Here Without You

I feel like she’s just unloaded a ton of bricks on top of me, and I can barely breathe. Because what she just said – it’s true. It’s so f**king true. Emma would know what it takes to make that choice – to accept a child who doesn’t belong to you, right in the middle of your relationship, like a ghost of some former love. Goddammit if my initial reflex isn’t to back away from this child – who I don’t know at all – if that’s what it would take to keep Dori.

But what kind of man would that make me?

The PA calls out to let me know I’ll be up in ten minutes. I hold up a hand and nod at him. Fuck. How can I shoot a battle scene now when I feel crushed into dust? I need every second of that ten minutes to get my game face back on.

‘I’ve got to go. Thanks, Emma.’

‘I’m sorry, Reid – I know I didn’t make you feel any better –’

‘No,’ I laugh softly, once, ‘but you told me what I needed to hear. I’ll look you guys up when I’m filming in New York.’

Brooke: CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS.

Me: Filming. Can’t call. WHAT??

Brooke: We’re getting a pre-placement visitation. We may get him early. His foster mother had some kind of health thing come up, possible surgery, and they don’t want to bounce him into a new foster home and then to us not long after that.

Me: Shit. WHEN?

Brooke: Saturday. Can you be here? They need to see both of us interact with him. Are you doing the online parenting course?

Me: Yes and yes. I’ll figure something out. Call you later.

Me: We’re getting a visit with River on Saturday morning, so I can’t come to Berkeley this weekend – I have to fly in and out Friday-Saturday. So sorry.

Me: Dori, ANSWER me. Please.

Dori: That’s ok. Shayma and I are helping with a free laundry thing for local homeless people on Saturday anyway. I was going to text you.

Me: Were you?

Me: If I call you tonight, will you answer?

Me: I miss you.

Dori: I miss you too.

‘Hello.’

I didn’t realize how much I expected to get dumped into her voicemail again until I don’t. How much I missed the sound of her hello until I hear her say it.

‘Hey. You answered.’ Right behind the relief is anger. I didn’t expect that, either, and I start my silent therapeutic counting, hoping it will go away quickly. But it doesn’t work that way; the aggravation is filling me as fast as I’m emptying it, like a rainy day in a water-laden rowing boat, and nothing to bail it out with but a tin can.

‘I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,’ she says, and I’m literally clamping my jaw shut on the words that want out.

I breathe through my nose and count. One. Two. Three. Until I can trust myself to speak. ‘Can we talk, please? Are you still upset?’

‘I’m not upset, Reid. I just don’t think we should rush into anything –’

‘What do you mean by that – rush into anything? By anything – do you mean us? Dori … is this about River?’

‘No … Maybe. It’s not about him, specifically. You’ve got a lot going on with the movie, and River, and Brooke –’

‘Dori, the stuff about Brooke and me in the tabloids is all speculation or make-believe – you remember all the fabricated crap they printed when you fell on me last summer – that we were having a secret relationship –’

‘We did have a secret relationship –’

‘But we weren’t having one then.’

‘That’s your argument?’

‘Well. Yes. I didn’t say that they don’t guess right sometimes. And do I need an argument?’

She doesn’t answer. The silence is thick and solid. I want to reach through this phone and pull her to me.

‘Dori?’

‘You shouldn’t have to explain yourself, Reid. You’re right. I just want you to be free to do what you need to do –’

‘And I’m not? I’m not free to do what I need to do?’

Silence, again. I’m arguing her into corners, because that’s what I do. But if she goes mute on me, what good does it do me to be right? So I retreat to what I know. How I’ve been raised to handle conflict. It’s simple, really. If the communication is making everything worse, then we’ll just stop talking about it.

‘Your spring break is in three weeks, right? We’ll be done filming in Utah by then. I’ll have some long work days at Universal – but at least we’ll both be in LA. We’ll spend as much time together as possible. Everything will be fine. I promise.’ Without thinking, I ask, ‘Do you trust me?’ As though this question isn’t at the core of everything, and I haven’t just circled back around to it, as unintentional as it was.

‘You’re doing the right thing, Reid, and I’m proud of you for it.’ That’s the second time I’ve heard that sentiment in as many days, but this one feels like the prelude to something unwanted. ‘Spring recess is in three weeks, yes.’

Everything is off. The cadence of her voice isn’t quite right – it’s … flat, stilted, but I can’t see how to fix this. Plus she didn’t answer my question.

‘I’ll … call you, after we meet him?’

For the beat of several seconds, I think she’s not going to answer. Maybe she’s already gone. And then she says, ‘Sure. That would be fine.’

23

BROOKE

I’ve just got off the phone with Janelle, who is begging me, for the zillionth time and all that is holy, not to turn down Paper Oceans. She’s got her first call from the producer and is freaking out that I’ll say no to it. Attempting to explain my reasons does no good. ‘I’m done talking about this until you’ve got an offer on the table,’ I said, thoroughly irked. What I left unsaid, but she managed to hear anyway: And then I’ll turn it down.