Artie
New York was easy.
And since the time change was easier to manage, Pierce and I spoke every day. Usually for just a couple of minutes, but there was one night where both of our schedules aligned, and we talked for almost two hours.
Me. On the phone.
With a man.
Not talking about work.
Or, well, not talking about work all that much.
But we’d discussed Carrot, of course, and Pop, and his prep for filming the sequel to the superhero flick he’d wrapped the previous year—the reason shooting for Carrot was happening when it was.
But then we’d talked about his family, about how his parents and sisters had been filled with equal parts outrage and gratitude when he’d presented them with a vacation for the following summer. We’d joked about the silly stuff in our daily lives—the craft service table not having the right kind of cheese according to my lead on Pop, Pierce’s childhood friend trying to convince him that he had the best script ever written in the history of all scripts (and one that had very nearly approached a porno, both for the sheer quantity of sex scenes and also the minimal amounts of dialogue).
We’d talked about our moms.
How lucky we both felt to have them, even though they each had their faults.
Dorinne was often exacting, and though that came from a place of obvious love, the pressure she’d placed on her kids to be successful had been a lot.
Not that the kids had ended up worse for wear, with Pierce being who he was and Kate and Marie both lovely and successful in their own roles as a mother and a lawyer.
But the standards had been high.
My story was different obviously.
My mom’s love wasn’t quite as . . . altruistic? Maybe that wasn’t fair because it was there, even though it was unhealthy. I’d had to be more parent than child, a partner in our survival.
That was more than any child should shoulder.
And that was putting aside the fact that she’d stayed with an abuser.
I’d learned to separate the two over the years, understood my mother wasn’t healthy, wasn’t strong or resourceful or gritty.
I could be angry she exposed me to that, angry she stayed and dismantled my life in order to stay with an abuser. And I was angry. I was furious she hadn't prioritized someone she was supposed to have loved unconditionally over sick wants and needs.
Kids were innocent.
I’d been innocent.
And my parents had torn that away.
But as an adult, I had more clarity. My mom had been troubled, and though she’d loved me in her own way, her actions had often been inexcusable. But I either had to hold on to the good and compartmentalize the bad away, or I risked being overwhelmed by my anger.
So, I chose to remember the way she’d saved up to buy the ingredients to make my favorite ice cream cake for my birthday. How she’d braided my hair before bed every night so it wouldn’t get tangled. The way she’d let me cuddle with her in her bed when I’d had a nightmare and was scared.
Small things.
But important when taken into account with the rest.
And because of that, I also understood that the hole she’d left behind when she’d taken her own life would never fully be filled.
It was inevitable.
It was sad.
It was just the way things were.
“Please, ensure that your seatbacks are in the upright and locked position . . .”
I blinked, pulling myself out of my memories. I’d gone years without thinking about my parents, deliberately shoving all thoughts of them down and locking them up with chains and steel cables.
Pierce had changed that.
He’d peeled back the armor, exposed my vulnerable underbelly, but instead of feeling flayed open, now I was . . . lighter?
Pierce knew everything.
And he still kept calling and texting.
I smiled and stowed my laptop, zipping it into my bag and stowing it safely under the seat in front of mine. The plane was descending rapidly, and my pulse was thundering, the thought of seeing Pierce after nearly two weeks was both exhilarating and terrifying.
“Nervous flyer?”
I glanced at the older woman sitting next to me in first class—don’t judge, I flew a lot and that meant I was going to be comfortable, high cost or not—and smiled. “Oh, no,” I said. “I’m not nervous about flying. I travel all the time.”
“It’s a man.”
I blinked at her in surprise. “I’m sorry, what?”
She laughed. “I’ve only ever seen that expression for two things—flying and the opposite sex.”
“I—” I shook my head. “It’s not really that. I mean, I’m fine.”
She lifted one white brow until it almost touched the edge of her curly, permed hair. “Of course, you’re fine,” she said. “Doesn’t mean there isn’t a man in your life who’s got you on tenterhooks.” A smile that made creases appear at the corners of her eyes. “I’m Beverly.”
“Artemis.” I stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, dear,” Beverly said.
“So, what’s bringing you to Scotland?”
Another warm smile. “Vacation.” A beat. “And a man.”
I grinned.
“What about you?”
“Work.” I paused then figured, what the hell. “And a man.”
Beverly laughed and clapped her hands. “I love it when I’m right. Okay, okay, tell me everything. How’d you meet him? What does he look like? Is he loaded?”
“He does okay,” I said. “But I think I probably have been around longer.” I grinned at her perplexed look. “I produce films for a living.”
Her eyes widened. “Anything I’ve seen?”
I named a few of my more popular films.
Those eyes went wider. “Wow. I’ve never met a real-life movie star before.”
I grinned. “Definitely not a star. I just present the stories to the actors and directors. They’re the ones who bring them to life.”
“It’s still amazing,” Beverly gushed. “How did you get into it?”
The truth burned a hole in the back of my mind, but I forced my lips to curve up into a smile. “I got lucky.” A beat. “And worked hard.”
Beverly patted my arm. “I bet you did,” she murmured, and I frowned briefly at the tone, but then she began talking again, quicker and more enthusiastically. “Okay, that was work, so now I want to know the really juicy bits. Who’s the man?”
I shook my head. “It’s silly and really new. I’m—” I sighed. “Truthfully, I’m not even sure what we are. Dating? Boyfriend-girlfriend?” Lovers? More? I thought, though didn’t say that aloud. “I just know that I’ve never really been interested in more than temporaries with a man . . . until Pierce.”
Lips curved up. “Based on the blush on your face, I’m guessing he’s attractive?”
“The most gorgeous man I’ve seen in my lifetime,” I said.
“Is he an actor?” Beverly asked. “They tend to be . . .”
“On the pretty end of the spectrum?” I said with a smile, to which she nodded. “Not an actor. A director and brilliantly talented.”
“Should I repeat my previous question and ask if he’s made anything I might have seen?”
I laughed. “Sure. And yes, if you’ve seen or heard of—” I named Pierce’s huge box office superhero film.
“Really?”
I nodded. “Really.”
“Wow,” she said. “A power couple in the making.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied as the plane hit the runway with a bump, both of us fighting the lean forward as we came to a halting stop. The next few minutes were spent taxiing to the gate then gathering our things—another perk of first-class flying meant we got off the plane quickly.
“Well, it was nice to meet you,” I said as we went our separate ways.
“You too, Artemis,” Beverly said, smiling widely up at me. “Meeting you just absolutely made my week.”
It wouldn’t be until later that I found out why exactly I’d made Beverly’s week.
And it broke my heart.