“And so she got what she wanted, and then moved on,” he said.
“I guess so,” she said.
Will nodded slowly. “Meg…” he said.
“What?” Whitney said. She swallowed hard.
She stared at him across the ocean of blond hardwood. He saw the reaction in her face. Of course it confirmed everything.
“Meg Herrera,” he said.
“Right…” Whitney said.
“Her production company’s involved,” Will said. “So she has lots of ideas, lots to share with you guys all the time, right? And so even if it didn’t mean so much to her, she’s helping shape the show, and so has to be in touch a lot afterward. She has to send lots of emails and you have to send lots of emails back—to Meg, I mean.”
Her vision actually whited out. She hadn’t fainted, because she could feel her feet on the ground, and her legs beneath her hips, and the cold clam of her palms. But her sight was all powder.
“I went to check on the status of our flight and accidentally opened your laptop instead of mine, and your email was up,” he said. “There were a handful of unread emails at the top.”
“And so you went ahead and read them.” She had said it or she hadn’t. She couldn’t distinguish between what was happening inside and outside her skull.
“There was a little 73 next to her name. And just a few words in the preview of the email.”
Whitney had collapsed into a pretzel on the floor. It had made an enormous noise. Her head had fallen against her chest, and her legs were bent out to the sides like they might be broken.
“I don’t think you’d seen the latest one yet, but its first few words probably won’t come as a surprise.”
“Will.”
“Care to know what it said?”
She lifted her head and looked up at him.
“Hmm?” he said.
“No.”
“Okay, cool. Let me know if you’re curious. Sounds like you won’t be totally surprised by the sentiment, either way.”
Whitney felt the hot tears on her face.
“The previewed part wasn’t actually that bad,” Will said. “All it said was: Three weeks?? You’re going to make me wait three… That could mean anything, right? That could be feedback on a script, an answer from your boss—any number of plenty reasonable things, really.”
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
“But I didn’t answer you a minute ago, did I?” Will said. “I probably did click through, huh?”
“Will.”
“I didn’t read all of them. Given that there were 72 emails before this one. But I can confirm: the latest doesn’t deviate much from the previous…from what she’s been sending, or from those responses of yours at four a.m., five-thirty a.m. No wonder you’re so tired all the time, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t ask for this to become a thing,” she said. “I didn’t know it would turn into this.”
“Of course you did,” he said. “You absolutely did. This whole fucking thing was literally your idea.”
“I mean, I didn’t ask for this situation with this woman.”
“With Meg. You can say her name. We’re finally getting to a place of legitimate transparency. At least I think we are.”
“After it happened, she sent me an email. I didn’t know what to say.”
“You didn’t need to respond.”
“I work with her on this thing. There might be things in the future. She’s a big deal. I didn’t want to slam any doors shut.”
“People don’t respond to emails all the time.”
“I didn’t want to be rude.”
“God love you,” Will said. “I’m so glad you didn’t hurt Meg’s feelings. We both appreciate that, me and her. But obviously her a little more than me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”
“So, what, then?” he said.
“So, it ends,” she said. “I don’t talk to her again.”
“Is that so easy? Wouldn’t it be more rude now to just cut it off? After 73 emails? After all, she seems fairly eager to have her tongue on your clit again ASAP.”
“Hey…”
“Oh, please. Her fucking words, not mine. I love how quickly you turn into a scandalized little prude when it suits you.”
“I was just trying to…I don’t know, Will. I don’t know about anything anymore.”
“Here I was suspecting Jack,” he said. “Poor sweet simple Jack. When you dozed off before he got here, there was this slew of texts for you from a number I didn’t recognize. Figured it was him. Figured something was going on between you two. I almost feel bad about what I said to him. Good Jack. Honest Jack. Unless it was him, after all…”
She was still on the floor. “I haven’t checked my phone since I plugged it in.”
“It doesn’t matter. It couldn’t be more explicit than what she wrote you in those emails.”
“I didn’t ask for it. I don’t care about any of that.”
“But Whitney, you do. Do you not realize that your responses are in there, too? That this isn’t, like, a one-sided shoebox of letters?”
“I was just…I was just playing along. I had sex with a woman. That’s it. So what?”
“That’s right,” he said. “So, what? What now? What the fuck are we supposed to do?”
She stared at him.
“What does this mean?” he said. “What are you actually saying?”
Her eyes were closed, but she picked at her cuticle, picked it to the point of blood.
“Hey!” he said. “What am I supposed to do with this, Whit?”
Will moved to the kitchen and poured himself a fresh glass of whiskey. He halved it in two long gulps as he walked back to the couch. She was staring aimlessly across the street at the roofs of the other buildings, to the drying lines. The sun was brighter still through the windows. When he got back, her face was wet and streaked with salt and bright like a sidewalk after a spontaneous shower.
“So is this it, then?” he said, so plain it made her choke. “Is that all there is for us?”
Her face spoke for her, the horror in her mouth and eyes. “Of course not…what are you talking about?”
He’d done it purposefully, hadn’t he? He’d done it to hurt her
