How to End a Love Story(89)

Helen nods.

“There’s two things someone told me at the start of my career. One—get your house in order.” Suraya tilts her head. “You can’t really prioritize the things you need to if you’re wasting precious energy on your tortured personal life, as romantic as it may feel in the moment.”

Helen coughs and feels another hot flash of embarrassment. Is that how you see me?

“The second thing, talk to a shrink about your mommy or daddy issues. Because the most important thing to remember about anyone you’re working for is—I’m not your mommy and I’m not your daddy. I’m not still going to love you at the end of the day if you make that day miserable, because I already have my own kids for that.”

Suraya’s eyes flit to her phone and she adds, as an afterthought, “Not that my kids make me miserable. It’s just . . . you’re never really able to stop thinking and worrying about them, once you have them. All those awful clichés about your heart living outside your chest.”

“Okay,” Helen says softly. “I’ll talk to my therapist about my mommy issues.”

Suraya smiles. “I always thought mommy issues were more powerful than daddy issues,” she says thoughtfully. “Certainly more motivating. But we can save that for a season two discussion. Who do you want me to send in first?”

Helen thinks, and chooses cowardice. “Nicole and Saskia, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll let them know.” Suraya nods. “I’m heading to set. I think they’re just getting the first scene off now. You can watch the production feed on your iPad if you want. Your mom brought it for you from home.”

“Thanks,” Helen says.

“Get better,” Suraya orders with reassuring briskness, and leaves.



Grant watches Nicole and Saskia head down the hallway and Suraya gives him a brief nod before she walks over to him.

“You’re taking today off, then,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice comes out in a low rumble that sounds foreign to his own ears. “I, um—I sent in the revisions last night, and if you send me the studio notes after the table read, I can—”

“Grant,” Suraya says, and tilts her head. She looks at him in a slightly pitying way that makes the lump in his throat hurt. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle it.”

“Thanks,” he says. “Let me know if . . . if you need anything.”

“I will,” Suraya says, and reaches out to touch his arm in a way he assumes is meant to be comforting.

“How’s she doing?” he asks, and realizes his mouth feels dry.

“She’s awake,” Suraya says. “Injured, and on a shitload of pain meds, but . . . it sounds like she’ll be fine.”

“Good,” he says croakily. “That’s good.”

“It is,” Suraya says. “How are you doing?”

Grant laughs but it comes out in a short, humorless gust of air.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I didn’t get hit by a truck last night.”

Suraya’s gaze sweeps over him.

“Maybe not, but you look fucking terrible,” she says finally. “Take care of yourself. I need you whole tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Grant says. “I’ll try.”

She nods, glances at Helen’s parents (in the far corner of the room that Grant doesn’t look at, because he isn’t sure he can handle this being the second time they’ve ever met), then heads down the lobby for the elevator.



Nicole and Saskia come bounding into the room with flowers (Saskia), dirty magazines (Nicole), and tears (Saskia again).

“Oh my god, you’re such a drama queen,” Nicole says, slinging an arm around the crying girl. “She’s fine, look, she’s fine.”

Helen smiles and waves, then grimaces because that fucking hurts.

“I just thought, what if you died, and I never got to tell you I’m sorry for being such a bitch to you that last day in the writers room,” Saskia wails.

Helen looks to Nicole in confusion. Nicole mouths “no idea” and rolls her eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Helen says. “I . . . I haven’t thought about it since. Honestly.”

“You’re so nice,” Saskia says, and Helen would laugh if she couldn’t feel the fracture in her ribs every time she tried.

“So Grant looks like shit,” Nicole says, smoothly changing the topic. “In case you were wondering.”

It’s amazing how her stupid dumb heart still trills at the sound of his name. Like she’s in high school, with a crush. The fact that everyone else can hear it too through the beeping heart rate monitor feels cruel and unusual. Nicole glances at the monitor, but wisely says nothing.

“I’m surprised he’s still here,” Helen mutters to her hands.

“Are we really?” Nicole makes a skeptical sound. “I told you he was in love with you.”

Saskia giggles nervously. “He did seem very . . . distraught,” she says. “When he called us.”

“He called you?” Helen raises a brow.

“Yeah, he thought you might not want to see him,” Nicole says. “Crazy, right?”