chew my thumbnail, mumbling “I guess so” around it, though when she puts it that way . . . duh.
The quiet stretches between us, and I can tell she’s waiting for me to say more, but I have nothing left to say about it.
“You haven’t mentioned your dad once,” Mom says. “Is that intentional?”
This actually makes me laugh. Twenty whole minutes I haven’t stressed about shooting a movie with Dad. Maybe the one blessing of Sam’s reemergence is that Dad is suddenly the least of my worries.
“He has a girlfriend on set,” I tell her. “I haven’t interacted with him yet at all.”
Mom exhales slowly. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I know what you wanted this to be.”
I feel my chest grow too-tight. “What did I want it to be?”
It’s her turn to laugh, but it isn’t mocking. “Tate.”
I lift a hand to my lips, chew my thumbnail again, letting her gentle pressure unknot my thoughts.
“I don’t want to put words in your mouth,” she says gently, “but I think you were hoping this would be a turning point in your relationship with Ian.”
For a flash, I let the daydream seep back in: sitting with Dad between takes, heads bent close, going through scenes, notes, ideas. The fantasy feels well-worn, a book read over and over. So I know Mom is right: I did want this to be a turning point for us. I wanted to be his peer for once. I wanted him to finally feel knowable, reachable.
“I need to get over it,” I say.
“You just need to protect your heart.”
I’m aware how the fallout from my relationship with Sam in London changed not only my outlook, but hers, too. She used to be such an optimist; now she’s the voice of caution.
“What I actually need is to crush it tomorrow,” I tell her.
“You will.” I hear the fridge opening and shutting again. “Every time you look at your dad, just remember, the best thing he ever did was make you.”
The Community House is empty by the time I step out of the office. My footsteps echo down the long wooden staircase. With the anticipatory stress of the table read behind me, I’m able to actually take in the space this time. The main room is cavernous, with beautiful vaulted ceilings and wooden floors polished to a shine. Windows line the entire space; at the far end is a stage that looks like it’s held some great bands and shows, but right now is a willing storage spot for audio equipment.
The quiet lets me imagine the space in a different context—when the farm is rented out for a family reunion with familiar bodies dancing jubilantly up and down the floor, or when it is packed full of strangers from all over the area eating after long hours out helping with the fall apple harvest.
Voices rise up from outside, just down the hill in a small grassy clearing. I wander down, finding that a tent has been set up, with strings of lights, some tables, a makeshift bar. It looks like the scene of a wedding reception, and I register that they’ve turned the set of an upcoming town dance scene into a bar for the cast and crew for the time being. The flaps are folded up over the roof and air drifts through, warm but dry. The Indian summer winds blow in from the east; the sun lingers low in the sky, turning the horizon a picturesque purple-pink.
I don’t see Gwen or Sam or Dad and his mystery girlfriend, but Devon is there, sitting at a table with Liz and Deb, each with a bottle of beer in their hand.
“Hey, lady,” Liz says, lifting her chin to me. “You doing okay?”
The question sinks in sharply. It’s fair, too—her wanting to know if there’s something going on with me they should know about.
“I’m good!” I give them a bright smile. The wink may be overboard. “Totally overwhelmed by how amazing this place is.”
“Right?” Deb points to the bar. “They’ve set up some drinks over there. Go grab yourself something before dinner.”
They look genuinely relaxed and happy—and easily return to their conversation when I walk past. Liz tilts her head back, cackling at something Devon has just said—which tells me that whatever fears anyone has about my ability to channel Ellen, they aren’t saturating every one of their moments the way my fears are saturating every one of mine.
Over Liz’s shoulder, I see that Nick is here, too, at