Even the ones absorbed with their phones looked up long enough to smile at her. A man in the center stood, held out his hand. “I’m Colin.” A Brit. “The director. Thank you so much for coming in. Sorry for the wait.”
“No problem!” Sewanee chirped, feeling, instantly, seven years younger. She stepped forward and took his hand briefly. “Sorry I don’t have a photo and résumé for you. It’s been a while since I–”
He looked surprised. “Oh, the internet’s made all that a thing of the past. I would say the bigger challenge is living up to Adaku’s glowing review.”
Sewanee held out her arms, smiled. “Well, I’ll try.”
“Excuse me,” one of the women spoke up. “I love audiobooks. Are you that Sewanee Chester?”
Sewanee smiled bigger. “That would be me.”
“You are amazing. Big fan.”
“Thank you so much.”
The woman addressed the room. “She won the Audie for Best Female Narrator of the Year.”
“What is that?” another person asked.
“It’s the Oscar of Audiobooks.”
The whole room ahhhhhd.
“For what book?” a man who Sewanee guessed was a producer asked.
The woman looked to Sewanee. “Wasted Space,” Sewanee answered.
There was silence.
“Reese optioned it,” the woman said.
The room ahhhhhd again.
She turned her attention back to Sewanee. “I repeat, amazing.”
“And I am more than happy to repeat, thank you so much.” She’d never been in a room this friendly before.
“You attended Julliard with Adaku, correct?” Colin asked.
“Yes. That’s how we met.”
“And you’ve been wasting away in audiobooks. Shame.”
Sewanee paused. “Well–”
“Well. Let’s see if we can change that, eh?” Colin smiled. “Are you ready?”
Was she. “Absolutely.”
“Off you go.”
“Who will I be reading with?” Sewanee asked.
A younger woman next to Colin raised her hand. Sewanee nodded at her. The man running the camera said he was rolling.
The room took on the hollow silence of a church. Cell phones were put aside, a few throats cleared, and every pair of eyes fixed on her. It was the moment before the music started for an ice skater. The moment before a diver took the first step toward a triple twisting two and a half somersault. The moment before the starter pistol fired and a sprinter ran the 100-meter dash.
Sewanee stilled, took a meaningful breath. Then she stepped into the role and onto the field.
She felt like the person she once was. She felt whole. She felt unstoppable.
It was a gold medal performance.
From: Brock McNight
To: Westholme, Sarah
Date: March 5, 4:23 PM
Subject: RE: CASANOVA, LLC–and hello!
I understand. I do. Onward, absolutely. If and when you want to tell me about it, I’m here. （Please note the word “tell” not “talk.”） So, after reading your email, I went for a run, came back, took a beer up to my roof, and read it again. Here’s what I think: We both believed in something, in ourselves, and we lost it. And we want it back. Can we have it back? And what happens if we get it back? Can’t we lose it again? And then what?
We’re both scarred. （SCARRED, not scared, though both are probably true. God, I ALWAYS misread those two words. SO many pickups.） Anyway. That’s what I’ve been thinking about. Obviously not getting anywhere.
Other than it reconfirms why I want out of Romance. HEA is too much of a setup. It makes you believe we just need to get back what we lost and life will be rainbows forevermore. But it doesn’t address what happens if you try to get it back and fail, does it?
There’s also the possibility it’s not a problem with Romance, it’s a problem with us?
IDK. Maybe I should have taken a longer run.
AFTER THE AUDITION, Sewanee realized she’d never told Mark about Doug’s interest in the house. So she told him now in passing, bringing paper towels in from the garage, while he was adding more ink to his printer. It was only when she got to the kitchen that she metabolized what he’d replied and walked directly back into his office. “Did you say you’ll give him a call?”
Mark looked up from the disemboweled printer, brow furrowed. “Huh?”
“Are you seriously considering selling?”
Mark jerked his head toward the office door. She closed it and came over to his desk. He was back to fiddling with the printer. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Now might be as good a time as any.”