“Can’t we dress like the characters and walk around downtown LA instead?” I ask.
“You already did that,” Karina shoots right back.
“What if I dressed like Marcus and he dressed like Kellie?”
“Hmmm,” Karina muses while she thinks. “I kind of like that idea. Let me talk to my assistant and see if she can get gender-bending costumes ready for you two. It’s on brand with the series, actually. Breaking out of the mold and all.”
“Yes.” I smile and let out a breath of relief. “It’s very fitting. Maybe we could create a hashtag and have people show off their own Nightfall cosplay or something? Winner gets an early signed copy or a dinner with Charles?” I don’t feel bad for pimping him out that way. He eats that kind of attention up. Charles really is a good guy but isn’t ashamed to admit a big selling point for him on becoming an actor was the fame and adoration from perfect strangers.
“You know what…that’s brilliant, and I think I know how I can spin this. What about you guys dress up as villains from the series and walk around downtown, interacting with people, and we can stage a few interviews. It’ll get you trending, that’s for sure.”
“That sounds fun,” I say, thankful Charles will be there with me to take the lead. “Rebecca is booking my flight for late tonight, so do you want me to come to your office in the morning?”
“Let me iron out some details and then I’ll text you.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yay! It’s going to be great tomorrow, Chloe!”
“Yeah, it will be.” I smile as I end the call, mind getting a little ahead of itself. I imagine showing up tomorrow with a sparkling ring on my left hand, and if Charles and I are photographed together with that bling, people will suspect we got engaged.
Then I can drop the bomb on everyone with a cleverly written caption to a photo of Sam kissing me, of course. I try not got get too preachy or overly sappy on my social, but a quick few sentences about how facing adversity and love surviving years apart will be perfect.
I put my phone on the coffee table and get up, going into the kitchen and rooting through Sam’s fridge and pantry for something to make for dinner. I ordered groceries before we left, and most of the food is still fresh. Wanting to make something easy, I decide on chicken parmesan and spaghetti. I set out the dry ingredients and mix up the parmesan, breadcrumbs, and spices, getting things all ready for when Sam comes home.
Sam texts me as I’m straightening up the kitchen, making sure that I’m—again—resting and taking care of myself. It’s nice, of course, to have someone care this much. It’s even nicer to have someone more than willing to go above and beyond to make me as comfortable as possible when I feel like shit. I remember both Dad and I doing the same thing for Mom when she was really sick, but it scared me. Because Mom was independent. She was the one who made sure I was myself, who told me never to be ashamed of who I was. To hold strong and fast to my beliefs and take no shit for being different.
She and Dad knew about the cancer for years before they told me, with the hope she’d go into remission and be fine. But I think Mom knew, deep down, that she wasn’t going to make it through and that’s why she started instilling those strong beliefs and pieces of wisdom on me from a young age.
It’s been years since she died, and I still miss her just as much every day. I wish she were here now, to see how Sam and I finally came together, how everything is working out perfectly in my life. Too perfect, in my eyes, and I know Mom would laugh and tell me to accept things for what they are. Don’t go looking for a problem, she’d tell me. Or you’ll find one that wasn’t there to start with.
It took me years to understand that advice, even though she repeated it over and over. I was too young to get it at first. How could you find a problem that wasn’t there? That didn’t make sense.
Yawning, I go back into the living room heart a little heavy. I get comfy and pull the blankets over my shoulders. My eyes are closed for only minute before my phone rings.
Grumbling, I sit up and see it’s my agent calling.
“Hello?”
“Hey! How are you feeling? I can’t believe you got so sick so fast!” Vanessa asks.
“I’m doing much better now.”
“Great! Is this a good time? You’re home and on the mend, right?”
“Yeah, I’m home, well, at my boyfriend’s house in Chicago but it’s kinda like home now.” The words leave my lips with ease, and I smile. This does feel like home.