CHAPTER 57

“Table for Emily Carlton,” I tell the woman at the front of the trendy restaurant in LA. I follow her back to a table tucked into the corner. “You requested something with privacy. How’s this?” she asks. “Perfect. Thank you.” I sit facing the door and watch people drift in. The full weight of my attention is on this meeting. I don’t even know this woman, but I want to like her—and I want her to like me. I smooth the skirt of my simple black dress and wonder if I should’ve worn my hair up instead of down. The nerves didn’t hit me when I confirmed the meeting time, not even on the charter flight with my dad, Timothy, and Shane earlier today. They’re hitting me now. A waitress comes by and offers me the drink menu. “Would you like something?” “Sure, I’ll have a glass of pinot grigio.” I recognize her the second she walks in. Her hair is red like mine, and her mouth pulls into a startled smile. "Emily. Oh my God.” I shift out of my seat as her gaze runs over me. “You’re beautiful.” Her eyes mist, and I let her hug me. “Hi… Mildred.” I can’t say “Mom.” The word sticks in my throat. “Thank you for meeting me.” She’s beautiful too, early forties and still completely fresh-faced and slender, her black jumpsuit revealing long, tanned legs. “I was surprised to hear from you after all this time.” “I’m sorry it took so long. I wasn’t ready.” Her brows pull together. “Of course.” The waitress comes by to offer wine, and Mildred jumps at it. “Tell me everything,” she says once the waitress departs to get our drinks. “I’m not sure where to start,” I confess with a smile. “Wherever you want.” So I tell her about how I grew up in Dallas, then attended Vanier for two years before getting a gig working with Miranda Tamayo writing a new show for the stage. “You’re writing for Broadway,” she gushes as two glasses are set in front of us. “I always wanted to be on Broadway. Do you think you’d have a role for me?” I shift in my seat. “We haven’t even gotten funding, not to mention cast it. But maybe? It will be a lot of work until previews.” “Oh, I see.” Her face falls. “You must know everyone in the business.” I start to say “no,” but I stop at the last minute. “I have worked with a lot of people. I’ve kept pretty busy since school. And every person I meet teaches me something.” “I’m sure. There are so many rich, handsome men in New York,” she insists. “Right.” It takes effort to hold my smile in place. “But tell me about you. How long have you been in LA?” “Ages. I’ve done commercials. And guest appearances on a couple of network shows,” she says with pride. “But I’ve always known there’s something bigger out there for me. Do you feel that way?” My chest expands at her description. I know that feeling. I’ve lived it. Maybe it didn’t come from the world. Maybe it came from the woman in front of me. “Yes. I do.” Her eyes glint as she reaches over the table and covers my hand with hers. “How’s Eddie? I heard he launched a label recently.” “He’s excited. He’s actually in LA, too, for an event later tonight.” The second the words are out, Mildred sucks in a breath. “And you’re going? I’d love to see him again. And meet some of your friends.” The way she says it has me hesitating. “From the letter you wrote to me, I figured you and my dad hadn’t parted ways on the best of terms.” “Well, I’m sure we’ve all moved past it now. He’s quite a charmer. We’d have plenty to laugh about now. Is his wife at this party too?” I slide my hand out from under hers to reach for my wine even though my stomach is suddenly unsettled. “She’s not. And as for the party—I don’t know the host well enough to invite a friend. Dad’s focused on promoting a new artist.” She seems to sense me shutting down and leans in. “Well, I bet the money is better in music than the stage.” “Probably,” I concede. “I don’t think people go to Broadway for the money. But if you want to be part of something incredible and touch people every night, it’s the place to be.” Mildred laughs. “It sounds exhausting.” I try to keep the conversation on her because every time it comes back to me, I end up feeling as if she cares more about what I can do for her than who I am, what I like. We finish our glasses of wine, and I make my excuses before putting her in a cab to go home with a hug that’s shorter on my end than hers, one I wish I could lean into but can’t. By the time the car pulls away, I’m actually aching to go to an industry party with the people I love. “How did I score two handsome dates to this event?” I ask. “Correction. I scored two handsome dates.” Jacob shifts across the back seat in the limo and hooks an arm around my neck. Five of us are in the limo—Dad, Shane, Jacob, Timothy, and me. High-end carpooling isn’t usually feasible in LA, but Jacob surprised us by showing at our hotel, so he came with us. Despite the weird meeting with my mom and the fact that tomorrow, I’ll be on a plane leaving this city without Timothy, I’m grateful for the company tonight. My dad looks up from his phone for the first time and shakes his head. “Haley will be okay,” I insist. “Serena’s with her.” “You won’t miss your kid being born, Big E,” Jacob states. We get out of the limo, Shane lingering behind. I grab her arm and whisper in her ear, “You recorded a single this week that’ll be the first release from my dad’s new label. This is your coming-out party.” “I’m not sure I want one.” Her uncertainty has empathy rising up. “He didn’t either,” I say, nodding toward Timothy, his confident strides eating up the sidewalk. At the doors, Timothy turns, looking for me. “You ready?” “You bet.” I take his arm. We make our way past security into the house of a huge producer. I’ve been to these parties in New York, though a Chelsea loft party has a different feel than a house in the Hills. This is spacious, like our house but with a killer view. The house is modern, all glass, with doors swept wide open out to a marble terrace with an infinity pool. A five-piece band is playing on one side of the pool. When my dad takes Shane to meet the head of the biggest music magazine on the planet, Timothy huffs out a breath next to me. “She’s not ready.” “She’ll figure it out.” He holds my stare, but Jacob and I drag him toward the bar. Jacob insists on champagne all around. “I have news,” he declares, looking handsome in a pale-blue dress shirt that sets off his dark hair and eyes. “My pilot got picked up. We have a ten-episode run. We start filming Monday.” “That’s amazing!” I hug him. “Yeah. I play a cop with psychic powers.” “Wasn’t that Jennifer Love Hewitt?” He shrugs and settles his hands on my temples while Timothy looks entertained. “I see you going home with me tonight, gorgeous.” “Stick to acting.” Timothy grabs Jacob’s arms and shoves them away. Jacob’s eyes dance, and he looks past us. “Oh. No, I’m going home with him.” He takes off, and Tyler turns toward me, stepping close enough his jacket brushes my bare arm. “How are you? We haven’t had a chance to talk alone since you met your mom.” I eye him in the twilight. “She was perfectly nice.” “But.” “But she wanted things other than me.” His expression clouds. “I’m sorry.” “I should’ve known. You were right. I thought she’d be good in all the ways he’s not. Patient. Easygoing. Flexible. But it’s easy to forget your parents’ pluses.” Like that my dad cares about family way more than money. The band plays Sinatra, and Timothy glances toward the half-full dance floor. He shifts so the railing is at his back, the soft lights playing over his handsome features. “I want to ask you to dance. But if we do, everyone in here is going to know we’re together. They’ll be like, ‘Who’s that handsome asshole with Emily Carlton?’” I throw my head back and laugh. “No, they’ll be like ‘Who’s that bitch with Timothy Adams?’” He shakes his head. “He’s probably in love with her,” he continues in a mimicking voice. I snort champagne up my nose, and the bubbles sting. “He’s probably using her to get to Eddie,” I say in the same gossipy tone, searching out my dad and Shane on instinct. “Except we know the truth.” I arch a brow, waiting. “Her dad’s not the prize. It’s always been her.” My body tingles. He’s watching me intently, intensely. We’re standing on the edge of the world, and it has nothing to do with the balcony or the view or the people. My heart’s telling me this moment is right—he’s right. That in all the times I lost faith, I always came back to him. I love him. Not then. Now. Always. Timothy’s the dream I never gave up on, and I never want to leave his side. I thought my dream was this musical—it was the final way to cement my belonging in this industry in a way that felt right to me. But I know I belong. Timothy helped me see that. And listening to my heart, I know I have another dream. Him. Us. Maybe I could stay. I take a slow breath, my heart pounding. But before I can respond, my phone rings. It’s Miranda Tamayo. “I have to take this.” I squeeze Timothy’s arm, and he frowns but nods as I duck toward a quiet corner. I answer her call. “Hi. What’s up? It’s after midnight where you are.” “Ian killed the reading.” Ice settles into my veins, and I blink back my surprise. “Wait, what? It’s been scheduled for months.” “He just sent a private email around to tell the other funders to say he’s lost confidence in the direction of the show and won’t host the reading.” Shock slams into me. “Shit. Can you reassure them?” I have all their contact information from the research I’ve been doing. “I can try, but my words will only go so far. I have other news. I didn’t want to worry you until we knew for sure, but I’ve gotten a breast cancer diagnosis.” I nearly drop the phone as fear seizes my gut. “Miranda, are you okay?” My eyes squeeze shut. “Of course you’re not okay. Tell me everything.” She explains how they found it, that they’re looking at options. All I hear is that my writing partner and mentor’s health is at risk. We may not be the kind of friends who braid each other’s hair, but since we began collaborating more than two years ago, I’ve learned so much from her. She’s never let me down, and I’m not about to let her down. And if we don’t get this show, it would be letting her down. She’s helped write others but this one is hers and mine. She never had children and this show is her baby. “I’ll come back,” I promise, though my chest feels as if it’s caving in. “This weekend. I’ll talk to the funders and find us a new host.” The business side isn’t my strength, but I’ll make it work. “I promise I won’t let you down.” When I go back to the party, I don’t see Timothy. Panic is rising up in my chest, my throat. I trip toward the exit, murmuring a quick “I’m fine” to the concerned security who asks if he can help on my way down the stairs. At street level, I stagger outside and suck in air. The sounds of the music still drift down here, though aside from the soft lights of the house, it’s mostly dark. Tamayo’s news reverberates in the back of my mind. I shove both hands in my hair and pace the road in front of the house, passing expensive cars parked along the way. I have to finish the show—not for myself, but for Miranda, for the people who need it. I have to… I pull up as a shadowy figure emerges from the same door I left through a minute ago. “Dad.” “I saw you come down and wanted to check on you.” His voice is gruff, but there’s an undercurrent of worry. “Someone’s trying to sink our show before it gets started.” He closes the distance between us, and I swallow, a million feelings colliding in my chest. Disappointment. Worry. Despair. “Tell me how I can help.” My exhale is shaky because those six words are everything. It’s not like my dad to be so open without an agenda or without inserting his opinion. But he’s asking. “Do you want to dance?” His hand finds my waist, and I fit my palm in his. He asks me about options, and I tell him what contacts I have, the timing that was planned and how we could make it up. He suggests some paths I hadn’t thought of and listens. By the time we’re done, the song has changed twice, but we’re still moving. “I always saw the dark side of this business,” he says. “But you find ways to make it brighter, to make it better from the inside out. It’s easy to want to be a part of that. Hell, I wouldn’t have started this label if it wasn’t for you. What you’ve done made me rethink the industry. I realized I have more to contribute, and I can make it better instead of living under what it is.” The gentleness in his tone, the compassion, makes the backs of my eyes burn. “You mean it?” Dad nods. “Our children have a way of being better than we are in ways we couldn’t have imagined. When you have kids, you’ll see it too.” He glances down at our feet. “You’re pretty good at this dancing.” My lips curve. “I had to take so many classes. I felt like I was drowning.” “You never looked like it on stage.” Surprise works through me. “When did you see me?” “Any time I could. Opening night. At the holidays. On your birthday.” My fingers dig into his shoulders, and I force them to relax. “But you didn’t say anything.” “I knew I’d fucked up, and I didn’t know how to fix it. You went through so much as a kid, and I always wanted to keep you from hurting more, so I tried to protect you. To insulate you. Instead, I made it worse.” The words come out stilted, as if he’s confessing something he’s held in for too long. I study his face in the half light. This is hard for him, harder than taking Timothy’s advice on his new artist. Maybe even harder than starting a label. It means that much more because it’s hard. “You didn’t make it worse, Dad. I wouldn’t be who I am if you hadn’t been who you were. I remember going to one of your shows when I was a kid. We had front-row seats, and I was the only person under the age of sixteen. I was buzzing from the second the lights went down, and when you came out on stage, the way you looked…” I sigh. “I wanted to be that. I wanted to be you. I used to think it was because everyone loved you. But now, I think it was because even before I found out you were my dad… some part of me knew.” In this moment, I forgive him for all of it, because I know he’s fighting to do the right thing, just like I am. Even if he doesn’t get it all the time…none of us do. But a relationship isn’t forged in a moment, and it isn’t demolished in one, either. There’s always something to be saved, if you want to save it. “I love you, Dad,” I say softly. “And I know I’m lucky to have you in my life.” His eyes shine, and if Eddie Carlton starts crying right now, I’m going to lose it. “I love you too, kid. You get yours,” he says gruffly. “This time, I’ll be in the front row.”