Page 84 of Director's Cut
I make a big fucking mistake.
“I didn’t think you’d be this upset.”
Which isn’t true. It isn’t true, and I need to take it back, but it’s in the air now.
Maeve turns a whole new shade of red. “Are you kidding me? I’m your girlfriend! I should be there to celebrate your little victories, let alone something as huge as getting into one of the biggest film festivals in the world!”
She starts blinking rapidly. My chest twists. She can’t start crying now.
“Although I can’t say what kind of girlfriend I am if you want to parade me around at the Oscars but won’t let me know about important milestones in your career.”
I want to reach my hand out to her, but it feels like I’d be touching an open flame. “It was— I never meant for you to be slighted. I was just so nervous—”
“Nervous about what? That I’d be upset you got into Cannes?”
“It’s not like you were thrilled with the Oscars. I can never tell if any aspect of my life is going to be too much for you, and—”
“I told you that I was going to figure out the celebrity-girlfriend thing. You didn’t even give me the chance to prove myself.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I wasn’t thinking about that, though.” My voice cracks. “I didn’t want you to think I was abandoning you,” I say, and every word in that last sentence feels small.
She takes a few long seconds to stare at me, her eyes wide and her mouth twisted. “Abandoning me?”
“I’m not trying to fuck up your grant. I know how—”
“And your bright idea about how not to abandon me was to lie to me and give me two weeks—at most, because god knows when you would’ve actually told me if a student didn’t beat you to it—instead of two months to prepare. And prepare for what—a week? Two weeks without you?”
“Two.”
“I just—” She takes a deep breath. “How can you be so smart yet so oblivious?”
“I told you I was a mess, but I’m trying out different antianxiety pills. It’s just hard finding the right one and—”
She takes a step back, as if my words have knocked the wind out of her. She cocks her head at me, still wearing that angry expression. I crunch in on myself. “That isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, and you know that. You think— You know, Valeria, I thought I wouldn’t ever have to tell you this, but news flash about what it’s like to be one of the regular people you want to be so badly.” She’s stopped calling me Val. “I can’t just forget my priorities and not communicate vital information to my coworkers. I can’t just drastically change plans and say I’m a mess and it’ll all be okay. This isn’t something that someone on your team can just snap their fingers and fix. I needed you for this one little thing, and you didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me you had a conflict—which didn’t have to be that big a deal, by the way—until someone else did it for you. And now I have to deal with all this while you galivant off to sell your movie for millions of dollars and expect me to what”—she laughs—“come as your arm candy after doing both our jobs?”
It’s like a punch to the gut, over and over again. Tears burn in my eyes. “Maeve, it’s not like that at all. I’m sorry about not telling you—” I reach my hand out. “I love you,” I say. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re everything to me. That’s why I didn’t tell you—I just knew you’d hate me for putting it off for so long, and I was scared.”
“Val, for god’s sake, I don’t hate you, but it really didn’t have to fucking be like this.” Maeve turns away from me. “If you loved me, you would’ve told me the truth. If you really thought I’d bring you down for something as huge as this, maybe we’re missing something.”
The tears fall but she doesn’t even see them. “Maeve…”
“Just go. I’ll talk to your manager’s assistant. I need a break.”
That’s it. That’s how I ruin the best part of my life. “So we’re breaking up?”
She just stares at me, wary like I’ve dropped ten years of stress on her. “I just said I needed a break.” She takes my wrist. “Look at me, Val. You aren’t listening! Will you please just listen to what I just said?”
For a moment, the first one since Paul spilled the news, the world slows to a stop. My brain frees up just enough to process the last thing Maeve said to me, word by word and dissect it like we’ve done with films all year.
Less than five minutes ago, Maeve said she wanted space. She didn’t ask to break up. Emily would’ve asked to break up, though. Emily would’ve been pissed, but Maeve is disappointed. Emily would’ve broken up with me, but Maeve wants a break.
But what’s a break but a delay in the inevitable? If I agree to this, I’m just subjecting myself to weeks more of uncertainty. I can’t do this right now. I need to just know, but—
“I’m gonna go check on the screening,” Maeve says. “I’ll talk to you later.”
What do I do with this space?
“Okay,” I say, pushing through the sting of panic that the worst will still be true.