I’d checked into the hotel at 3:30, then lay on the bed for a while, planning to read and instead crying myself to sleep for an afternoon nap. When I awakened, I wasn’t sure what time it was, or at first, where I was, and then I realized: 7:18 P.M., and a hotel. I thought of ordering dinner, but instead I texted Viv and Henrietta: Had bad conversation with NB, now in hotel, maybe things are over
From Viv: Oh no what happened
From Henrietta: Are you okay
From me: Weird part is I think he wants a serious relationship/wants me to stay here
From Viv: Of course he does you’re a catch
From Henrietta: Is that what fight was about
From me: Kind of
From me: Would it be crazy if I don’t come back to TNO
From Henrietta: Then who will write my sketches about the 35 year old who hasn’t figured out how to use a tampon
From Henrietta: JK it’s your one wild and precious
From Viv: Do you WANT to stay out there
From me: I don’t know
From Viv: Pretend it’s Monday and you’re about to leave your apt and come to 66 and sit in Nigel’s office for the pitch meeting
From Viv: Are you psyched to be back or are you over it all
From Henrietta: As you inhale the aroma of Danny’s burps
From Henrietta: Or maybe not bc we’ll all be wearing masks?
For almost a minute, I held the phone, biting my lip. Then I wrote, It makes me so sad to think of not seeing you guys in the middle of the night
From Henrietta: FWIW I’m willing to haunt your dreams
* * *
—
In the morning, I went out for coffee and an egg sandwich that I ate standing outside the café, then I walked on the beach before it got crowded, as the surf roared beside me, not washing away my thoughts. Back in the room, I considered texting Noah but instead googled his name. The so-called top stories were about our hike, and I looked at the photos again, and again felt dismayed at the fit of my leggings, though the dismay was almost immediately eclipsed by a nostalgia for this moment four days before, when we’d been casually holding hands, casually chatting.
I took my laptop onto the balcony, sat, and created a new document that I named Pros/Cons. Then I observed the blinking cursor, listing neither pros nor cons of quitting TNO and moving to L.A. I needed some classical music to help me. I went into the room to find my earbuds, and when I returned to the balcony, my phone was buzzing with an incoming text, but it wasn’t from Noah; it was from Viv.
How you feeling today?
Okay, I texted back. Thanks for checking. How you feeling?
She replied with a photo in which she stood in profile in front of a mirror, her belly truly enormous beneath a gray tank top.
Amazing!!!! I replied. You look great
When my phone buzzed again, I assumed it was her, but this time it was a message from Noah: Hey
My heart clutched.
Hey, I wrote back. How are you?
The three dots pulsated for what felt like fifteen minutes but was probably ten seconds. Then finally: The house is really quiet without you
This was so…nice? Mature? Non-game-playing?
As I began typing, another text from him appeared: I’m sorry that I made you feel like I don’t respect your job
From him: I do respect your job
From me: I’m sorry that I failed to express the slightest appreciation about you clearing out your study
From me: That was very kind of you
From me: Even if I turned it into something weird and symbolic
I typed, I miss you, but before I could send it, he texted: About to workout w/ Bobby
From him: Have a good day
I waited a few seconds then deleted I miss you
* * *
—
But by the afternoon, I was looking up how much it would cost to transport my aunt Donna’s car back to Kansas City if I flew directly from L.A. to New York. Although I didn’t usually need to be back at TNO until the last week in September, there were rumors that we’d have additional days of training for the new Covid protocols and that attendance might be staggered because of limits on how many people could be in a room at a time. Plus, I’d been away for four months; maybe it made sense to go back early, to reacclimate to the city in a pandemic. By evening, however, I’d decided that eleven years of pitch meetings—along with eleven years of Tuesday all-nighters and Wednesday read-throughs and Thursday rewrites and Friday rehearsals and, yes, even Saturday shows—was enough. I didn’t need a twelfth year. And there were more reasons I didn’t want a twelfth year than reasons I did.
I kept moving in and out of certainty and uncertainty, composure and despair. As the sun set over the ocean, a loneliness seized me that didn’t pass. By this point, it was nine in L.A. and midnight on the East Coast, and while there was a time I wouldn’t have hesitated to call Viv or Henrietta at midnight, that time had been prior to them or their wife being extremely pregnant. I really should have made more than two friends back when making friends was still possible, I thought, and then I thought, Danny.
I texted Can you talk now? and a few seconds later, he was facetiming me, wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt, reclined on a floral sofa. He said, “What’s shakin’， Chuckles?”
“Can you imagine Noah being my boyfriend? Not just as a pandemic hookup, as a real long-term thing.”
“Hank and Roy have always said you’re a eunuch, and I’m like, ‘Nah, man, she’s got a beating heart.’？”
“Thanks?”
“Are you in a cave right now?”
“I’m in a hotel room, and only the bathroom light is on.”
“That doesn’t sound at all depressing.” Just as I decided that reaching out to him had been a mistake, his expression turned serious. “You okay, Chuckles?”
“Not really. I didn’t have contact with Noah from the time he hosted until about a month ago, then he emailed me, then we had this emailing frenzy, then I drove out here to L.A. and we had a great time, then I ruined it. I think I want to quit TNO and stay here with him, but why should I get to be Noah’s girlfriend? What makes me deserving? And anyway, isn’t being in a relationship with a famous person kind of terrible?”
“Okay, back up. To be crystal clear, you and Noah have been banging?”
“Correct.”
“You’re asking separate questions, so let’s go in order. Why should you get to be Noah’s girlfriend? You’re in overlapping industries, you met, and obviously you hit it off if he was still thinking of you two years later. And the banging was decent?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re easy to talk to, so that covers the conversation part. It’s not necessarily more complicated than that. Next up, what makes you deserving? You’re funny, you’re cool, and you pretend to be tough but you’re a softie.”
“I’m sorry to beg for compliments, but aren’t I the least cool person you know?”
“I don’t mean I’d take advice from you on what sneakers to buy. I mean cool like having your shit together. For the isn’t-being-in-a-relationship-with-a-famous-person-terrible question—yeah, probably. Or it has some sucky parts, but all relationships have sucky parts. Here’s my question for you. Do you like him a lot or a little?”
“More than anyone I’ve ever met.”