“I’m leaving!” I said to him, one arm reached out for an awkward side hug.
His smile dropped. “Oh, why are you leaving?”
“Because I’m the only sober person here!” I didn’t mean to sound so annoyed. I looked at him apologetically. But he just looked excited—exuberant, in fact.
“I’m sober.”
I was stunned. “Sober sober?” Because there’s “I’m driving tonight” sober and there’s also “if I have one drink I’ll lose control and die” sober.
He smiled wide and nodded. “Sober sober.”
“Stop it.” I hadn’t told him anything about myself, but suddenly we exchanged a look and it was like we knew more about each other than . . . anyone else. We had both been through the same war.
It was too long of a look. He cleared his throat. “Do you know of any good AA meetings around here? I just moved here and I don’t know a lot of people or where to . . . stay focused.”
“There’s one at The Log Cabin. It’s where I got sober. You should meet me there.”
“Yeah. I will.”
Damn. How awesome! Although that conversation would have been a lot weirder had I gone to the party ass-out. As I drove home, I quietly thanked myself for not choosing that particular night to dress like an idiot.
The next day, Stephen met me outside The Log Cabin for the 11:30 a.m. meeting. We sat together inside, and afterward he asked me to lunch. At this time, I had been vegan for about year. But I always hated telling people this fact when I first met them. Because, you know, people hate vegans.
I was always pretty into vegetables and clean eating though, even during my addiction. At one point during my addiction I thought the more kale I consumed, the less cocaine I would crave. I realized that didn’t work when I literally called my dealer from Veggie Grill.
But back to Stephen, what if he wanted to get barbecue or something? As we walked to a restaurant of his choice, I slid my veganism into the conversation.
“I don’t really eat meat,” I said.
“Oh, me neither,” he replied.
Okay, maybe he didn’t understand how serious I was about this. “I’ve been vegan for one year.”
“I’ve been vegan for two years,” he replied. Are you kidding me?
There were so many moments like this as we sat down and ate together. So many similarities between us. With Stephen I laughed more than I had in a long time. Suddenly three hours had passed. Oh shit, we were talking for three hours? I found out that he was a film composer, I heard about the town he was from, and I learned that his mom was a waitress and his dad worked in a furniture store.
That night, I called Colleen. “You’ll never guess who I had lunch with today!”
“Who?”
“Stephen Hilton.”
“Um. You can’t date him.”
I wasn’t even thinking about dating him. It wasn’t a date. I was just excited to have made a new friend. I mean, I really wasn’t looking for a relationship. I was enjoying dating and being single. I was enjoying seeing (and canceling on) Ben. Hanging with Stephen was just . . . really, really fun lunches. As friends.
“It wasn’t a date.” I paused. “But also . . . why can’t I date him?”
“He’s married, Laura.”
“Um . . . What?”
Now, I stand by the fact that I wasn’t trying to date him. But . . . how had we talked for three hours with no mention of his wife? That was weird, right?
A week passed, and then Stephen asked if I wanted to go to the meeting together again. I said yes, but was still feeling weird about what my sister had told me. I sat weirdly far away from him during the meeting, and then he asked me to lunch again. I decided to give him a chance to tell me about his wife. I planned to really subtly slide it into conversation.
“So, have you ever been married?” I blurted out.
Stephen laughed. “Who told you that?”
“Colleen.”
“I’m going through a divorce right now.” He explained the whole situation to me. He married a woman in his early twenties and they had been separated for three years now. She lived across the world, back in London. He was completely honest. Come on, Colleen! You got me all worried over nothing.
Stephen asked me on a real date after that, and I really liked him. But . . . I was so excited to be single and not serious about anyone. I was living with my best friend in the world, going on auditions, and I felt strong. Why did I need a guy? The answer was . . . I didn’t! So I avoided Stephen for a bit. He kept calling to ask me out, and I would put him off, I was working so much and getting so close to my goals that I could taste it.
I also knew that I really liked Stephen. If I went on a date with him . . . I was pretty sure I would want to keep dating him. Was I even ready for that? I kept putting him off, but Stephen was so kind and persistent. He called and asked if he could take me to dinner. I checked my calendar. . . . I was free, so I agreed to go.
And then . . . my agent called. “Laura, the producers scheduled a last-minute table read tomorrow for a pilot.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yep. Eight a.m. I’m having a production assistant bring by a new script for you. You should be getting it . . . about now.”
KNOCK KNOCK. I opened the front door to see a nineteen-year-old boy with a large manila envelope in hand. Damn, my agent was good. “It’s here,” I said.
“Great. Study it, and I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re going to do great!”
Shit. I looked at the script. It was forty pages. I needed to study this so that I would do well tomorrow. Don’t forget, I know what happens when you don’t do well at the table read. They fire your ass and hire a fucking extra. Being that extra was awesome, but I’d rather not experience the other side of it. I called Stephen to cancel. I felt bad—I had already canceled on him twice. But this was important; this was my career.
“Hey Stephen, have you left yet?”
“Yeah, I’m on my way!”
Damn it. Okay, I wasn’t going to cancel on him if he was already on the way to pick me up. Traffic in LA is no joke. I thought quickly.
“Okay well, I can only stay out for one hour. I have to study for this table read I have in the morning. I hope you understand.”
“No problem, Laura! See you soon!”
Damn his good-natured flexibility. A few years later he confessed to me that he hadn’t actually left yet. He was standing in his kitchen during the call. He just knew I was going to cancel again so he lied. Sneaky, but also effective.
He took me to a sushi restaurant where they have a really good vegan roll. They sat us next to the bar, so the two vegans on a date got to watch fish get butchered while we ate. Then I spilled sauce all over the waitress. I was nervous! Not only was this a date, but I was so anxious about the table read. I think it was getting to me. I got kind of quiet.
“Are you all right?” Stephen asked me.
“I don’t feel great. Will you tell me some funny stories?”
So he did. He rattled off one about the single day he worked in a furniture store before getting fired, and one about a local convenience store he used to frequent in London where when he’d check out, the guy behind the counter would always, no matter what, ask if he wanted “anything else?” For some reason, Stephen and his friends were determined to get this guy to stop saying “anything else?” After every purchase. So the next time Stephen bought a banana, he said sternly, “I’ll get this banana and ABSOLUTELY NOTHING else.” There was a long stare-off between Stephen and the guy behind the counter. Then . . . “Anything else?” the guy behind the counter replied. He told me story after story, each more hilarious than the next. I was laughing my ass off, then I had a scary thought: Is he funnier than me? Oh shit, I’m supposed to be the funny one in my relationships. I was so worried about it that later on I called my mom, all butthurt. “Mom . . . I think he’s funnier than me.”