Thank You for Listening(74)

Except for the lying.

“You have got to get some sleep,” she groaned out loud, parenting herself. She flipped one more time, squeezed her eye shut, and refused to open it.

3:19 A.M.

Dammit.

WHEN SEWANEE FIRST heard the knocking, it presented as church bells in the dream she was having. A foreign city, springtime sun, the vague sense of unease, as if she were late for something she couldn’t remember. But church bells shouldn’t sound so deadened, so inelegant.

She opened her eye into silence. Waited. The knocking came again. This time more of a banging.

Adaku! The ride to the airport!

She sprang out of bed, tripping over her purse from the night before, and flung herself toward the door.

The sun was full behind Adaku’s new military-short afro. “Morning!”

Sewanee brought a hand up to shield her eye. “What’s going on?” she croaked.

Adaku misinterpreted her unwelcoming tone. She grinned and stage-whispered, “Am I interrupting?”

“What?” The night rushed through her like an express train through a station stop. “Oh. No. Not at all.”

Adaku deflated. “Boo. Why?”

Sewanee tried to form words, but she couldn’t. She just stood there. Speechless. Motionless.

“Oh, babe,” Adaku murmured. “Okay, okay! Inside!”

Adaku set her on the couch, buzzed around the kitchen for a minute, and then there was a glass of water in front of Swan and a command to drink it. She did and another minute later there was a cup of coffee in front of her and her feet were in Adaku’s lap on the love seat and Adaku said, “What happened?” and Sewanee told her. Everything.

They were on their second cup of coffee by the time she was done. It was sad, and still surreal, but not quite so dire as it had seemed when Adaku arrived.

“I’m so sorry about BlahBlah,” Adaku said.

“At least she won’t remember it.”

Adaku huffed a bittersweet chuckle. “True. Now Brock on the other hand, or should I say Nick–”

Sewanee held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about him. Them.”

Adaku persisted. “Okay, but, I mean, from where I’m sitting, it seems . . . insane.” The last word came out in a giddy laugh. “One night stand turns to unwitting correspondence! That’s Fated Mates stuff–”

“More like bad Fantasy,” Sewanee interrupted, stood, and wandered into the kitchen. “Don’t romanticize it. It’s awful. Humiliating. It’s–” She saw a white paper bag on the counter. “Did you bring me a breakfast burrito from Beachwood?”

“I did,” Adaku responded from the living room.

“Aww, thank you.” She tore into the bag. “Where’s yours?”

“No can do. The only part of a burrito I can eat right now is the paper it’s wrapped in.”

Sewanee put the burrito in the microwave, shook her head, and continued talking from the kitchen. “I probably shouldn’t eat this, either, huh? Oh, you’d be proud of me, I started doing push-ups last week. I mean, I figure they’ll give me a trainer, but thank God I’m not doing the boot camp with you right now, I would not survive–” She gasped, covered her mouth. “Oh my God, A, I’m such an idiot. I left my car at Seasons last night. Shit! I’ll order us a ride, I’m so sorry–”

She spun around and Adaku, who’d come to stand at the entrance of the kitchen, said, “You didn’t get the part.”

The microwave beeped, but Sewanee didn’t move. As if she had been shot but the surprise of the impact preceded the pain of the bullet.

“I’m so sorry, Swan. I still can’t believe it.” Adaku looked wretched, as if she had pulled the trigger.

Sewanee turned back to the microwave. Opened the door. Removed the burrito. Took a huge bite. She continued to eat until Adaku said, “Talk to me.”

Sewanee swallowed, preemptively steadied her voice. “When did you–”

“Yesterday. I didn’t want to tell you before your big night. But I’m leaving and I wanted to tell you face to face and . . .” She drifted off.

After one more suspended moment, Sewanee took another bite. “It’s fine. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll go get ready.”

“No, Swan, you’re not riding with me to the airport, that’s ridiculous.”

“Yes, I am!” She took an aggressive bite. “I told you I’d take you and I will.” She brought the rest of the burrito with her when she left the kitchen.

Adaku followed her into the living room. “I saw your audition. It was so good, Swan! It was more than good.” Sewanee chuckled. “It was. They just decided to–”

“Go a different way?” Sewanee did not try to hide the sarcastic bitterness in her voice. The classic it’s not you, it’s me brush-off of Hollywood.

“Colin wanted you,” Adaku soothed, “but the studio–everyone thought you were incredible. Truly brilliant, they said.”

She searched for her phone, took another bite, and asked, “Who got it?”

“Swan.”

“What? Someone famous who they’ll ugly-up instead of someone unknown who already is?”

“Sewanee–”