Page 68 of Director's Cut
Another bout of silence fills the room as the adults look to Maeve. Like we’ve already decided what we’re doing and they’re waiting for her to tell them.
But she isn’t speaking.
She isn’t speaking and it’s saying volumes.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
I used to obsessively read reviews of Stroke, as though I was begging any- and everyone with an internet connection to explain to me why the hell I won an Oscar for my first role when it seemed so unfair. One of the reviews had described the subtlety in my performance, how emotion came across in the smallest movements of my body and face. How grounded my performance felt. How real confrontations weren’t about screaming and flipping tables.
I guess I follow my own school of acting as my “storm out” looks exactly like I got up to go to the bathroom—there’s no outward expression of how crushed I am other than how quietly and swiftly I leave.
I manage to sit in the powder room for about twenty seconds, trying to breathe in the diffuser they put in there, until Gwyn ever-so-quietly knocks on the door. I open it a crack, just enough for her to slip in.
“To keep this from becoming a huge deal, I told them I’m checking on the cake. Let’s make this quick and effective, yeah?” Gwyn says after she shuts the door behind her.
I take a seat on the floor. Gwyn joins me. “First of all, are you feeling okay, physically? I noticed you picking at your food. Are you having a flare-up?”
I can’t help but smile as I blush. “Sort of.”
Gwyn frowns. “When’s the last time you had life-inconveniencing symptoms?”
“December.”
Gwyn puts a hand on my shoulder. “Val, it’s the second week of January. Please go back to your normal diet and tell Rosalie about this.”
I take a deep breath, and the claws of anxiety start to slip off. “Okay.”
“I’m following up on that, by the way.” She exhales. “Can I guess what stress is inducing your symptoms?”
I hold my gaze heavy on the bathmat. “I just— I really do think Maeve likes me and it’s been so, I don’t know, healthy for me to be dating someone who isn’t in the industry. But there was this slight with a Goodbye, Richard! producer that Trish is gunning for me to remedy by getting Maeve to go to the Oscars with me. But look at her. Sometimes I just think she only likes my personality and looks or whatever but is compartmentalizing the fact that I’m famous and actively hates that. I mean, at least people like Phoebe understood what fame is like and wouldn’t think twice about this posturing I have to do.” I pause, the words heavy on my tongue. “I’ve been thinking of quitting acting for a while, but to do that, I have to finish fulfilling my obligations to Mason, and I thought—I thought I could do that and commit to Maeve and academia.”
Gwyn takes a deep breath. “I really like Maeve. I think she’s quick-witted and intelligent enough for you not to get bored quickly, yet grounded, and she has a calming energy that balances you.” She frowns. “But if she can’t handle your fame, I don’t think she likes you enough.”
A chill runs down my spine.
“Look, none of us are thrilled about how fame affects you. The amazing acting and humanitarian career you’ve set up, yes, we love that. But I don’t really like the way people try to control what you say, how you look, your work-life balance. I don’t really like having to be concerned that my kids will be photographed by strangers when they’re spending normal bonding time with their aunt. But you know what? This shit is ten times harder on you, and I love you so much and want you to be okay. So I’ll go to your tedious award shows whenever you need me.” She takes my hand. “And if Maeve doesn’t realize that she has to support you unequivocally, even if it’s temporary, through the truckloads of bullshit, then I don’t think she’s right for you.”
I take a deep, slow breath as I hold back tears. “Gwyn, I like her so much…”
Gwyn gets to her feet. “Just be careful, okay? But I’ll try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Your fame shit is insane.”
I hug her. “Thanks.”
“Put the twins to bed tonight and we’ll be even,” she says, winking.
I massage the tension out of my shoulders as I return to the table.
Maeve smiles up at me when I sit back down, seemingly oblivious to the fact that anything happened. Dinner continues with a few less awkward conversations: more basic information about Maeve’s family, Ohio, her PhD journey, and then she asks Dave far more questions about hospital administration than I’ve asked the guy in the six years I’ve known him. The twins tear into the homemade birthday cake and rip through presents as Gwyn dutifully photographs their every micro expression.
By the time Gwyn’s lovingly demanded that they get in their pajamas, brush teeth, and head into their room for bedtime, I’m starting to think Gwyn’s still annoyed about LEGOLAND and put me in charge of bedtime as a punishment. Yeah, of course I’ll be able to get two sugar-high toddlers to bed.
“Read dino book?” Lily asks as the two of them run back into the living room, where my dad’s handing out coffee. She holds out the stack of picture books Maeve and I picked out.
“Aunt Maeve too?” Oz asks, joining her.
My heart does a big leap on that one. It throws me a little off-balance, but when I look at Maeve she’s smiling.
She gets down into a squat to make proper eye contact with my nephew. “I’d love to.”