Reel (Hollywood Renaissance 1)

The excuse probably sounds as lame in her ears as it does in mine.

“You’re right,” I say. “I was putting off asking. I’m sorry.”

Her sigh is weary and the slightest bit disapproving. “You still trying to do it all on your own, baby. I want to be there for you. You gonna let me?”

I clear my throat, not sure how to fix some of the things that remain broken between my family and me. Old habits die hard, but I need to try.

“Yes, ma’am,” I whisper, feeling like the little girl she used to chastise. “I’ll try.”

“Good, ’cause this is serious. Your Aunt Marian—”

“Aunt Marian was a long time ago. They know a lot more and can do a lot more now. I’m not saying this is easy. It’s not. It won’t be, and even the transplant won’t be an end-all solution, but it’s the next thing we do, and then we hope for the best.”

“A transplant sounds expensive. All of this does. You got insurance?”

“I do, yeah. Through the stage union.”

“How are you feeling?”

Exhausted. Depressed. Overwhelmed.

“I’m fine.”

She’s right. Even now, I find myself sheltering my mother from the full extent of what’s going on with me. Why do I do that? Why can’t I just unburden myself to her? All my life I’ve seen her shoulder other people’s troubles, help them when they needed it, but when I need her, I always hold back. Maybe on some level I still feel she chose Terry over me, and I’m not sure if when I really need her, she’ll be there.

“Have you talked to Terry yet?”

I knew she would ask, but something inside still startles at the mention of my sister. Most of the cast and crew are being tested, and I’ve only known them four months. Yet the hardest person to ask when it’s life or death is my own sister.

“I will. I’m just busy trying to wrap this movie.”

“You’re still working?” Mama’s volume rises with her disbelief. “Shouldn’t you be in the hospital or on dialysis or . . . something? You need a kidney, for God’s sake.”

“I’m on lots of medicine, Mama. The prednisone makes me feel like I can conquer the world, until it doesn’t. I’m actually really tired, like, can barely keep my eyes open.”

“You need to get some rest.”

“I will. We’ve been on location the last couple of weeks, but we’re back in LA now. I don’t have many scenes left to shoot, and believe me, Canon makes sure I do as little as possible.”

“How are things with your director?” Mama’s teasing makes this feel more like a normal conversation, and not one in which I ask for organs.

“Canon has been amazing and supportive.”

As much as I appreciate it, I keep asking myself if he really wants to be here? Still? We were just getting off the ground, just really started dating, and then this. These are higher stakes than he saw coming. What if he feels trapped?

“I want to meet him,” Mama says.

“You’ll love him. Everyone loves him even if they don’t want to.”

“He sounds like a real character, but then, he’d have to be to handle you,” Mama says, a note of pride in her voice I don’t think I’ve ever recognized before. She’s missed so much over the years that at times, it felt like she didn’t notice me pursuing my dreams.

“He’s . . .” I pause, unsure how to describe Canon in a way that would make Mama understand why he’s so special. “He’s one of a kind. Hopefully you’ll get to meet him soon.”

“Well, I’m glad he makes you rest.”

I set my small suitcase on the bed so I can finish packing. I’m waiting for Canon to pick me up. I’ve tried to subtly give him space, pleading fatigue every time he’s wanted to see me this week after we finished shooting. He insisted we spend this weekend together.

“Mama, I need to go.”

“Okay. I’ll look at the information to get tested. Promise me you’ll talk to Terry soon. It feels strange, me knowing all this and not saying anything.”

“I want to talk to her myself.” Want is the wrong word, but I don’t need Mama asking for me.

“Then talk to her, Neevah. This thing with the two of you has gone on long enough. I want my girls to be sisters again.”

“Well, I don’t think a kidney will fix all our problems, Mama.”

“No, but maybe it’ll make you face them.”

When your mama drops the mic . . .

“Okay. Give me until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. I love you, Neev.”

“Love you, too, Mama.”

Takira walks across the hall to my room, slipping something into the suitcase open at the end of my bed. “How’s your mom?”

“Worried. What did you put in my suitcase?”

“Lube,” she says with a grin. “You’re lucky I didn’t yell out, ‘I’m packing this lube for you’ while your mama was on the phone.”