“Sorry to crush your dreams of flinging yourself at a celebrity, but on the plus side, Louis had a major growth spurt over the past year, so at least you won’t look like you’re babysitting in formalwear.”
I snort, grateful that I’m seeing a little bit of Annie’s sense of humor. This is always how we’ve bonded: joking through movies, nurturing inside jokes, sending each other mental notes with our eyes when someone says something ridiculous. Between her hardly being in town and being so busy with the movie and the wedding, I haven’t had much of a chance to remember why I love her so much.
“I’m blessed. How about I let you go? I’m sure you have a million things to do, and I have some pie research to get on.”
“Okay. And—listen, I’m sorry if I went too far with the . . . the you-know-who stuff.”
I put a hand over my face. “Nick. You can say his name. He isn’t Voldemort.”
“Right. Well, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, or pressured, or annoyed, or whatever, and I promise I’ll cool it, okay? But since we’re being honest . . . can I talk to you about something?”
“Oh no,” I say. “Are you kicking me out of the wedding? Am I being replaced?”
“Chloe. Come on. Who would I possibly replace you with?”
“I don’t know. Dungeon Master Rick?”
Annie attempts to respond through her laughter. “Um, first off, wow. No. He would not be a comforting presence before I walk down the aisle. He’s officiating.”
I pause. “I did not know that.”
“Well, we needed someone right away, and we figured if he’s good at running a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, he’s probably good at keeping a wedding on track.”
“That’s just logic.”
“Right. Okay.” Annie exhales. She hates conflict, and I can’t even imagine what she could have to say to me. “Um . . .”
“Say it! I’m starting to panic!”
“You didn’t tell me you talked to Hollywood Gossip,” she says in a rush. “And now there’s an article with a quote from you that’s all about how, like, the movie is fake and there’s nothing between you and Nick?”
“Well,” I say slowly. “There isn’t anything between me and Nick, other than some residual sexual tension that I plan on banging out with someone else. Also, honestly, I forgot I even talked to Hollywood Gossip. I responded one night at, like, two A.M. and you know I make some bad decisions late at night.”
“It’s just . . .” Annie stops talking for so long that I start to think she hung up on me, and I’m checking the phone when she continues. “It doesn’t really make the movie look great, you know?”
“Um . . .” I say. “No. I don’t know.”
“It’s like, okay, everyone knows Coffee Girl is based on a true story, and that’s part of why people find it so charming!”
“Right.”
“And when you tell everyone that it’s all made up and you would rather die than date Nick, then that kind of paints the movie in a bad light. It’s not exactly romantic.”
“First off,” I say, “I would not rather die. I wasn’t aware my two choices were date Nick or be mercilessly executed.”
“You know what I mean,” Annie says in a low voice.
“So, what,” I say, my voice rising a little bit as what she’s saying sinks in. “You want me to fake-date Nick so your movie gets good PR?”
“No!”
“You want me to lie to the press?”
“I don’t want that either! You don’t have to lie to anyone. But maybe don’t seek them out to set the record straight, or whatever.”
I press my lips together. So Annie wants me to cooperate to ensure her movie doesn’t look bad . . . but I definitely don’t remember her asking me if it was okay to write a movie based on very real aspects of my very real life. Sure, she offered to kill the script after it had gotten some attention, but at that point, what was I supposed to say? “Yes, please ruin your first chance at going after your dream career.” What kind of friend would I be then?
“Okay. Well . . . okay.”
“Are you mad?” Annie asks, sounding a little panicked. “I hate it when you’re mad.”
“You hate it when anyone’s mad, Annie. That’s why you only watch rom-coms instead of murder shows.”
“That and all the murder, yes. But I mean it. Are we good?”