of the hall. “Hey, how’s your wife and kids? I haven’t seen you in forever,” I say to him.

“She’s now a rich divorcée with too much Botox and my two daughters are lazy, entitled Insta-models, or so they think. How about yours?” I burst out laughing. Eli pauses at the very end of the hallway. “I’m glad you find it so funny.” He’s being sarcastic.

“I’m sorry,” I say, still laughing.

“Don’t be, I wanted to divorce her. I couldn’t stand her. The girls will be fine, eventually, if they ever put their phones down.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m headed for D-town myself.”

He smiles knowingly. “Oh yeah? Well, my dear, everything is better in dick town,” he says with a wink.

Say what? I meant divorce town.

“Oh?” I say quietly. I’m not sure if he’s saying I’ll be happier single or that he likes being in dick town. I’m so confused. “You’re gay…” I say more like a question than a statement.

He smiles. “Welcome back, Dani darling, you’ve been gone for so long.” He takes my hand gently and pulls me along. “Come on, let’s go get our money from these suits.”

I’m still processing Eli being gay and the fact that I had been so far out of the loop, drowning in my own little sea of drama.

In the boardroom, I’m greeted by four people I’ve never seen in my life. Two men and two women. Despite the moniker, none of them are actually wearing suits. They’re all dressed expressively. Expressively and expensively. They’re inarguably cool, but I don’t let it fool me. These people are here to represent the money. The moment I walked in the door, I was already in the red, so to speak. I have to convince them I’m worth the investment.

All they are doing is a risk assessment. I have to remind myself they’ve probably already made a decision, and their hipster outsides are just a ruse. These aren’t creatives, they don’t care about the story. They care about the people paying to subscribe to Apple TV and what they think of the story. I’ve already forgotten their names. I’m wondering where Gina is. It’s her overall deal with Apple to develop content. She should be here. Eli works for her, she’s going to produce this with me and she and I still haven’t spoken. I met her one time ten years ago at a party, but I doubt she remembers me.

Eli pulls the chair out at the head of the table and gestures for me to sit. “Where’s Gina?” I whisper.

Eli says, “She’ll be here.”

Literally a second later, the door swings open. I recognize her right away. She’s taller and thinner than I remember, short black hair, attractive in a model-esque kind of way, with an overly pronounced masculine jawline.

She walks directly toward me. I stand. “No, no,” she says. “Don’t get up for me. I’m sorry I’m late. It’s good to see you.” She sits next to me and whispers, “I loved our conversation that night, what was that…ten years ago?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“You were going off about how much better the movie Waterworld would have been if it was made into a musical.”

“Ha! That sounds like something I’d be passionate about while drinking.” Oh my god, I was filleted that night. I can’t believe she remembered our conversation. I can’t believe I even remember talking to her.

She looks to the group of Apple execs plus Eli. “Hi, everyone. We’re so excited about this show!”

Unintentionally, I take a very deep and audible breath. Everyone’s eyes are on me. Eli, seeing the terror on my face, clears his throat and takes the lead. “Everyone at Tin Roof is so unbelievably high on this.” He’s referring to Gina’s company.

“All right, well,” Gina says, “I think we’ve all done our homework. Dani’s résumé speaks for itself and we’ve read the pilot. Eli’s handing out the deck now. You can look that over. I think we can all agree this is just for propriety. You guys know what we’re looking for budget-wise, and Bradley, you mentioned all systems were go? Lawyers have paperwork, et cetera, et cetera.”

Up until this moment, I knew none of this. They’re essentially in development and preproduction already. Is this really happening?

“I guess we let Dani give the obligatory pitch then hit the ground running?” Eli says.

Everyone is nodding.

I had planned an elaborate presentation, but I decide to go with my gut. “This is Parenthood meets The Ice Storm with a sprinkle of Thirtysomething . Ensemble cast, four couples, seasons of material centered around the premise that eight very different people decide to swap spouses once a week. The group is exclusive and they’ll do anything to protect their secret. In their eyes, they’re not being swingers, that’s sort of below them. Each coupling has a unique relationship, for some it’s sexual, for others just friendship or a common interest. One couple doesn’t even like each other.” Everyone in the room is silent. I get nervous for a second and then recover. “Playing on the fact that one person can’t be your everything. Your lover, your best friend, your financial partner, your parenting partner, your confidant, your rock, your buddy, the person who won’t judge you for dipping your toes in. Which friends in your life, other men or women, fill the voids in your marriage…and how?” I pause. They are all just giant, glaring eyes in the room. My anxiety is in overdrive. Am I being too long-winded? “Sooo, that’s the question this show is answering. The second season would take the audience back to the beginning. How the arrangement was formed.”

For a moment I try to read the room. Are these people married? Do they get it? Does it even matter? They’ve read the pilot, they know exactly what the show is about, so I don’t go any further. One exec, whom I assume is the head guy, finally speaks. “We love it. We all really love it, Dani. It’s a yes. Let’s get to work.”

Not only have I never experienced a yes in the room, I’ve never even known someone to get a yes on the table like that. Eli claps his hands together and says, “Okay, then. We’ll get the documents rolling…as long as you’re ready, Dani?”

I am so thrilled and electrified, it feels intoxicating. I’m afraid that if I speak it will be complete gibberish. Eli is staring at me. I’m assuming he’s waiting for me to thank everyone or give a speech, but I’m still tongue-tied, thoughts swirling.

An image of my mother pops into my mind, as it often does in moments like these. Before my brother died, my mom was seemingly normal. She was always a little eccentric, but not mean, not cruel the way she became. She was actually quite thoughtful, and at times ruminative. My dad sometimes referred jokingly to my mother’s musings as “esoteric LSD flashbacks,” but she would laugh it off and say she had never touched the stuff. There’s a memory of her I always think about when something good happens: It was my graduation from UCLA and my parents and Ben had come down from Seattle. We were all driving to the ceremony, and I was in the backseat with my mom because she said she wanted to talk to me. Ben sat in front while my dad drove. She was holding my hand and smiling at me.

“Danielle?”

“Yes, Mother.” I laughed at our formalities.

“Be serious for a moment.” She smiled tersely.

“Okay.” I laughed once more. “Okay, okay.”

She scooted closer to me in the car so my father and brother couldn’t hear her. In a low voice, she said, “When you walk across that stage this afternoon, I want you to pause and look out into the crowd. Your inclination will be to think about where I, or your father or Ben are sitting, but I don’t want you to do that. I want you to take a deep breath and consider this…your education is not an object to frame or a memory to look back on fondly. Your education is a tiny seed. It’s a gift and if you water it, it will continue to grow…forever. The degree, the name of this fancy college printed on a piece of paper, or the job that may come along with it…those things are not evidence of a good education. Being self-aware, compassionate, humble, being able to see the world and the others in it through an unselfish lens, that’s what an educated person does. They remind themselves that they have a choice, not just to do the right thing but also to think the right thing.” She tapped the graduation cap I was holding in my lap and said, “You were an educated person long before this came along and I couldn’t be prouder of that fact.”

My mother had no formal education herself, but still she was hell-bent on Ben and me graduating from college. My parents even took out a second mortgage to pay for it. My mom worked for the Seattle City Clerk’s Office for forty-two years, pushing paper. No one ever asked her about her job and she never talked about it. That day in the car she wasn’t giving me the advice because she regretted her own life. She was preparing me for the realities of any life. At the time, I found it ironic that the person who was insistent on us going to college was essentially telling me that a degree, in and of itself, was meaningless. But I get it now. Before Ben died and before she got sick, my mother was the most educated and compassionate woman I knew. That version of her would have been proud of how I handled Beth today, even more than she’d be of me landing the show. Whenever I think about my mother before my brother died, it pains me knowing Alex and the boys never got to know her in that light.

Finally, I stand from my chair. The room goes quiet. “Thank you. It goes without saying that I am over the moon excited, but I’m also humbled and grateful.”

Everyone stands, we shake hands, and the execs leave. Gina and Eli are standing over the table in the corner that was set up with coffee and pastries. I approach them once the execs are completely out of the room.

“I told you,” Eli says.

Gina turns toward me and smiles. “I’m not blowing smoke, Dani—out of all the shows we’re developing, this is the one I have the most faith in and the one I think I’ll most enjoy myself.”

“Thank you so much. That’s never happened to me before. You guys must have sold it to them before this meeting was even planned.”

“It was a no-brainer. Exactly the type of show we needed,” Gina says .

“So, how do we start?” In the back of my mind I know I have to pick up the boys from Jose’s house before it looks like I’m abandoning them.

“Go home,” Eli says. I’m relieved. “I’ll get the offices set up the rest of this week, hire a couple of interns, and get things going. Why don’t you work from home, Dani, maybe get us a breakdown of episodes and some names so we can put together your writing dream team.”

I suddenly realize that I don’t have anything written beyond the pilot, and that I will need a group to work out a season of writing with me. “How many episodes did they order?”

Gina laughs. “Thirteen, Dani. They want the whole season. They’ll probably want a second season too, considering how jazzed they were, but let’s take this one step at a time. You have to choose some writers and then interview them.”

“This makes me so happy.”

“Did you think we’d ask for anything less?” Eli says, smirking. “We’re thrilled to have you running this show.”

“So I’m the showrunner?” What a dumb question.

“Yes, Dani, you’re the creator and showrunner.” Gina is laughing still. “I can’t believe you’re asking that. We’re honored to have you. Now go celebrate!”

This is who I am. I’m not a fraud, not an imposter, I’m the real thing. At least for today, until the doubt creeps in again.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll get to work at home this week and see you guys here on Monday.”

“Yep, your offices will be on the third floor. Graceless is going down, we’re gonna take that space.”

I’m spooning irony into my mouth right now and it’s delicious.

“Okay,” I say .

I reach out for a hug from Gina and then realize it’s an awkward thing to do so I pull back. She smiles and then pulls me in for a huge embrace.

“Congratulations,” she whispers. My eyes are welling up.

“I’ll walk you out,” Eli says.

We make our way down the hall toward the elevator. “I can’t believe it,” I say in a low voice.

Eli presses the down button on the elevator. “Believe it, it’s happening and it’s happening fast. I know you wrote the pilot in the time it takes me to brush my teeth, but you’re not going to be able to pull off thirteen episodes all on your lonesome.”

“I know that.” We get into the elevator.

“Who are you thinking?” He’s asking which writers I’m going to hire.

“To be honest, I’m thinking about Lars. He’s brilliant and has such a good feel for it. It’s too bad Beth Zinn poured gasoline all over his soul.”

“I’m absolutely on board with that idea. Who else?”

“Are you suggesting I call him?”

“I’ll call him if you won’t. For god’s sake, the man can’t hide out in Northern California for the rest of his life.”

We’re walking into the dark parking structure. “I’m right here.” I point to my 1987 Jeep Wagoneer.

“You still drive that thing?”

“Yeah, all my TV show money has gone to lawyers, mediators, and therapists.” It actually went more to my mother’s caretaking in the end, but I don’t say that. “I am kidding a little. I love this car.”

“It suits you,” he says.

“Why? It’s a gross polluter.”

“Dani,” he playfully scolds, “come here.” He pulls me in for a hug and when he lets go, he looks me in the eyes and smiles, then takes a deep breath and says, “Lars is getting married…soon he’s going to have to put this whole thing to bed…right alongside his husband.”

My brain is lagging. Like that twirling pinwheel, just spinning and spinning.

“Wait. Lars is gay too? But we were so close, I would have known that.” Oh my god, it’s all coming together. “You are gay?” I point my index finger in Eli’s face. “And Lars is gay, and you guys are getting married?”

“No, no, no, Dani. Yes, I am gay, and yes, he is too, but he’s not marrying me,” he says with a smirk.

“Lars talked about women,” I argue. “He had a girlfriend. What was her name, Cara, Carla—”

“Keira,” Eli says. “It didn’t work out because Lars and I were, at the time…well, um…anyway…she found out. Around the same time my wife did.” He sucks air in through his teeth. “Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. Honestly, Dani, it’s not my style to come out for other people, but I know Lars planned on telling you soon. Do me a favor, act surprised.”

“So you two were together?”

“For a minute,” he says. “He’s too broody for me.”

“Ha! He is very broody, isn’t he?” I laugh.

My mouth is still open in shock and it feels like I haven’t blinked in an hour. Eli is searching my eyes like he’s tracking a tiny minnow in a pond.

“Breathe, Dani. Jesus. It’s kind of his fault all that crap went down with you two and the affair rumors. He should have just come out and put an end to it…I guess he wasn’t ready. Now he’s getting married to some French vigneron in Napa who is insisting on a Page Six spread. I know he feels guilty about what happened with Litigators, like he could have prevented it, but we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

No! I would be on a tropical island somewhere, sunbathing alongside my twelve Emmys.

“I’m so confused,” I say. “Also, how did you two know the other was—”

“It’s a takes-one-to-know-one kind of thing. We got drunk the night you guys won your second Emmy. Remember that HBO after-party?”

“What? Did you guys do it in the bathroom?”

“No, Dani, we didn’t do it in the bathroom. My wife left early. Lars and I ended up in an Uber together…I woke up the next morning in his bed. It wasn’t weird at all. We kind of asked each other the history, and then both of us admitted we had been in denial for years. That was the beginning. We snuck around for a while, I got divorced, he dumped Keira, and then after all of that, we decided we liked being friends more. That’s the story. It’s not even worthy of its own episode, you know?”

“I’m going to call him. He’ll tell me—he owes me.”

“You should. He needs someone to put his feet to the fire anyway. He will tell you everything…and I know he’ll write you the best episode of the season, after yours of course.”

“All right, then. I gotta get going,” I say. “I need to pick up my kids.”

“So what happened with Alex?”

I shrug. “It’s impossible for one person to be your everything.”

“Touché,” he says, smiling. “Let’s hug it up, babe.” We hug for a long time. “Welcome to D-land, my darling. It really is more fun. I’ll be your wingman any day of the week.”

“I don’t think I’ll be ready for that anytime soon, but I’ll keep you in mind when I am.”

—

As soon as I’m in the car, my phone rings. It’s my divorce lawyer, Lisbeth. I’ve spoken to her a total of four times. Everything was cut-and-dried. Unbelievably, Alex and I didn’t argue about any logistical or financial aspects of the divorce.

“Hi, Lisbeth.”

“Hi, Dani. I just wanted to let you know Alex’s lawyer said there was nothing else he wanted to contest. We got the papers you signed to the judge and he signed off on them. It was by far one of the easiest processes I’ve experienced.”

I’m driving in the parking structure, totally confused at where to turn to exit. I end up at the top and just pull into a parking space.

“Well, it wasn’t always easy with Alex.”

“I know, of course, this is never easy, but you both seem to be on the same page with the kids. The finances are a simple fifty-fifty split. You both have your own retirement that’s fairly equal, and when it comes time to sell the house, if you decide to buy one another out, it should be relatively straightforward. There’s really nothing else.”

I can’t imagine selling that house. “What are you saying?”

“Your divorce is final, Dani. Once you sign, at least.”

My mouth drops open. I can’t breathe. Everything is whirling around—thoughts, memories, emotions. The last few months seem like a blur now that it’s final. I’m stumbling over words in my head when I say, “I just landed my own TV show.” The moment is awkward.

“Oh,” she says.

“I mean, I’m telling you because I was going to celebrate tonight.”

“Well, you can celebrate being single too?” Her voice gets high at the end like she’s trying to persuade a toddler to do something.

I’m reeling from mental exhaustion. “Okay, Lisbeth, thank you for everything.” I pause and finally breathe. The finality is jarring. “One last thing…what did Alex say?”

“I don’t talk to Alex, Dani. I talk to his lawyer.”

“But he knows? That’s what I’m asking. Alex knows it’s final?”

“Yes.” Her tone seems apologetic.

As I leave the parking lot and turn onto the main street, I feel confused and disoriented. Somehow, I make it home, but I don’t remember driving there. I need to get the boys.

I pull out of our shallow, steep driveway and head to Jose’s. I reach down for my phone and text Noah and Ethan, telling them to be outside and ready in five minutes. When I look up, it’s too late. I hit my brakes, but I’ve already rolled into the car in front of me. It’s a glossy, pearl-colored Infinity sports car.

FUCK.

It was just a bumper kiss, but I know I have to pull over. We’re in the left turning lane. There are cars behind us, but the man in the car I hit decides to get out of his car while the light is green. People are honking behind me. He’s walking toward my car.

I lean out the window. “Pull over into that strip mall. I’ll follow you,” I tell him.

It’s obvious I have hit the wrong person. “What were you thinking?” He’s yelling as he continues walking toward me. “Were you on your phone, damn teenager texting?”

Wow, I don’t know if I should be gloating right now over the fact that he thinks I’m a teenager. I do have big sunglasses on. He looks to be in his sixties, maybe early seventies, well dressed. He’s pissed. “You need to pull off and get your car out of the road,” I say. “I’m not going to flee the scene, for Christ’s sake. Not many people have 1987 Jeep Wagoneers in this town. Go park over there!” I point to the strip mall. A woman steps out of the passenger side. I didn’t see her before because the back windows are heavily tinted.

“Get in the car, Bob, she’s not going anywhere.” The woman pulls her phone out and snaps a photo of me.

Bob walks back toward the driver’s side. Just before he bends to get in, he yells, “You better follow me.”

From where I’m at, I do not see any damage to his car, but by the time I pull into a space in the strip mall across the street, I am crying.

I get out and walk toward his car. He and the woman are bent over, staring at the back bumper. There’s a black streak, which is weird, since I have a chrome bumper, and then I remember: the bumper guards. On my front bumper there are two black rubber rectangle guards…thank god! I love my car, even if it does leave a Sasquatch-sized carbon footprint. I don’t drive much. That’s my justification.

“Look at that!” He points to the streak. I’m still crying, but not making much sound. “You’re gonna have to pay for that. Give me your insurance, missy.”

Missy? I take a deep breath and pull myself together. “It’s just a rubber smear.”

“No, this is a brand-new car and now it’s ruined ’cause you were on your phone, probably texting your boyfriend.”

“Excuse me, sir.” I pull my sunglasses down to reveal my well-earned wrinkles and puffy face from crying. “I am a grown woman, a mother of two. Please stop yelling at me.”

I lick my thumb, bend, and start to wipe the smudge off his bumper. The woman, who I assume is his wife, says, “Well, would you look at that. It’s coming off.”

Meanwhile, Bob is still berating me, “You’re gonna kill somebody someday… ”

“Voilà! Good as new,” I say as I stand and take a step back to inspect my work.

“I don’t think so,” Bob yells. I’m ignoring him as I take pictures of both his car and mine in case he reports me. “What if there is frame damage that we can’t see?”

I look him straight in the eyes. Stray tears are still running down my face, but I’m breathing and speaking normally. “You’re kidding me, right? I’m sorry I hit you. I barely bumped you. I know you hardly felt it. I am sorry though. There is no damage on your car or mine and everyone is good,” I say, and then start to walk away. I’m secretly recording the whole thing on my phone.

“This is bullshit! I’m calling the police,” he yells.

I look back and see the woman rolling her eyes. She opens the passenger-side door. “Get in the car, Bob. The poor girl apologized. She’s crying. You’re making a big stink about this—just get in the car!”

Bob does get in the car. He drives off, cutting into traffic and almost causing a far worse accident. Three cars honk at him as he speeds along down the road. I leave and head for Jose’s, grateful again for my bumper guards. When I pull up to Jose’s house, Noah and Ethan are sitting on the curb, looking bored and irritated. Noah gets in the front seat and Ethan in the back.

“Jeez, what took so long? I thought you were right down the street. I was about to order an Uber,” Noah says with a snort laugh.

I glance at Ethan in the rearview mirror and see that he’s smiling at Noah’s comment.

“As if you could order an Uber,” I say.

“It’s a simple app, Mom.” He does something on his phone and a second later he holds it up to me. “See.”

“Yeah, but you need a credit card— ”

We’re at a stoplight. “Look,” he says.

I’m familiar with the app. I see that within a few minutes he’s ordered an Uber to head to our house.

“Are you kidding! Cancel that, Noah!”

“Okay, okay,” He cancels it and then says, “You were the one who linked a credit card to our phones.”

Right. I forgot about that.

“Yeah, we should have ordered an XL—like, you know, a black Escalade. We could’ve gone cruisin’, yo!” Ethan says, chuckling from the backseat.

“No, yo! You could not have. I would have killed you myself. Do not ever order an Uber unless I explicitly instruct you to. God, I really am becoming useless, aren’t I?”

“No, Mom, we’re just messing with you,” Noah says and then looks out the window. “Why were you late though?” I don’t know why he won’t look in my direction.

“I got into a little fender bender. Everything is fine, I just had to pull over and let this old curmudgeon of a man yell at me for a bit.”

“That sucks,” Ethan says. “Other than that, how was your day? What happened at the meeting?”

“You guys, despite the ornery old guy”— and the divorce being final, I think, but don’t mention—“I had the best day ever, and now that I’m with my two favorite people in the world, it’s even better.”

Noah looks over and smiles at me. It’s a serene smile. A mature one, like he senses the unspoken irony in my words.

“Tell us, Mom!” Ethan barks.

“I got my own TV show. It’s all mine! I can’t believe it.”

“You did?” Ethan says. “That’s awesome.”

“Are we going to be rich now?” Noah asks.

“We’re already rich, Noah. Compared to the rest of the world, we’re rich. And we’re rich in ways that have nothing to do with money.” My tone is authoritative.

“I know. I didn’t mean it that way. I meant like really rich,” he says.

“I feel like you’re digging a deeper and deeper hole right now,” I say to him with a laugh.

He laughs too and says, “Okay, okay.”

I pull into our driveway, get the mail, and thumb through it. The boys have already scattered. “Do your homework!” I yell from the empty kitchen.

“Okay,” they say in unison from somewhere down the hall.

After cleaning the house from top to bottom, finishing the laundry, and paying a few bills, I order a pizza and crack open a bottle of champagne. I make a to-do list for the next day. I will call Lars and grill him until he tells me everything.

I’m sitting at the breakfast bar sipping my bubbly in silence. Is this celebrating? Is this what celebrating looks like now as a divorcée?

I go through a mental list of whom I could call to come over and drink with me. I dial Alicia first.

“Hi, what’s up?” She’s curt.

“I got the show! Apple TV.”

“Are you serious? Congratulations!” she says. “I wish I could chat with you right now but I’m about to go into a deposition.”

“That’s okay, I just wanted to tell you.”

“You are a killer, babe. I knew you’d get it.”

The moment I hang up, the doorbell rings. I get the pizza from the scrawny, young delivery boy, shut the door, drag my feet to the kitchen, and throw it on the counter. “Dinner!” I yell.

Ethan walks into the kitchen. “Jeez, why are you screaming?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you guys were in the backyard,” Isay .

“Is everything all right. I mean, you’re happy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

For some reason, it feels like a lie, and he can see right through me. Noah comes in and gets a slice and takes it back to his room without saying a word to anyone. “Do you want to eat on the couch with me and watch The Walking Dead ?” I say to Ethan.

He loves that show but I’d never let them watch it—only Alex had.

“I thought—”

“It’s okay,” I say. “We’re celebrating.” I pour myself another glass of champagne and follow Ethan into the living room.

Two episodes of The Walking Dead in, and I have no idea what’s going on in the show. My mind is somewhere else. Ethan and Noah go to bed a half hour earlier than usual and without me telling them to. Are they avoiding me?

I kiss them good night, head back to the kitchen, and pour the last of the champagne into my glass. One bottle down, all alone, with two children in the house. I know I have to stop after this glass, definitely shouldn’t open another bottle, but…I’m celebrating . Still, I’ve always promised myself not to drink alone like this. I should just go to bed.

There’s a text from Alex.

ALEX: Congratulations, Dani. Noah told me you got the show when I called the boys to say goodnight. I know how much this means to you. It’s a really big deal. A game-changer for you.

I’m not sure how to respond. If I just say “Thank you,” it will seem like I’m mad, which I actually am, but not really at Alex. I’m more irritated that Lars could have prevented the hell we went through. I’m sad that Alex and the boys only ever knew the sick and wicked side of my mother. I’m pissed at that old man for giving me a panic attack in the middle of the street. And I’m pissed at myself for a failed marriage…or I guess now it’s a dead marriage. It’s really over and it’s all finally hitting me. When the good things happen, no matter how grateful you pretend to be, sometimes it’s still not enough to get that small sip of air you need to not drown in the bad things. The waves crashing over me are just too big for the small boat that the show represents. I’m still getting pummeled by wave after wave.

ME: Thank you, Alex. It’s so very bittersweet that it happened today, the day our divorce was final.

I am crying now, sobbing. Tears are flooding my phone screen.

ME: So, so bittersweet. I would be celebrating with you. That’s the one thing we were NOT horrible at. Celebrating together.

I see the bubbles next to the text, indicating Alex is responding.

Then nothing.