For Us (The Girl I Loved Duet 2)

No, I can’t think about him right now. Not ever.

Our car slows down as we hit some traffic on the way into the city. Glancing at the clock, I’ve still got two hours until the interview. Plenty of time.

“You ready?” my mom asks.

I shrug. “I think so? I’ve gone over everything I have to say so many times in my head that if I forget it now it’s my own fault.”

“You’re going to be great,” she says with perfect confidence.

“I hope so.”

My mom clears her throat. “I know that this isn’t really what you wanted, and I’m sorry—”

“I know, Mom. I’m not mad at you. I get why this is the best option.”

I hate the pity and sympathy in her voice. “But that doesn’t make it easier.”

“No,” I say. “It doesn’t.”

We ride in silence for a few minutes. “Is there anything you want to do in the city while we’re here?”

I look over at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she says with a small smile, “your dad and I knew that you were kind of bummed out, so we agreed that we could make a trip out of it.”

“You mean we get to stay after the interview?”

She nods. “All weekend. I thought that we could maybe see a show, do some sightseeing.”

It feels like a cloud lifts off my shoulders. “That’s going to be really awesome, Mom. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She’s smiling. “Do you know what show you want to see?”

“No idea,” I shake my head. “I’ll have to look and see.”

I pick up my phone but mom reaches out her hand. “There’s time for that later. I don’t want you to be distracted before your interview. We can check out the shows tonight in the hotel room.”

“That’s fair,” I say.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll be able to see two.”

I take a deep breath, and it feels easier than the ones I’ve been taking lately. Maybe walking around the city this weekend I’ll see if I can actually fit in here. I never pictured myself as a New York City girl, but I don’t really have a lot of choice, so I need to get used to it. I just need to find places in the city that I love, so that I can make it a home.

That way I can pretend that I didn’t leave my heart in Los Angeles.

The city gets bigger in front of us, and finally we’re so close that the buildings are sparkling, and we drive down into the tunnel under the East River to cross into Manhattan.

For the first time on this whole trip, I feel a sliver of excitement run through me. I’m here. I can do this. We come out of the tunnel and everything looks impossibly large and full of possibility. So many people everywhere, each trying to make it in a city that doesn’t make it easy.

I’m going to be one of those people—I decide right now.

Closing my eyes, I visualize again. I’m going to be accepted, and I’m going to thrive. Circumstances suck, and I’m going to make sure that they don’t suck my future away.

One more time, I go over exactly what I need to say in the interview. By the time I finished, I open my eyes, and we’re already there.

2

Amber

Present

It’s been two days, just a weekend, and yet it feels like these two days have taken years to pass. I can’t believe that I did this. Panic. That’s what happened. I was panicking about everything and I let him walk away. I made him feel like garbage and I can’t believe that I let myself lose it like that.

I pick up the script that he threw away for the hundredth time and run my hands over it. The cover of it is creased now from the amount of time I’ve spent worrying it.

The amount of times that I’ve called Peter’s phone makes me look like a bona fide crazy person, but I can’t help it. He hasn’t answered at all. We’re supposed to shoot tomorrow, and even if I can’t fix what I broke between us, I need to know that he’ll be there. I need to know that I didn’t destroy my career.

It would be ironic, though. In my panic over my career being ruined by being discovered with Peter, I may have destroyed it by making him quit. Fuck. This is such a mess. I’ve barely slept, and I don’t dare look at myself in the mirror, afraid of what I look like.

It crosses my mind that this probably isn’t good for my heart, but the pacemaker is just as steady as it always is. It can survive. I will survive. I have to believe that, even if this ends up with the worst outcome. I lost him once. I could probably do it again.

Maybe.

I call him again and listen to the now very familiar ring. And the very familiar voicemail. I don’t bother listening all the way through to leave a message. I’ve already left him too many and he hasn’t called me back. I don’t think leaving another message is going to make a difference. Either he’s going to pick up one of these times, or he isn’t.