“Love you, too.” His voice was a slur.
“I miss you,” she said.
He didn’t answer.
Georgie felt her own eyes closing. The receiver slid along her cheek—she clutched it, lifting it back up. “Neal?”
“Mmm.”
“I miss you.”
“Just a few more days,” he mumbled.
“Good night, Neal.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
Georgie waited for him to hang up, then set the receiver on its hooks and slid partway off the mattress to put the phone back on the nightstand.
MONDAY
DECEMBER 23, 2013
CHAPTER 19
The first time Georgie woke up, it was just after dawn, and it was because she wasn’t wearing pants. Which was alarming at first. And then funny. And then she pulled the covers up over her head and tried to go back to sleep. Because it felt like she’d been dreaming, dreaming something good, and like maybe she’d be able to get back to it if she didn’t completely open her eyes.
She fell asleep thinking that she couldn’t remember the last time she felt so warm—and that maybe “warm” was the same as “in love”—and obviously she was in love with Neal, she’d always been in love with Neal, but when was the last time she’d talked to him for six hours, just talked to him? Just him, just her. Maybe this was the last time, she thought. And then she fell back to sleep.
The second time Georgie woke up, it was because somebody was shouting. Two somebodies were shouting. And banging on her bedroom door.
“Georgie! I’m coming in!” Was that Seth?
“Georgie, he’s not coming in!” And Heather . . .
Georgie opened her eyes. The door opened and immediately slammed shut.
“Fuck, Heather,” Seth whined. “That was my finger.”
Georgie sat up. She was wearing her mom’s skimpy tank top. Clothes, she needed clothes. She spotted Neal’s T-shirt on the floor and made a desperate grab for it, yanking it over her head.
“I can’t just let you waltz into my sister’s bedroom!” Heather shouted.
“Are you protecting her honor? Because that ship has sailed.”
“It hasn’t sailed. He’s just visiting his mom.”
“What?” Seth sounded winded. The door opened, and he spotted Georgie before it slammed shut again. “Georgie!”
The door flew back open, and Seth and Heather fell in, practically on top of each other.
“Oh my God,” Georgie said. “Get off my sister.”
Heather was pulling at the neck of Seth’s sweater.
“Tell her to get off me,” he said.
“Get off!” Georgie shouted. “This is like a nightmare I haven’t even had yet.”
Heather let go and stood up, folding her arms. She looked as suspicious of Georgie as she did of Seth. “I answered the front door, and he ran past me.”
Seth straightened his cuffs furiously, glaring at Georgie. “I knew you were here.”
“Brilliant deduction,” Georgie said. “My car’s parked outside. What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” He gave up on his cuffs. “Are you kidding me? I mean, are you kidding me? What are you doing here! What are you doing, Georgie?”
Georgie rubbed her face in Neal’s T-shirt and glanced over at the phone—which was sitting next to her old alarm clock, which said noon. “Jesus,” she groaned. “Is it really almost noon?”
“Yes,” Seth said. “Noon. And you’re not at work, and you’re not answering your phone, and you’re still wearing those ridiculous clothes.”
“My battery’s dead.”
“What?”
She pulled the comforter tight around her waist. “I’m not answering my phone, because my battery’s dead.”
“Oh, good,” he said, “that explains why you’re at your mom’s house, having an epic lie-in.”
The doorbell rang. Heather looked at Georgie. “Are you okay?”
Seth threw his hands in the air. “Seriously! Heather! I think you can trust me to be alone with your sister, who has been my best friend longer than you have been alive.”
Heather pointed at him, threatening. “She’s fragile right now!”
The doorbell rang again.
“I’m fine,” Georgie said. “Get the door.”
Heather stomped out into the hall.
Seth ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Okay. Let’s not panic, we’ve still got time—and I’ve got coffee. There are still twelve workable hours left today, right? And then at least that many tomorrow. And maybe five or six on Christmas?”
“Seth . . .”
“What did she mean by ‘fragile’?”
“Look, Seth, I’m sorry. Just let me get dressed.”
“You’ve got your special Metallica T-shirt on,” he said. “Looks like you’re already dressed.”
“Just let me change, then. And brush my teeth and wake up. I’m sorry. I know we need to work on the scripts.”
“Jesus, Georgie”—he sat down hard on the bed, facing her—“do you think I care about the scripts?”
She folded her legs up under the comforter. “Yes.”
Seth’s head fell into his hands. “You’re right. I do. I care a lot about the scripts.” He looked up, despondently. “But finally getting our dream show won’t be that rewarding if you move back in with your mom and start sleeping eighteen hours a day.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He rucked both hands through his hair. “Stop. Saying that. Just . . . tell me what’s going on with you.”
She glanced over at the yellow phone. “I can’t.”
“I already know.”
“You do?” No, he couldn’t.
“I know it’s Neal. I’m not blind.”
“I never thought you were blind,” Georgie said. “Just self-absorbed.”
“You can talk to me about this.”
“I really can’t,” she said.
“The universe won’t unravel, Georgie.”
“Something else might.”
Seth sighed. “Just . . . did he leave you?”
“No.”
“But you guys aren’t talking.”
No, she thought, not since Wednesday. Then—yes, all night long.
“What makes you say that?” she asked.