How to End a Love Story(51)
Sixteen
“Helen has a daaaaaaate,” Owen announces triumphantly as he sits down.
“Let’s not do this,” Helen says, settling into her chair and getting out her laptop.
“But it’s such good gossip,” Owen says.
It’s really not but Owen likes to overstate things.
They’ve been back in the writers room for three, going on four days now and there’s still an uncomfortable churning sensation in her stomach every time she accidentally meets Grant’s eyes from across the table.
She flew back on January 1 and soon learned (from a close reading of the comments on Grant’s last Instagram post) he was staying in Dunollie for another week to help clear out his mom’s house. He didn’t call her, text her, or respond in any direct way to her messages in the writers room group chat wishing everyone a happy New Year. After a minor sulk and soak in her bathtub about it, she concluded he was leaving the ball in her court.
And she would let it bounce there until leaves collected and rains came and everyone abandoned the game. There are nine weeks until the close of the writers room—surely that’s enough time for things to get back to normal between them, and just short enough that she can endure it.
Because the truth is, she knows it would be a mistake to take this—thing—between them any further. She’s never been very good at casual hookups and she suspects she already likes him too much to throw up the barriers completely against any traitorously soft, warm feelings that threaten to come up every time they’re in close proximity.
Like a useless sixth sense, she always knows immediately when he’s in the room. The air feels different and her eyes seek out the safe areas to look (anywhere he isn’t) like a reverse heat map. She also knows when he’s staring at her, though she can count on one hand all the times she’s looked at him directly this week.
Right now, for instance, she knows he’s playing with a rubber band ball and watching her intently.
“What’s the gossip?” Eve asks.
The gossip is that Greg, their casting director, has apparently been carrying the slightest torch—matchstick, really—for Helen over the past few weeks and very chivalrously waited until principal casting on the show was completed to shoot her a very sweet email with a link to a Google Forms survey asking her out on a date, along with multiple-choice options of the possible dates they could go on.
“Well, obviously we have to help you fill out the survey,” Suraya says.
Helen reluctantly texts the link to the writers room group chat.
“Be still my heart, modern romance isn’t dead.” Eve grins as she scrolls through the Google Forms survey.
“‘Level of Fancy: athleisure, casual, business attire, semiformal, full tux/ball gown,’” reads Nicole. “I vote you say ‘full tux’ and show up in athleisure. Or vote ‘casual’ and show up in a ball gown.”
“I like that he has venue options but also leaves a space for suggestions of your own,” Saskia says. “I don’t know about ‘Malibu beach date,’ though. That’s kind of an all-day affair—it’s a lot for a first date.”
“I’m putting all my chips on bowling,” Tom says. “If he’s good, then you know he wants to show off and that his most impressive skill is bowling, and if he’s bad, you see how he reacts to stressful situations.”
“Interesting thought,” Eve says. “I would have voted for the home-cooked meal for similar reasons.”
“Yeah, but what if he makes the wrong choice of menu and that ruins an otherwise potential-filled date?” Owen says. “Controversial opinion: eating is too personal a thing to do on a first date. Like, gross, I’m gonna show you how I sustain and nourish my body?”
“I think the important thing here is what will make Helen feel like she’s in her comfort zone,” Suraya says. “Then she can assess accordingly if Greg’s being additive or not to her general mental and emotional state.”
“My comfort zone is at home with my laptop, at a seat with a nearby outlet and no windows or doors behind me,” Helen says.
Grant makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like of course. She looks up at him then, but he’s scrolling on his phone with a slightly bored expression.
“Grant, would you like to share with the class?” Suraya asks patiently.
He lets out a quiet “huh” that she’s pretty sure no one else hears, and his eyes flicker up to her face before he returns his attention to his phone screen.
“My vote goes to full tux/ball gown, so you can find out if he owns a tux, bowling because Tom’s right, and tacos because you can leave early if it’s a bad date or prolong the night if it’s a good one.”
He sets down his phone and smiles placidly at Helen. She senses that he’s issued her a challenge of some sort, and feels a sudden itch to rise to the occasion.
“By George, I think he’s got it,” Owen says. “That’s perfect, no notes.”
They finish breaking the story for the second episode of the season that afternoon and Suraya sends Grant off to outline and script. Helen doesn’t think much of this, until he doesn’t show up in the room the next morning.
“Where’s Grant?” she asks, trying to sound casual.