“Wait.” Chloe holds up a finger. “When’s the next flight to New York?”
The man clicks a few more keys, then says, “In an hour and a half.”
“What are you doing, Chloe?” I ask, getting nervous.
“Babe.” She turns to me and holds both of my hands. “This is it. This is your romantic comedy. You have the sad backstory and the montage of ridiculous dating experiences and big career aspirations and the lovable family and, most importantly, the quirky and charming and super-cute BFF.” She points to herself. “And now it’s time for your grand gesture. Fly to New York and find Drew. Tell him how you feel.”
“Oh, my God,” I say as it slowly dawns on me. “You’re right. I guess I always thought I would be the recipient of a grand gesture, but maybe . . . maybe I have the power to do the grand gesture myself?”
Chloe starts jumping up and down, and then I start jumping up and down. “You’re your own Tom Hanks!” she squeals.
“Ladies,” barks the man behind the counter. “Are you buying tickets or not? You’re holding up the line.”
I give Chloe an uncertain look. Can I really do this? Fly to New York, when I’m not even sure if Drew wants to see me, when the only contact between us all day was one measly text I didn’t even respond to?
Chloe nods at me, and then says smugly, “Yes, sir. Oh, we’re buying tickets.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Apparently Uncle Don has been waiting for an excuse to go to New York because there’s some forum friend he wants to meet who lives there and he’s been “talking about Baldur’s Gate with this guy for ten years!” I’m pretty sure he’s referring to a game, but honestly, sometimes I don’t know.
Chloe somehow convinces Nick he needs to come along with us, and that’s how the four of us, after going through security, end up on our way to New York City. Paying for everyone’s ticket uses up most of the money I made working for Tommy, which might be a reckless financial decision, but I remind myself that the course of true love never did run smooth. That quote comes from the original king of the rom-com, Shakespeare himself, and I’m sure that if he were here right now, he’d approve of my actions (but also he’d be terrified of airplanes).
“I still don’t understand why Don and I are here,” Nick says as we sit at our gate. Although, by the way he’s looking at Chloe, I think he knows exactly what he’s doing here. “And couldn’t you have looked up tickets online instead of driving to the airport first? Also, how much did you have to pay for these tickets, because—”
Chloe turns to look at him. “Dude. Have you never seen a movie? Maximum drama means a ragtag group of supporters have to help Annie find her man. Her loving and kind uncle, her super-hot BFF, and some random guy who’s there because it’s funny.”
“So I’m the random guy,” Nick says flatly.
“You’re certainly not her uncle,” Chloe says.
We weren’t able to get four seats together, so once we get on the plane, I sit next to Chloe. Don and Nick sit several rows ahead of us.
“You’re doing it, Annie,” Chloe says, squeezing my hand.
My phone buzzes with a text notification.
ANNIE. READ THE SCRIPT. LOTS OF POTENTIAL. LET’S TALK SOON.—TOMMY
“Oh, my God.” I can hardly breathe.
“What?” Chloe grabs the phone out of my hands and reads the text. “Wow, he texts in all caps AND signs his name? He really must be ancient.”
“That’s what you’re focusing on? Tommy Crisante thinks my script has potential.”
“Duh.” Chloe hands my phone back. “I haven’t even read it yet, and I could’ve told you that. Speaking of which, when do I finally get to read it?”
I squirm a bit, and Chloe’s eyes widen. “Wait a second, you don’t want me to read it, do you? What, do you not trust me? Am I no longer your best friend? Did I or did I not make you pancakes this afternoon?”
She’s getting frantic, and the various families and businesspeople shuffling onto the flight are staring at us. I don’t want to get kicked off the flight for causing a scene, so I decide this is the time to tell her. “Keep it down, Chloe! I need to tell you something. The screenplay . . . it’s about you.”
She sits back, a look of confusion on her face.
“And Nick,” I continue.
“Wait, what?” she screeches, and I put a hand over her mouth. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“It’s just . . . you guys have perfect romantic comedy chemistry. You’re the quirky girl who doesn’t believe in love, and he’s the gruff dude who’s clearly obsessed with her.”
“Nick isn’t obsessed with me,” Chloe says, giving me a steely glare.
“Agree to disagree.”
Chloe smacks me on the arm. “This entire time, you’ve been writing about me? You showed Tommy Crisante a screenplay about me?”
I shrug. “I mean . . . yeah, sort of. Although in my screenplay you and Nick make out, which hasn’t happened in real life, as far as I know.”
“It certainly has not!” Chloe snaps, then hides her face in her hands.
“This isn’t that weird!” I say. “Look at The Big Sick. Kumail Nanjiani and Emily V. Gordon wrote that about their real-life love story.”
“Yeah.” Chloe scowls. “But that was about their own love story. You’re basically writing fan fiction about my life. What, did you call us Rick and Zoe?”
I don’t say anything.
“Annie!” she shouts. “Change the damn names!”
I put a hand on her arm. “Hey. Are you really not okay with this?”
She eyes me warily. “You wrote a movie that’s a fictionalized version of my life where I end up making out with my boss. You get that that’s weird, right?”
For the first time, it hits me that . . . well, it is more than a little weird for her. To me, it was just writing, but she never signed up for Tommy Crisante to read a highly fictionalized version of her life story.
“Do you want me to scrap it?” I ask. “Because I can. Our friendship means a lot more to me than a movie.”
Chloe’s shoulders slump. “No, I don’t want you to scrap it. I mean, Tommy Crisante is already showing interest in it, and that’s a big deal for you.”
“He said it has potential,” I hedge. “A pound of raw hamburger has the potential to make a great burger, but that doesn’t mean I can eat it without cooking it.”
Chloe stares at me.
“Not without getting E. coli poisoning, anyway,” I say.
“Stop trying to change the subject to tainted beef.” She turns to face me fully. “This is the only thing you’ve been really passionate about the past few years, and I don’t want to stand in the way of that.”
“Chloe,” I say, my eyes welling with tears. “You’re the best.”
I pull her into a hug, and she says into my shoulder, “But try to make sure someone really hot plays me, okay?”
“I’ll do what I can,” I say, releasing her. As the preflight video plays and the flight attendant makes sure we’re all buckled in, it starts to sink in that I’m on a flight to New York. To find a man and . . . do what, exactly? Maybe I didn’t really think this plan through.