Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

Being face-to-face with another one is like watching an embarrassing home video, even knowing the good outcome—me and Oscar together—exists.

It reminds me of Anacapri where I flubbed an opportunity to kiss Oscar.

It reminds me of Ali & Troy’s wedding and Ambrose & Cody’s where I wandered around alone and thwarted the “who’s your plus-one” question a hundred times.

Then my RSVP came in the mail, along with a photo of Thatcher & Jane on a pastel blue couch, seven cats strewn on their laps.

And I knew I’d make room for this wedding. In my heart and my mind. November 1st, I’ll be there. Might even be filming (if I still have a job) or I could be hand-in-hand with an actual plus-one this time.

Every day feels good being with Oscar.

Anyway, tabloids were shockingly sweet to Jane with articles like, Re-create Thatcher & Jane’s Quirky Cute RSVP!

Out of the famous ones, she’s one of the least likely to elicit a positive response from the media. And as someone whose relationship is attacked and dissected daily by Oslie stans, I’m glad the media is celebrating her upcoming wedding and not tearing it down.

Jane Cobalt deserves that.

What do you deserve, dude?

My job, for one. No question. No hesitation.

I’ve worked too hard to lose it all.

But my role as exec producer is still in “evaluation”—and the irresolution of it all is the worst part. The feeling of incompletion. Every project, every goal around me is halfway done, and no matter how much effort I put forth, it might never be finished.

I’ve always finished what I’ve started and carved out a path to a bright future, and knowing that I could be on no path…

That has taken a toll on me. Mentally.

It’s made more than just my work feel incomplete. Little things like not having time to fill up my Mazda with gas. A quarter tank shouldn’t feel like a tsunami is about to sweep me under.

And I confess, it didn’t used to.

I miss being able to walk through my days like a sunny breeze. I told that to Oscar, and he asked me if I’ve ever seen a therapist. I have, when I was younger. I used to take medication for anxiety, and when I stopped having to take meds, I was stoked. Proud, even. Like I was stronger now.

I know I was wrong.

I’m not weak for needing help. It’s not a badge of shame. It’s a tool to take my life back, and I feel that today. After seeing a new therapist, after taking anxiety meds this morning, that overwhelming sense of incompletion has been hushed.

And finally, I can focus on my work without drowning.

I mill around the boutique (store closed to the public today) while the Calloway sisters and their daughters chitchat on chaises and cream-colored couches. Everyone waits for Jane and her mom to exit the dressing room.

Red-headed, blue-eyed Audrey Cobalt spits a strawberry petit four in a napkin and looks directly into my camera. Like she was caught stealing.

Won’t air that. She’d probably request to keep it on the cutting room floor.

I smile from behind the Canon and make the hang-loose gesture.

She blushes.

I try not to laugh.

Out of everyone in the families, I thought Jane’s fourteen-year-old sister would be the most upset that Oscar Oliveira is no longer single. She had an enormous crush on him, but she was one of the first to post her support on social media.

Giselle, a camera operator, is assigned to Jane while she’s in the dressing room.

So I walk over to a refreshment table and film Maximoff.

He fills up a glass of ice water from a pitcher and sees me more than the camera. “Jack Highland survives another day.”

“I’m hanging on,” I say lightly, shifting so no mirrors catch sight of me in footage.

“Have you heard from the other producers?” In the lens, I see his sharp cheekbones and forest-green eyes simultaneously toughen and soften.

“Not yet.” I stop recording for a sec. “Whatever they decide, I think it’ll come down to the integrity of the docuseries.” I explain how beyond the public outrage, they’re still saying I’m too close to the subjects and too much a part of the narrative.

I’ve also considered how this is changing Born into Fame. What story am I telling if I leave out the Oslie rumors and my involvement? Both are a part of Charlie’s life.

Maximoff stares off, thinking for a long beat. “If there’s anything else I can do, I’m here.”

“Thanks, Moffy.”

“Have you told Oscar yet about what you told me?”

That. “Not yet.” It was easier letting out my secret to Maximoff, Jane, and Sulli. I knew they could relate in a way. I’m not sure about Oscar’s reaction. I shake out my arm that’s been flexed holding the gimbal. “You see on YouTube Kingly almost broke Phelps’ record for 200m freestyle? It was sweet.”