“Hurt,” Sienna supplied, her expression still laden with sympathy. “I bet he was hurt.”
UGH! That made me feel worse. “I need to apologize.” I picked up my phone from where I’d placed it on the nightstand, navigating to the settings so I could switch off airplane mode.
“Rae.” Sienna squeezed my leg, drawing my attention back to her. “Before you call him, why don’t you and I go out, get some fresh air? You’ve been buried in here for over twenty-four hours.”
I gestured to the phone. “But I—”
“Then you can think through what you want to say.” Sienna sent Dave a look, tilting her head toward the door.
“Okay, that’s my cue to leave. I’ll just. . . “ He rolled off the bed, taking the plate with him. “Let me get you some more carrots,” he said, leaving the room and shutting the door.
Sienna studied me for a moment, a gentle smile on her lips. “Look, I know you’re sorry. But I also know that you were overextended then and you’re feeling overwhelmed now. Saturday night, you met Jackson’s family and had spent the whole day tying yourself in knots with worry. And then Harrison shows up.” She paused, frowning. “I’m assuming you already know, or that he talked to you about it when he was here, but pictures of Harrison and Lina are everywhere. The story of their ‘romance’ broke yesterday.”
I snorted. “He didn’t waste any time. Yes, I knew it was coming.” I didn’t want to be with Harrison—fake or otherwise—but it was disconcerting to be replaced so easily and by someone who’d stabbed me in the back.
But then Dave’s words from earlier floated back to me, If you can be replaced so easily in a person’s life, then you probably don’t need to be a part of that person’s life.
“If you can stand the paparazzi and put on a brave face, I’d like to take you out. There’s a celebration thing at the Donner Bakery today, outdoors, very public. Domino called me, he’d like to see some shots of you today around town, looking happy and unaffected by Harrison and Lina’s new relationship.”
I rolled my eyes, huffing a laugh. “You mean, if I can fake it. If I can pretend to be just peachy, then we can go out.” My less than peachy mood had very little to do with Harrison and Lina, and everything to do with missing Jackson. But still, I didn’t want to pretend to be peachy.
“Yes, I guess that’s what I meant.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “What? What is it?”
“The whole reason I called everything off with Harrison is because I don’t want this. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I’m tired of faking and making brave faces. I just want to be.”
Sienna gave me a look like she thought I was weird. “Rae, we all fake it. Every single one of us. It doesn’t matter if you’re in the business or not. I fake it at my kids’ birthday parties. I fake it at family dinners. I fake it on some Fridays, when we go to the jam session and all I want to do is leave and go somewhere alone with my own thoughts. It’s called showing up—for yourself and for others—even when it’s inconvenient.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t fake anything. You’re the least fake person in Hollywood. Look at you, you have your shit together, you know what you’re doing.”
Sienna shook her head the whole time I spoke. “No, baby. No. I don’t have my shit together. Every day is making-it-all-up-as-I-go-along. No person alive has all their shit together.”
I threw my hands up. “What? That makes me feel even worse.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought—looking at you and the life you’ve built—I thought maybe there was a finish line. A point at which I wouldn’t have to fake everything.”
“You don’t have to fake everything, but there is unlikely to be a point in your life where you’ll feel like you have everything figured out. Life is a series of mistakes and missteps. If you think you’re in a race, you probably are, but there is no finish line. The race never ends, not while you’re alive. You can either stay in the race and keep going, faking it, day after day, or you can remove yourself from the race and take a different path—faking it only sometimes.”
“I don’t want to lose the race and I don’t want to quit, and you’re saying those are the only two options.”
“No. I’m not. Because you’re not in this race—or on a path—by yourself.” She skootched forward, grabbing my hand. “If you feel like you’re pretending all the time, maybe it’s more about who you’ve surrounded yourself with rather than the race itself. The game is the game, the race is the race, but who you’re with—your team, your family, the people you love, the people you trust—that’s how you stop faking all the time. Surround yourself with people who want to be with you, the real you.”
“Well, what do you suggest I do? Give up my career?” How else could I live an authentic life?
“No! No, no, no. Never. But maybe, find another way?”
Squeezing her hand back, I heaved a watery sigh. “I’m open to any and all ideas.”
Sienna’s sympathetic smile dwindled, and her gaze became a stare, and the stare grew unfocused. And then she snapped her fingers, her eyes suddenly sharp. “Open your own production company. Stay in Green Valley. Make your own movies, with me.”
My breath hitched. “You can’t be serious,” I said, but my brain took off at full speed. Can I do this? I want to do this.
“I am. I’m doing it. We should do it. You and me. We’ll do this together. I’ve already started the ball rolling.”
Part of me wanted to protest—the part that didn’t want to take advantage or be a bother to anyone—but the rest of me grabbed on to this idea with both hands.
“You know you can do this, Rae.” She nodded, her eyes bright and excited. “You are incredible. We can do this. We’ll make only the films we want to make, with only the people we want to work with.”
“Then yes,” I said, nodding, hope and dread and every single possible emotion rising up and filling me until I felt like I might burst. “Yes. Let’s do this. Let’s make our own movies.” My voice cracked, and I don’t know why, but I started to cry. It hit me like a wave. Like a big, giant tidal wave. I covered my eyes, shaking my head at myself. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, her tone neither sympathetic nor soft. “You cry if you need to. There may not be crying in baseball, but there is definitely crying in the film industry.”
Chapter 29
*Jackson*
“As a sex symbol, I don’t know what is appealing to women. I think it’s the way you treat women that makes you sexy if you like.”
Ray Winstone
“Bad day, Jackson?”
I stopped. I turned. And I looked right at Genie Lee.
She, like everyone in the crowd here, held a plate with a big slice of cake on it. The first week of August was Cake Week at the Donner Bakery. This year marked the fourth annual celebration, initiated by the head baker and Banana Cake Queen, Jennifer Winston. Everyone called her the Banana Cake Queen because her banana cake was insanely delicious.