Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
I used to live for that laugh. Hard to believe it was once an everyday occurrence, but I’ve gone years without it and had almost forgotten the sound.
“What you got there?” I tip my chin to the bag she’s holding. “Anything good?”
“Not really. I already ate dinner. I swung by a bakery to pick up some chocolate éclairs and iced coffee.”
“Okay. I’m in.”
She tilts her head and grins up at me. “I don’t recall inviting you.”
“I mean, I’m here.” I gesture to the bag. “The coffee’s here. The éclairs are here.”
“Using me for my éclairs.” She huffs a sigh. “I guess I’ll share.”
“Generous. So you gonna say all the lines like you used to once the movie starts?”
“I don’t…” She pretends to think about it. “Probably, yeah.”
“I figured.” I look around until I spot a clear patch of grass among all the seated moviegoers. “Wanna set up over there?”
By the time my blanket is spread out, I’m second-guessing the decision to stay. To hang out with the woman who arguably hurt me as much as anyone in my life ever. Sure, we’re forced to be on set together sometimes, but this was me actively seeking her out. Going out of my way and against my better judgment on the off chance that she still loved Brown Sugar enough to venture out tonight.
“You thinking mighty hard over there,” she says, setting out a pink bakery box of éclairs while we wait for the movie to begin.
“I was thinking about the fact that we’re watching a movie in a graveyard,” I lie.
“Not on graves, though. We’re grave adjacent at best.”
“Some people get bent out of shape about movies being shown at this cemetery, but some of the greatest figures of film are buried here. Rudolph Valentino and Cecil B. DeMille. Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.” I point in the direction of the actual burial site. “Burt freaking Reynolds is resting in peace over yonder. We’re talking Smokey and the Bandit.”
“You know who’s not buried here?” Verity doesn’t wait for me to guess. “Hattie McDaniel. Her last wish was to be buried here among her peers, but her request was denied. It was a segregated cemetery, and just like she wasn’t allowed to sit with her peers the night she won her Oscar, she wasn’t allowed to rest with them, either.”
“Damn. I’m shocked and yet not.”
“Took another fifty years before this place was sold to someone willing to honor her request. She’s still buried over in Angelus-Rosedale, but now there’s a monument here to commemorate her.”
“Shit like that really puts what we’re doing with Dessi Blue in perspective.” I pause, considering whether I want to open this box of messy feelings. “I’m glad we agreed to put the past behind us so we can do this film. It’s too important. It’s bigger than us or our differences.”
“Differences,” Verity repeats, swallowing the last of her éclair and shuttering her expression. “We both know it wasn’t simply a ‘difference’ that came between us. If we’re going to put this behind us, then I want to be clear about what happened and what we’re moving past.”
I grit my teeth, but smooth out my voice. “Look, there’s no need to revisit the details.”
“Not details, no, but maybe just clearing the air. I know it doesn’t make much difference, but I never… I wouldn’t… I didn’t sleep with him, Monk.”
The faint sound of the preshow playlist music, the chatter of our neighbors, the distant hum of street traffic—all of it fades and there’s an antenna tuning everything else out and into Verity’s words.
She draws in and releases a long breath, looking straight into my eyes, no filter or wall up. She’s showing me all of her, the way she used to. The way we used to before we truly understood how vulnerable loving someone that way makes you. We didn’t know to cover up, to conceal. Not with each other.
“I’d been drinking,” she goes on. “And you know I could never hold my booze, but it was a strange night. This isn’t to make excuses. I’m just telling you what happened. I never got to do that. You left Top Dog, and then when I came to the apartment, you wouldn’t let me—”
“I know what happened,” I cut in, not sure the rage won’t well back up if she makes me live through it all again.
“No, you actually never knew.” She looks down to her lap where her fingers twist and turn nervously. “I made awful choices that night, but I do know I didn’t sleep with him. I didn’t sleep with anyone else while we were together. I told you then, but just wanted to make sure you believe me.”
I don’t respond, but grip and twist my discarded baseball cap because I need something to do with my hands. I only wish there was something to do with my heart because it is thrashing in my chest as her words land on me.