3. Orson

Chapter 3

Orson

The director yells cut, and everything is in perfect silence for a moment, like the world is holding its breath. I pull off the stifling cowboy hat, feeling sweat bead on my forehead despite the winter air that hangs around the set. That's when I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my jeans under the period clothing.

With a quick glance around the bustling set, I duck behind a prop wall, hidden from view. The glow of my phone lights the dim space as my friend Owen's name flashes across the screen. My stomach tightens in anticipation—he rarely calls me. This must be important.

“Hey, Owen,” I say, trying to mask my exhaustion. I'm in the middle of my third month in New Mexico and dying to return to Los Angeles for rest and relaxation. Unfortunately, we still have two weeks of reshoots before I can grab the first flight back to California.

“Orson!” Owen’s voice is too loud, so happy. “Guess what, man? I'm getting married!”

His words hit me like a sudden burst of blinding studio lights. My eyes struggle to adjust as I absorb the news. “Married? Seriously? To who?” The words spill out of my mouth, but even as I ask, I realize my tone lacks genuine enthusiasm. It's not that I'm not happy for him, but it's all so unexpected. It feels like a plot twist in a movie that catches you off guard and leaves you speechless.

“Dina Mullen! You must remember her. She was pals with Winter.”

With her wide smile and peppy personality, Dina flashes through my memory. She was more than just Winter's pal—she was her best friend. But I keep that to myself, not wanting to prolong the conversation.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Wow, man, that's great news!" My words come out stiff and forced. The idea of marriage no longer holds any meaning for me. Relationships only bring trouble and heartache, in my experience. It's better to keep things casual and uncomplicated.

“And guess what else? I want you to be my best man!” If Owen’s enthusiasm is meant to be contagious, it’s not working.

Fortunately, I’m a great actor.

“Holy shit! That’s awesome! Just let me know the time and place. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The role of best man feels heavier than any character I’ve played on screen, but he’s one of the few genuine friends I have left, and I want to be there for him. Then, a sudden and disturbing thought strikes me. “When’s the big day?”

“Christmas Eve.”

The words hang between us like a scene waiting to be edited for dramatic effect. Christmas Eve—a day typically reserved for peace on earth and goodwill toward men will now contain an awkward reunion with Winter. The universe is either giving me a gift or playing a horrible joke on me.

“And before you ask,” Owen continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil, “Winter will be there too. She’s the maid of honor.”

Of course, she is. The universe hates me almost as much as Winter does.

“That sounds… interesting.” That’s the understatement of the year. Owen knows we parted badly, but I never told him what really went down. After eight long years of trying to bury those memories, I’m not entirely sure anymore.

“Ah, come on! It’ll be fun. Like old times,” Owen pushes cheerfully, and the shock of seeing Winter again prevents me from producing a lie believable enough for him to accept. There’s no way out of this now.

Yeah, old times—with added festivity and unresolved feelings hanging over me like Christmas lights on the fritz. Winter and I spent two years in a contentious long-distance relationship, filled with more fights than I care to remember.

Looking back, most of it was my fault. I was too shortsighted and immature to realize it then. For the past eight years, we’ve gone out of our way to avoid one another and done a pretty damn good job—if I say so myself. We’re both in show business and accordingly, get invited to the same parties, but whenever I know she’s attending, I find an excuse to get me out of attending. Now, in weeks, all that work will be ruined, and there’s no escaping a confrontation that I always knew was inevitable.

“So,” Owen says, snapping me back to reality. “You still in?”

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. “Yeah, of course," I affirm with a forced chuckle, "it should be fun.”

“Awesome! It’ll mean so much to both of us. Everyone will be so psyched to see the big movie star come home. Between you and Winter, Bixby might be overrun with paparazzi,” Owen jokes, unwittingly stabbing my heart with every laugh.

Our conversation lingers for a few more moments, filled with lighthearted banter about outfit choices and promises to spend more time together after the wedding. As the call ends and the line goes silent, I hear my director shouting from the other side of the set, asking someone to track me down. As I slip my phone back into my pocket and readjust myself into Orson-the-actor rather than Orson-the-reluctant-best-man, I can't help but feel like my own life has turned into a movie—one in desperate need of a few rewrites.

I’m not ready to see Winter. What if she shows up with another guy? What if she’s found the love of her life and arrives in Bixby flaunting a giant ring, on the arm of a European rock star or, God forbid, another actor? I act for a living, but I don’t think I can pretend not to care. We were supposed to be the couple who worked out—the ones who made it and showed everyone that true love conquers all.

Even in my mind, that sounds pathetic. Each word feels like a slap in the face. I may have been a pain in the ass, but Winter was cold and unforgiving. All my suspicions were correct from the start—she couldn’t wait to get rid of me.