I let out a breath and opened up the package. I was nervous, no, terrified of reading Jared’s manuscript, no longer because I feared he couldn’t write, but now because I was about to get a very intimate window into his past, the kind that couldn’t be unseen. From what I’d heard from Emmie, Dave and others, his past wasn’t pretty. I’d intentionally avoided Googling him—even when we were officially dating—because I wanted to only know the truth and not question the speculation and half-truths that the tabloids would have used to sell papers. I owed it to him to only want his real story. The one that he chose to tell himself.
But now that I was faced with it, I wasn’t so sure.
“It can’t be that bad,” I told myself as I slid the big stack of paper out of the envelope. “If it was that bad, he wouldn’t be putting it in a book. Anyway, you promised, Brooklyn.”
There were two rubber bands holding the loose pages together, the title page on the top:
HARD PARTS:
My life as a child actor in the successful TV series Lady Parts
By
Jared Abramovich
“This is it,” I said aloud as something of a pep talk, pulling the bands off. I turned the cover page over and read the dedication.
For my grandmother, Anna Abramovich. Who I know will never want to read this book, but to whom I owe everything. Thank you for stopping the bleeding. Thank you, Nana, for everything.
Jared
“Whoa,” I said. “Stopping the bleeding?” Pretty intense. I glanced at the clock and realized I only had about a half an hour until I had to get ready for dinner, nowhere near long enough to get into this now. I’ll just check out a few pages, I told myself.
After fifteen of them, I already needed a break. I got up and grabbed a bottle of water from our mini fridge and took a swig, swishing it around my dry mouth as I stared at the manuscript pages on my desk. Amazing how simple sheets of paper and some ink could be put together to make something so intense. I could put them in a shredder and they’d be nothing anymore, but in their current form, they made up the most heart-wrenching thing I’d ever read. I glanced at my phone and picked it up, debating for a long moment before I scrolled through my contacts and texted Jared.
Reading your memoir.
Uh oh, he texted back right away.
You’re a really good writer. It was the truth. The way he wove his story, with bits of humor and heart—even though I had just started it, I could tell the rest of the book would be just as good and was going to be a page-turner, even for people who weren’t just interested in the sordid story.
You’re just saying that to get me to ask you out.
I laughed and then sent, I’m serious. It’s really good.
Thanks :)
I looked down at the phone, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard as I figured out what to say next. There was so much I wanted to ask, so much I wanted to say, but it was so personal and maybe text wasn’t the right way.
U still there?
Yes, I tapped out.
?
I took a breath and hit the keys. It’s all true, right? This all really happened?
There was a long pause before, Yes.
I’m so sorry, Jared.
Another long pause until, It’s ok. It’s better now.
It had to be the truth since he seemed so well-adjusted and...normal. Funny and gentle, even. No one would ever guess that the sweet, sensitive guy he’d grown to be was the product of such a horrible childhood. By all accounts, he should be totally messed up—a drug-head or a total jerk. But he was neither of those things.
I’m glad, I texted, my throat feeling thick and making me glad we weren’t face to face. I didn’t want him to see me feeling sorry for him because for all his joking around, I knew he’d hate that and it wasn’t why he asked me to read it.
Back to reading. 5 more pages before dinner.
Ok. Sorry to scandalize U.
Are you kidding? I sent. This is nothing.
Keep reading, came back, scaring me a little.
Don’t worry. I can take it, I wrote, not sure if it was the truth.
Thanks 4 reading, Brooklyn.
I’m honored you asked. Stop texting me, I’ll ttyl.
I took another drink from the water bottle and settled in at my desk to read for a few more minutes before I had to head downstairs.
Needless to say, I was late for dinner.
~ ♥ ~
“What’s wrong with you?” Emmie asked when I finally dropped into my seat beside her after I’d loaded up a plate with the dregs of the buffet. I wasn’t even hungry, but figured I’d better go through the motions. More than that, I needed a break—even just twenty more pages of Jared’s memoir had put me through the emotional wringer.
“Huh?” I said, my brain still not fully present.
“You look, I don’t know, freaked out,” Kaylee said. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, trying to throw off the mental cobwebs. “I was reading Jared’s manuscript.”
Kaylee winced. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
I looked at her and nodded. As the daughter of Hollywood producers, she probably had a lot of insight into how things were for Jared—maybe even some firsthand knowledge. She wasn’t the type to blab and I’d never asked.
“Did you know him?” I asked. “Before here, I mean.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I heard rumors and I know what it can be like.”
“So what’s in it?” Emmie asked as she pushed her plate away. It’s not like she was asking in a gossipy way; I knew she liked Jared, so she was probably just curious, but somehow it felt like I’d be betraying a confidence if I told her. Which was ridiculous, since he was publishing a book that anyone could read. But it still felt like it was too close to share. Not yet.
I dragged my fork around in my salad before I said, “I’m not supposed to share it, since it’s still a draft. I’m not sure how much will make it into the final version, so he asked me to keep it to myself,” I said apologetically. It was a lie, but one I was okay telling. And anyway, I’d already told my roommate a pile of lies—what’s one more?
Emmie looked at me intently for a second and I held my breath, suddenly worried I’d offended her, but then her expression softened. “I guess that makes sense. Is it really that bad?”
Tears pooled in my eyes as I looked down at my plate. “Yeah,” I said, my voice no more than a whisper.