Page 69 of Director's Cut
So Maeve and I take on the task of putting two sugar-high toddlers to bed. And she’s amazing with them, doing voices to read the book and letting the kids snuggle into her as she reads. Any doubts I was having about our relationship are washed away.
Oz eventually falls asleep in his bed with me beside him, Lily in Maeve’s arms. The bed creaks when I get out of it, and Maeve bites back a laugh, putting a finger to her lips. We pad our way outside to Lily’s room, where Maeve tucks Lily into bed, and we both make our way back into the main hallway.
And I can’t stop thinking of the image of Maeve holding Lily.
Maybe it’s the fucking estrogen in my hormonal body, but I’m pretty sure men don’t get as head-over-heels with adoration/desire/fuck me I love this person seeing a woman with a baby, but ooh boy. I sure as shit do. I’m suddenly drowning in the feel-good chemicals, making it difficult to move, to fully take in what I’m seeing, to hear anything around us. It’s just Maeve. Maeve, whom I so deeply want to be my future. I feel more strongly about her than I’ve felt about anyone ever, even Emily. It’s suddenly so clear, how naive I was back then. How I thought any good feeling I had would stay forever because I had it in the moment. Even when I don’t feel good with Maeve—which, frankly, I’m still anxious about the Oscars—I still care about her. Every step she takes makes my heart flip.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Of course. They’re really sweet kids.”
As we head back into the hallway, back into the adult world, that air of serenity seems to diffuse. Maeve’s easy smile fades. Her gaze is heavy on me, but she doesn’t say anything for what feels like forever.
“So do I have to buy a dress for the Oscars?” Maeve asks.
My heartbeat all but stops.
Moments pass. My heartbeat returns, quicker, frantic. “What changed your mind?”
“Well, I guess I should slow down,” Maeve says. “I did ask around the department, and the general consensus is that we can date; that’s fine. I’m sorry it took so long, but I was trying to be thorough with who I asked.”
In that moment, thinking about Maeve going with me to the Oscars, thinking about Trish not being mad at me and my not having to ask Mason if I pissed anyone important off, I can’t feel the sting of losing a potential rec letter. I can’t quite grapple with what that means yet, but I know my answer. “No, that’s fine. I’d still love for you to go with me. I— Thank you.”
“There isn’t a huge time commitment prior to the event, right?”
Was that why she was so hesitant? “No, as a presenter, I go to like one rehearsal.”
She exhales. “Okay. With the new semester starting this week, I know it’s selfish but I was…a bit concerned.”
I brush her hand. “Don’t be.” I’ll be enough of that for both of us.
Maeve gives a tiny smile and nudges me with her shoulder. “So, the dress?”
“Uh, no. You—they dress me in custom dresses by designers usually. They’d make you one too. So we’d, uh, match.”
Maeve nods slowly. “Okay.”
“It’s ridiculous, I know, but—”
Concern floods Maeve’s features as she grabs my hand. “No, I’m just”—she laughs, lighting up my heart—“nervous about wearing something that expensive.”
I let my gaze fall away from Maeve, where I make eye contact with Gwyn. She’s shamelessly eavesdropping like we’re kids again, and I should be annoyed, but her beaming smile spreads right to me. My breathing and my heart rate slow, and the stomach pains are finally gone.
I squeeze Maeve’s hand. “Charlie literally picked me two feet off the ground at last year’s Oscars and my gown didn’t rip. You’re going to be fine.”
She smiles. “Can’t wait to see you in your original element.”
It’s going to go perfectly. There’s no other choice.
Because if I have it my way, it’ll be the first event out of many.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The rest of January and February pass by in a blur. Rosalie recommends some nonprescription antianxiety supplement that dampens my anxiety enough. The new semester starts, and our class is free from problem students, and Maeve and I are a perfectly oiled two-women show. I take a wide-eyed Maeve to fittings in boutiques where we’re the only ones inside to be offered champagne. I teach her how to pose for a camera until she’s on the floor laughing because apparently the juxtaposition of me in full femme glitz mode while wearing a flannel, a T-shirt I’d just gotten a coffee stain on, and jeans is too much. She’s a great sport, even seems to be a little swept up in the glamor, and it’s such a relief after the hiccup of the initial ask.
Meanwhile Oakley in Flames doesn’t come up once. Mason calls and says she’s 55 percent sure that the studio execs will let us have a gay kiss in Goodbye, Richard! 2, and she still doesn’t mention Leonard. Once Charlie’s name is announced as an Oscars presenter, he starts leaving the house for more auditions.
Good. Everything is good as Charlie, Maeve, and I get into a tinted-window Escalade. Of course Charlie looks sharp in his suit, and I did tell him he looked great to boost his self-esteem, but god I can’t keep my eyes off Maeve. She’s in a deep-red satin gown, which is tight around her waist and chest without exposing any tit and has this gorgeous sequined black-rose design that covers the top and then spreads lightly downward, exposing more of the red at the bottom of the dress. Someone was getting really cheeky putting me in a black sequin gown with a halter neckline and a thigh-high slit. She wears a diamond necklace, and I wear a bracelet and earrings from the same set, so we’re basically high-end coordinated for prom. And lord, she can’t keep the smile off her face as she runs her fingers along the fabric of the dress.