The Reunion by Kayla Olson(34)
GEMMA MARIE GARDNER
7:12 p.m.
WHAT HAPPENED AND WHY AM I ONLY JUST NOW FINDING OUT ABOUT IT
7:12 p.m.
7:27 p.m.?We’re over WHAT
W H A T
W???H???A???T
7:27 p.m.
I need DETAILS what happened 7:27 p.m.
Do I need to go hurt somebody orrrrrrrrr…?
7:31 p.m.
7:51 p.m.?No, I broke up with him 7:51 p.m.?Four weeks ago FOUR WEEKS AGO, and I’m JUST NOW hearing about this???
7:51 p.m.
7:58 p.m.?I’m holding up as well as I can, thanks for asking xo
[Editorial note: THE SHAAAAAAADE of that last line, you guys. Gemma might look sweet as cherry pie on the outside, but wow. That’s some A+ passive aggressiveness right there—not that I blame her, since Clare apparently couldn’t take a hint from the time stamps and über-short answers that Gemma had ZERO interest in confiding in her, and probably wouldn’t have said anything at all had Clare not pressed so hard for the info. I also, for the record, would not be surprised if this was what pushed Clare to one-up said passive aggressiveness with some retaliation of her own.]
What HAPPENED tho
7:59 p.m.
Gemma?
8:15 p.m.
Okay then, I’m here to listen but if you don’t wanna talk I guess I can’t make you 8:21 p.m.
Sooooo yeah, you guys. Looks like Gemma’s got some fires to put out in her personal life this week, so if you see her around town, remember to be kind! And if you see Ransom Joel, buy him some chocolate hazelnut gelato if you can—I can almost guarantee he won’t be single for long. Maybe you’ll be the lucky girl? (If I don’t get there first, that is.)
As always, send your juiciest tips to [email protected] and you could win a $500 gift card to the store of your choice in our monthly drawing. Or, you know, sometimes we straight up buy it for a lot more… just ask Clare!
11
At five minutes to nine on Monday morning, we’re all crowded into one of the studio’s meeting rooms for our table read. Things have changed quite a bit since we last did this—it’s been nearly fourteen years, after all, and the studio has clearly put their significant fortune to good use. Compared to the old gray room with too many fold-out chairs crammed around a not-quite-big-enough table, this one feels like a palace.
Slate-gray walls stretch at least twenty feet high, adorned with the occasional wooden shelf and lavish green plants that spill from terra-cotta pots. The focal point table is a solid slab of reclaimed wood, sanded and stained, surrounded by leather chairs the color of warm caramel. Overhead, six fishbowl pendants hang in a dramatic row, illuminated by Edison bulbs. It’s calm and energizing in here despite the distinct lack of natural light.
I’m five minutes early—my version of right on time—and most everyone is here already. Millie and Ford and Ransom are chatting with Laurence and Annagrey, while Sasha-Kate talks animatedly to Bryan and Nathaniel. Pierre Alameda is over with our other producer, Gabe, and a trio of new-to-me actors who’ll be playing minor characters. They look a bit intimidated, if I’m honest—the girl who’ll be playing Sasha-Kate’s roommate is dabbing surreptitiously at a coffee stain on her peach-colored blouse. At the far end of the table, Dan and Xan are already in their seats, flipping through script pages and jotting last-minute notes in the margins as usual. But this time, Dan’s hair is silvery gray, and his wire-rimmed reading glasses sit low on his nose; it hits me all over again how surreal it is that we’re celebrating twenty years since our premiere, how familiar this all is and also how much has changed.
I head straight for my seat. Bryan likes to start precisely on time, and sure enough, as I make my way to the table, he makes the call: “Everyone, we’ve got sixty seconds to settle in—please find your way to your seats!”
Ransom turns his attention from whatever Annagrey was saying, and his eyes light up as they lock on mine. I feel heat creeping into my cheeks, the memory of Friday night so fresh I can almost feel his hands on me all over again.
Stop it, Liv, I tell myself. Focus.
I found a text on my phone late Friday night after I’d already settled in bed with the Emily Quinn novel. sorry about tonight, he’d written. dealing w a bit of a mess right now—catch up session soon?
Yes please, I wrote back, though it didn’t stop me from analyzing every word. His sorry about tonight message: Sorry that what went down between us happened at all—or that it ended so abruptly? Everything felt so clear in the garden, what we both wanted.
But I’ve misread him before.
I stayed mostly offline all weekend, going over my lines and finishing the Emily Quinn novel—I got so into it I couldn’t put it down. Mars and I talked last night about all the decisions I’ll need to make soon, and about my uncomfortable conversation with Xan.
“The nerve that woman has,” Mars said when I told her, and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. She doesn’t know Xan like I do, isn’t quite as generous in giving the benefit of the doubt. “Don’t waste one second worrying about this Liv, I’m telling you—if there’s a conflict, which is a big if at the moment, it will work out in our favor. I’ll make it work.” She promised to put out feelers with Vienna’s assistant, too, see if she can find anything out about the new project Xan mentioned.