Seeing my childhood house makes me miss Long Beach.
After I finish the calls, Oscar comes back about ten minutes later. I catch him up and leave out the part where my dad hates his career choice.
We eat New York cheesesteaks which Oscar said aren’t like Philly’s. And then we end up in his bed together. We both crash, falling into hard sleep with our legs and arms tangled.
I’m not sure I would’ve been able to fall asleep that well without him. The weight of his limbs, the warmth of his body, the beat of his heart—it’s music quelling my fears.
I wake before him.
And I skulk down the loft’s stairs to the kitchen. I left my phone plugged in on the bar counter, and my head whirls at all the missed texts.
I read them while I make breakfast. Warming a frying pan, I untwist a bag of pandesal and cut a soft roll in half. I brought the bread in my backpack for Oscar to try. Did not think I’d be toasting pandesal while my life is imploding.
Jesus, shit,these emails.
The other exec producers onWe Are Callowayare asking me about my relationship with a bodyguard, and whether that will affect the integrity of the docuseries.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
I can charm my way through this one. I click into texts. Ali said her and Ambrose have my back if the other execs ask questions.
Ambrose texted,welcome to the fam.
My lips rise, and while I place the bread on the pan, I click on a group chat thread with Jane, Maximoff, and Sulli.
We love you & support you 100%!! If we can do anything to curb the bad press, let us know.– Jane
Here for u. Whatever u need. Call us and we’ll be there– Moffy
So sorry this is fucking happening to you. Swim & donuts one day you’re free?– Sulli
I reread those ones.
For years, I’ve been there for Moffy and Jane when they needed a friend or a helping hand in a crisis, more recently Sulli too. They understand the heat of the spotlight and punch-to-the-gut rumors. I’ve been with them during too many, and really, I’ve never been in a position where I needed them just as severely.
I do now, I realize.
Feeling lighter, I text back:I might need to chat. I’ll call you when I’m free. Thanks xo.
And out of habit, I open social media notifications, tweets sent to me. Pressure returns, pulse ramping.
You’re a homewrecker
Why couldn’t you leave Charlie and Oscar alone
Oslie was perfect until you
What’s wrong with you?
Fuck you, Jack Highland, you no name loser
You’re irrelevant for a reason. Go away
“What’s burning?” Oscar races down the loft stairs.
“Shit,” I curse, spinning around to the blackened pandesal on the frying pan. I shut the burner, and Oscar wafts the smoke with a towel. I shake my frazzled head. “Sorry, I have more.” I grab the bread bag.
