I’d texted Harriet when I got out of the subway, a simple thumbs-down emoji, so I knew she’d want to know exactly what I meant by that.
“I didn’t get it,” I said as I picked up the phone. “Cal made me jump through these stupid fucking hoops and I’m pretty sure it was just to see me sweat. They were never going to give me the part.”
There was a silence.
“Well,” Cal said, “if that’s how you feel.”
Fuck. Me.
I jackknifed up, displacing Fish, who leapt off me with a yowl loud enough to be heard down the street.
“What was that?” Cal asked.
“My cat,” I said.
Unfortunately, the movement also seemed to jolt the edible into action, so I was both panicked and high at the same time, the room dipping dizzily around me.
“You have a cat?”
“I didn’t mean it,” I said.
“You don’t have a cat?”
“I do have a cat,” I said. “I didn’t mean…the other stuff.”
“About me making you sweat?”
The tone of his voice was annoyingly suggestive. I couldn’t tell if that was purposeful or if the edible was making me horny as well.
It had been a long time since I’d gotten sweaty. In a suggestive way.
Not the time to be thinking about that.
“I didn’t sweat,” I said.
What was wrong with me? I needed to be apologizing—profusely—not arguing. But apparently I couldn’t help it.
“You did a little,” Cal said.
Asshole.
“And you could probably stand to take a few voice lessons,” he said.
I gritted my teeth.
“Make sure that you’re singing in the right key.”
As if he hadn’t just sprung that song on me at the last minute.
“I have a few names I can give you,” he said. “People who can help you with control.”
He meant my voice, but also.
“Cal,” I said.
“Yes?”
What the fuck do you want?
“Can I help you?”
He let out a soft chuckle. It was the first time I’d heard him laugh since…since forever.
It shouldn’t have given me a warm, cozy feeling—he had just been insulting me—and yet…
“I hope so,” he said. “I’m calling to offer you the part.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear to stare at the screen. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I also couldn’t trust my own hearing.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” I said.
“Are you drunk?”
That condescending prick.
I mean, I was high, but that was beside the point.
“No,” I said. “Just…did you say you wanted to offer me the part?”
“Yes,” Cal said. “If you want it.”
If. I. Wanted. It.
“I want it,” I said.
I wasn’t even going to pretend to play hard to get. Even if he deserved to squirm a little.
“Great,” he said. “We start rehearsing for the workshop next month. Mae will send you the details.”
“Mae?”
“My assistant,” he said. “You met her at the audition.”
“Right,” I said.
I was definitely high. I closed my eyes, wishing I’d waited a little longer before taking that edible. God, it had kicked in quickly.
“Okay,” Cal said. “I’m going to hang up so you can call Harriet.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he said.
But he didn’t. And I didn’t.
“Cal?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did I get the part?” I asked.
Stupid, stupid me. I sounded so pathetic, so desperate for praise. I blamed my loose, vulnerable tongue on the weed, but I knew it wasn’t just that. I needed to hear it.
“Because it was written for you,” Cal said.
“But you made me audition,” I said.
“Of course I did,” he said. “I hadn’t seen you perform in years. I had to make sure. But you’re the only one who’s auditioned for this role. I meant what I said about convincing the producers.”
“You made me do that song,” I said. “Why?”
“Because,” he said.
What the fuck does that mean?
“Just take the win, Kathleen,” he said.
I didn’t like how smug he sounded, but I was probably going to have to get used to that.
“Fine,” I said. “Thank you.”
I hadn’t said that yet. But I meant it.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
There was a long silence.
“Can you believe we’re doing this?” he asked.
It disarmed me. Not just the question but the way he asked it. Like we were kids again. All whispered and hushed and holy. Like making a wish.
One that had come true.
“It doesn’t feel real,” I admitted.
It was that rare sensation of hope and excitement and joy. A second chance. It was hard to believe it.
“It’s very real,” he said.
I pinched myself.
“Ouch,” I said.
“Did you just check?” Cal asked. “If it was real?”
“No,” I said.
He laughed, and that sound, all low and warm and familiar in my ear, made me feel a certain way. And made me think about Cal in a certain way too.
Not just the warring emotions of anger and lust that he inspired, but a wistfulness. Because in this moment, the two of us, just voices at opposite ends of the city (or so I assumed), it was easy to fall back into memories of how things had been.
“It’s going to be amazing,” Cal said.
I wanted to believe him. Wanted his words to be prophetic, not just encouraging. But I’d learned long ago that no one could make—and keep—promises like that.