How to End a Love Story(4)
These sessions grew fewer and further between over the last few years, but they still celebrated each other’s book launches in person and on social media, they shared laughing texts over this ridiculous thing some mutual acquaintance said in an interview, they debated screenshots of emails (am I crazy or does my new editor hate me), and they found time at least once per tax quarter to get together for drinks.
“That’s the mark of friendship in adulthood,” Pallavi said at their last meetup in April. “Do I make time to see you at least twice a year in person? We’re close friends. More than twice? We’re basically family.” They all laughed, and Helen had felt some relief—this is just what adulthood feels like.
But she’s been less certain since the book-to-screen news came out. She texted them both in July when the deal first closed and received a short Congrats! That’s amazing! from Pallavi and a confetti emoji from Elyse. She watched them get drinks without her on Instagram several times after that and wondered if she’d missed something obvious and if she could ask for an explanation without seeming pathetically needy (no, she concluded). She proposed getting drinks as a trio, but schedules never managed to align in the months preceding her departure for LA.
Helen has the sinking feeling that if she stopped texting Pallavi and Elyse, she’d never hear from them again.
She thinks this is the kind of thing she’d talk to a sister about—a real one, not the forced found-family type. The type of sister who grows up alongside you and understands without explanations why your faulty brain can’t seem to process the subtly shifting dynamics of a social circle without a dramatic sense of tragic despair. But then, Helen suspects she wouldn’t feel the loss of these friends as acutely if she did still have a sister to talk to, and she forces her thoughts in another direction before she can follow them down a dangerous old corridor.
New chapter, new problems.
When Helen sees Suraya the showrunner approaching across the lot (“Finally! Zooms really don’t capture a person’s essence, do they?”), it’s hard not to feel starstruck and flattered that this busy and important woman wants to be in charge of her show. Suraya’s shorter in person, which makes it all the more impressive how difficult it is to keep pace with her.
“You’re the genius creative, obviously—forty weeks on the bestseller list speaks for itself,” Suraya says as they pass a well-outfitted gaggle of young influencers on the trail path. “And we’re so lucky to have you in the writers room.”
Helen had requested a place in the writers room during her initial producer meetings, thinking the answer would be no—her agent told horror stories of authors getting into screaming matches with their adapting screenwriters, of projects falling apart because an author hadn’t stayed in their lane and let the experts handle things. “We can ask, but I wouldn’t press,” Chelsea advised delicately. “It can be rough to watch a room full of screenwriters rewrite you.”
Helen had been surprised when Suraya immediately said yes, they would love to have her in the room.
“I’ve been reading all the screenwriting books you recommended,” Helen says now, eager to show she’s done her homework. “And I know things are going to change from the books. I won’t be super precious or annoying about it, I swear.”
Suraya waves a hand. “Be precious and annoying if it’s important to you, that’s your role in the room. Protect the book when we’ve gone too far off the rails. It’s no good to us if we put in all this work and your readers hate everything we’ve done.”
Helen nods. “Of course. They won’t, though. I trust you.”
Suraya laughs as she looks sideways at Helen. “That’s such a nice thing to say,” she says. “I wouldn’t go throwing that around casually in this town if I were you, though.”
“Is LA so bad?” Helen knows she’s coming across as a guileless bumpkin. But people will assume that of her anyway, so she might as well use it.
“It’s an industry town, which if you’re as obsessed with work as I am, that’s a good thing,” Suraya explains. “It’s just that people have a way of being very friendly from the jump, and sometimes you forget your interests aren’t necessarily perfectly aligned, and then all of a sudden you’re in Deadline—it’s an industry trade, if you don’t read it, you should—because your project’s fallen apart over ‘creative differences.’”
“Oh,” Helen says, unsure what to add.
Suraya looks at her shrewdly. “We both want this show to be good. Remember that, when the things we’re saying in the room make you feel crazy.”
“I will. But that won’t happen. I feel lucky just to be here,” Helen insists, and finds she means it.
“Aww, it will, though,” Suraya laughs as they reach a peak in the hike. “I’m a very annoying person when you spend too many hours with me, which you will. And that’s just me. We have six other writers in the room, and that’s too many people not to have some interpersonal flare-ups in the next twenty weeks.”
“I look forward to meeting them all,” Helen says.
“They’re great.” Suraya waves a hand. “My assistant’s setting up a dinner and drinks before the room starts so you’re not going in cold. Are you excited? Are you nervous?”