Meyer: Have I, though?
I think about the way his hand slid against me, the pads of his fingers and their steady, relentless rhythm.
Me: You have.
Meyer: Guess I抣l stop holding back, then.
I抦 still trying to retrieve my eyes and put them back in my skull when he follows it up.
Meyer: Can I call you or FaceTime you at midnight, here?
Something has me feeling shy over seeing his face, but I would kill to hear his voice.
Me: Call me. I抦 doing the Darth mask tonight.
I slap my palm to my forehead after I hit send. He sends you something that manages to come off hot and your response is to remind him about your red light mask. Fucking hopeless, Farley.
I抦 surprised when, not fifteen minutes later, he ends up texting me again. Meyer isn抰 exactly?chatty. Perhaps this is easier for him this way, too. A buffer.
Meyer: How抯 the force healing going, then?
I send him a photo in the terrifying mask because who are we kidding at this point, anyway.
Me: Strong, with this one.
Meyer: How are you feeling about the set? Did you end up meeting with Clay?
Me: Better every day. Some parts I love, and I know they抮e going to kill. Other parts feel a little lackluster.
Meyer: They抮e not, I promise.
Me: Thank you. And yes, I met with Clay. He wants me to start posting videos now, of every day 慺unny?things. He claims people will be intrigued by my personality. Barf emoji.
Meyer: You can抰 just type barf emoji. You have to change it to the emoji. Come on. I expect more from a youngster like you.
Me: I was being ironic. Also I was speak texting. It抯 hard to look at my phone through the glare of the red light.
Meyer: You抮e probably slowly blinding yourself with the red light from that combined with the blue light from?every other piece of tech.
Me: I抣l be able to see just enough to appreciate my glowing complexion, though.
Meyer: Just call me when you抮e done and don抰 burn your retinas anymore, Jones.
I groan on the tail end of a snicker. I抦 giggling over the notion that he wants to talk to me so much that he wants to continue on without a lapse.
Where are my flower petals? He loves me, he loves me not.
The mask times out and I put it away with slow, determined movements. I definitely do not speed-shuffle back to my phone?with a glass of wine, prop myself up with a stack of pillows or do any other nonsensical preparations to have a conversation on the damn phone.
This is ridiculous.
I hit call on his number before I start scribbling our names together in a notebook or bring any additional secondhand embarrassment upon myself.
揌ey,?he answers in a ring.
I seize up on that syllable. His voice is low, quiet?a burr on the edge of it through the phone. It抯 not his typical phone voice I hear, anymore梩he one he uses when he calls to ask me if I want to do a show at a certain venue, or to ask for my help making Valentine抯 for Hazel抯 class. It抯 now the one that told me how he抯 not a fucking saint; that he imagines me bent over and bare for him. 揌i.?I swallow.
揋ive me a sec? I need to move Haze to her bed.?
揧eah梠kay.?My voice is high and tight.
揂lright, back.?He sighs. 揑 realized I asked if I could call you at midnight here but forgot to ask if you had plans already, so I figured I抎 better try earlier.?
I smile. 揘o plans. Just doing all my maintenance and chipping away at the set.?
揌ow抯 your sister and everyone??I immediately ask, trying to avoid the gaps.
揋ood. The boys picked up quite a bit of ASL too so Hazel抯 having a great time.?
揋ood.?
揝o厰
揝o棑
揝o, I miss you, Jones. I know I said we miss you, earlier. And we do. But I miss you.?
揑 miss you too, My.?
揟ell me more about your meeting with Clay??
揘ot much more to tell, really. I need to get a little more active with the social media stuff, so I will. He seems excited for the tour.?
揧ou feel good about him then??
揝ure. He seems like a good guy.?
揌e抯 knowledgeable and has a good reputation,?he says, his tone seeking validation.
揝ounds like someone has a crush,?I tease.
揇id he talk to you about Shauna抯 premier??he pivots.
揙h?that抯 right! Yeah. That抯 exciting. Maybe I抣l finally meet Dermot.?
He scoffs, and I laugh lightly.
揥ill you be my date for that? I mean, I know you would be anyway with the publicity stuff, but棓
揧es. I抣l be your date,?I breathe. And somehow, in the proceeding pause, I know that we抮e both smiling.
揟hen I抣l apologize now because no fucking way am I letting Dermot near you.?
We stay on the phone until midnight his time, when his phone voice grows huskier with fatigue.
At 11:59 my time, the phone rings again, waking me.
摋Meyer??I say, half muffled by my pillow.
揥anted to spend New Year抯 together twice. Make up for the ones we didn抰。？His own voice sounds muffled.
I love you runs through my brain, addled as it is. Like it has a hundred times in a hundred daydreams before, so crystal clear I抦 not positive I didn抰 actually verbalize it. 揙kay.?
He must have a countdown on in the background, because eventually I hear it get to ten. 揓ones, I hope this year is the best year yet,?he says over the sound.
匜ive, four, three, two, one.
揌appy New Year, Meyer. It already is.?
揗e too. Goodnight, Fee.?
搼Night.?
27
NOW
MEYER
揟ell me something I don抰 know about you,?Fee says.
It抯 day two of the new year and it already feels like we抮e catching up to this new rhythm in this new dance. Where we both know that this has traveled across borderlines into something new. Excited, but checking our pace against each other with every step, too. We talk or text throughout the day, sharing trivial details with one another, funny videos or observations. Things that aren抰 out of the ordinary for us, but have increased in frequency and morphed in tone. Somehow, via phone, I think we抮e?flirting?
Yeah, I抎 call it flirting.
揥hat do you mean??A thread of worry tugs when I think of the conversation I know we抣l need to have at some point about our work partnership.
揑 mean tell me something I don抰 already know about you. An embarrassing dating story, an irrational fear, an oddly specific dream or some niche thing that will be the measure of success and happiness for you.?
揂s in??I抦 struggling not to laugh at the budding annoyance in her voice.
揂s in?As in did you know that I抳e been practicing yoga for the last year??
揜eally??
揧ep. Dr. Deb recommended it. She told me I needed to be able to 憇it quietly with myself, with my own thoughts and feelings,挃 she sighs through a laugh. 揑t took me an entire month to be able to sit through a whole session without laughing, crying, or leaving. But now I practice daily.?
揊ee, that抯？that抯 incredible.?I smile as I picture her sitting peacefully in deference. My pants tighten when that image melts into one of her stretching into a pose, bending and pushing, holding and pulling?concentration laced with bliss. Sweat and breath and卨eggings.
揑t is, actually. I love it now?Okay your turn.?
I shift in my seat. 揢m. I work out a lot.?
揘o shit, Meyer. Tell me something I抦 not extremely aware of.?
揈xtremely aware, huh? Alright, alright.?I think. 揌onestly, my story isn抰 exactly 慼a-ha that抯 embarrassing but cute? more like, 憃of, I don抰 know how to respond now??
揧ou can tell me, and I can respond with a really bizarre noise, if you want??