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Date 11: Pipers Piping
I’ve felt strange for days. Ever since Josh and I kissed. The thing is, I like him. I really like him. But how am I ever going to get my life together if I always go for unmotivated guys. As my father likes to say, “fun won’t finance your retirement.”
I get an email from a man who wants to meet me. Yawn. He looks presentable, but then I notice his online name is Pipedude. Now, that either means he smokes a pipe, is a pipe-fitter or uses a crack pipe. None of these images appeals to me. And they certainly won’t go over with my family. My mother made my father give up his pipe years ago.
I email pipe dude and tell him, thanks, but I’ve met someone. Then I exit the dating site. Maybe this whole enterprise was a pipe dream. Did I really think I was going to meet someone who was right for my family and might also be right for me? I think, deep down, maybe I did.
When I look back on the weeks of dating craziness I realize that meeting Josh was the best part of it. And now that we’ve kissed that whole relationship is confusing.
I keep recalling snatches of conversations we had. The toughest one was when he told me I hadn’t failed at screenwriting. I’d given up.
I wonder if he’s right? How hard did I really try in one of the most competitive businesses in the world?
Since I’m sitting in front of my computer anyway, I pull up the file where all my ideas and partly completed projects live. I start reading. Soon I’m typing. Time falls away.
Maybe I will never sell a script. But maybe I will. I could shoot my own movies for goodness’ sake and put them up online. I probably wouldn’t make money but I’d be doing what I love.
I’m exhausted when I realize I’ve spent three of the best hours I’ve spent in ages. I decide to treat myself to a fancy coffee to celebrate. On impulse, I call Josh.
“Guess what?” I say.
“Hi Lucy,” he says and at the sound of his voice all the awkwardness of our kiss and the fact that we haven’t talked in three days rushes over me.
“Hi. Um,” I realize I’m fiddling with my hair. Order myself to stop. “Do you want to go for coffee?”
“You mean now?”
“Yes.”
“Sure,” he says. “That’s a good idea.” No need to say where. We always meet at my favorite coffee shop.
“I’m heading over now. I’ll see you there.”
On a whim, I grab the printout of the script I’m working on. I’m stuck on the act 3 climax and I wonder if he can help.
I put on make-up since I’ve been working at home all day and haven’t bothered. I change my shirt to a nicer one. Fuss with my hair and then finally put on my hat and coat and leave.
When I get to the coffee shop, he’s already there, in the same seat he occupied when I first met him. My heart does a stupid little flippy thing when he looks up and sees me. I smile and he smiles back but he looks more serious than usual.
As I walk over I am absurdly self-conscious. It’s always been so easy between us. Now I don’t know the protocol for greeting. Do we kiss? Hug?
He solves the dilemma by handing me a big blue pottery bowl. As I take it, the aroma of coffee fills the air. “I was going to buy today,” I say. “I’m celebrating.”
“What?” He doesn’t seem very interested.
I put down the coffee and flap the stack of pages at him. “A script. I realized you were right. I’m working on a screenplay.”
“That’s great, Lucy. Can I read it?”
“I’m hoping you will. I’m stuck. I can’t figure out where the story goes next.”
He makes a funny kind of snorting noise. “I know how that feels.”
Since I believe he may be referring to ‘us’ I decide to ignore the remark, pretend I haven’t heard it.
But the ease we’ve always known is gone. This big, giant thing is between us and I don’t know how to fix it.
Finally, he says, “I’ve got something for you, too.” He reaches into the battered leather case he keeps his computer in and pulls out a package. It’s wrapped in brown wrap stamped with red Christmas trees. The wrap is obviously recycled. Josh is big on being green.
“It’s only December 20,” I say, turning the package over in my hand. “I—I don’t have yours yet.”
“I won’t be here for Christmas, Luc. I’ve decided to go skiing.”
“Oh. Where? Sun Valley? Aspen? Utah?”
“I’m heading to the Alps.”
“The Alps? Like in France?”
Amusement flickers across his face. “Like those Alps.”
“But—when will you be back?”
He shrugs. “A month? Maybe two or three. See how it goes.”
“Three months?” I can’t explain why I feel bereft, but somehow I do.
“I’ve got your email address. I’ll read this and send you notes.”
I don’t care about emails. Or notes. “I—I don’t want you to go.”
He looks at me and he’s serious and sexy and sad all at once. “Then give me a reason to stay.”
Silence sits between us like a third person. I don’t know what to say.
“What do you want?” I finally whisper.
“I want you,” he says. Simple and sincere. “I want all of you.” He pauses. “And I want you to want me more than you want to impress your family.”
“It’s more than that,” I say.
He smiles wryly. “I know. It was never really about them. It’s always been about you.”