November 9
Page 4
My father takes a drink and after he sets down his glass, his shoulders drop with a sigh. “Fallon, listen,” he says. “I know you miss acting, but don’t you think it’s time you pursue other options?”
I’m so beyond caring about his motives now, I don’t even point out the pile of bullshit he just threw at me. My entire life, all he did was push me to follow in his footsteps. After the fire, his encouragement came to a complete halt. I’m not an idiot. I know he thinks I don’t have what it takes to be an actress anymore, and part of me knows he’s right. Looks are really important in Hollywood.
Which is precisely why I want to move to New York. If I ever want to act again, theater may be my best hope.
I wish he wasn’t so transparent. My mother was ecstatic when I told her I wanted to move. Since graduation and moving in with Amber, I rarely leave my apartment. Mom was sad to find out I would be moving away from her, but happy to see that I was willing to leave the confines of not only my apartment, but the entire state of California.
I wish my father could see what a huge step this is for me.
“What happened with that narrating job?” he asks.
“I’m still with them. Audiobooks are recorded in studios. Studios exist in New York.”
He rolls his eyes. “Unfortunately.”
“What’s wrong with audiobooks?”
He shoots me a look of disbelief. “Aside from the fact that narrating audiobooks is considered the cesspool of acting? You can do better, Fallon. Hell, go to college or something.”
My heart sinks. Just when I thought he couldn’t be more self-absorbed.
He stops chewing and looks straight at me when he realizes what he implied. He quickly wipes his mouth with his napkin and points at me. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m not saying you’ve reduced yourself to audiobooks. What I’m saying is that you can find a better career to fall back on now that you can’t act anymore. There isn’t enough money in narration. Or Broadway, for that matter.”
He says Broadway like it’s poison in his mouth. “For your information, there are a lot of respectable actors who also narrate audiobooks. And do you need me to name A-list actors on Broadway right now? I have all day.”
He yields with a shake of his head, even though I know he doesn’t really agree with me. He just feels bad for insulting one of the few acting-related professions I’m able to pursue.
He lifts his empty glass of water to his mouth and tilts his head back far enough to salvage a sip from the melting ice. “Water,” he says, shaking his glass in the air until the waiter nods and walks over to refill it.
I stab at my salmon again, which is no longer warm. I hope he finishes his meal soon, because I’m not sure I can stomach much more of this visit. The only sense of relief I feel at this point is from knowing I’ll be on the opposite coast from him come this time tomorrow. Even if I am trading sunshine for snow.
“Don’t make plans for mid-January,” he says, changing the subject. “I’ll need you to fly back to L.A. for a week.”
“Why? What’s happening in January?”
“Your old man is getting hitched.”
I squeeze the back of my neck and look down at my lap. “Kill me now.”
I feel a pang of guilt, because as much as I wish someone would actually kill me right now, I didn’t mean to say those words out loud.
“Fallon, you can’t judge whether or not you’ll like her until you’ve met her.”
“I don’t have to meet her to know I won’t like her,” I say. “She is marrying you, after all.” I try to disguise the truth in my words with a sarcastic smile, but I’m sure he knows I mean every word I say to him.
“In case you’ve forgotten, your mother also chose to marry me, and you seem to like her just fine,” he says in retort.
He has me there.
“Touché. But in my defense, this makes your fifth proposal since I was ten.”
“But only the third wife,” he clarifies.
I finally sink my fork into the salmon and take a bite. “You make me want to swear off men forever,” I say with a mouthful.
He laughs. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve only known you to go on one date, and that was over two years ago.”
I swallow the bite of salmon with a gulp.
Seriously? Where was I when they were assigning decent fathers? Why did I have to get stuck with the obtuse asshole?
I wonder how many times he’s put his foot in his mouth during lunch today. He better watch out or his gums are going to get athlete’s foot. He honestly has no idea what today is. If he did, he would never have said something so careless.
I can see in the sudden furrow of his brow that he’s attempting to construct an apology for what he just said. I’m sure he didn’t mean it in the way I took it, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to retaliate with my own words.
I reach up and tuck my hair behind my left ear, putting my scars on full display as I look him square in the eye. “Well, Dad. I don’t really get the same attention from guys that I used to get. You know, before this happened.” I wave my hand across my face, but I already regret the words that just slipped from my mouth.
Why do I always stoop to his level? I’m better than this.
His eyes fall to my cheek and then quickly drop to the table.
He actually looks remorseful, and I contemplate laying off the bitterness and being a little nicer to him. However, before anything nice can come out of my mouth, the guy in the booth behind my father begins to stand up and my attention span is shot to hell. I try to pull my hair back in front of my face before he turns around, but it’s too late. He’s already staring at me again.
I’m so beyond caring about his motives now, I don’t even point out the pile of bullshit he just threw at me. My entire life, all he did was push me to follow in his footsteps. After the fire, his encouragement came to a complete halt. I’m not an idiot. I know he thinks I don’t have what it takes to be an actress anymore, and part of me knows he’s right. Looks are really important in Hollywood.
Which is precisely why I want to move to New York. If I ever want to act again, theater may be my best hope.
I wish he wasn’t so transparent. My mother was ecstatic when I told her I wanted to move. Since graduation and moving in with Amber, I rarely leave my apartment. Mom was sad to find out I would be moving away from her, but happy to see that I was willing to leave the confines of not only my apartment, but the entire state of California.
I wish my father could see what a huge step this is for me.
“What happened with that narrating job?” he asks.
“I’m still with them. Audiobooks are recorded in studios. Studios exist in New York.”
He rolls his eyes. “Unfortunately.”
“What’s wrong with audiobooks?”
He shoots me a look of disbelief. “Aside from the fact that narrating audiobooks is considered the cesspool of acting? You can do better, Fallon. Hell, go to college or something.”
My heart sinks. Just when I thought he couldn’t be more self-absorbed.
He stops chewing and looks straight at me when he realizes what he implied. He quickly wipes his mouth with his napkin and points at me. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m not saying you’ve reduced yourself to audiobooks. What I’m saying is that you can find a better career to fall back on now that you can’t act anymore. There isn’t enough money in narration. Or Broadway, for that matter.”
He says Broadway like it’s poison in his mouth. “For your information, there are a lot of respectable actors who also narrate audiobooks. And do you need me to name A-list actors on Broadway right now? I have all day.”
He yields with a shake of his head, even though I know he doesn’t really agree with me. He just feels bad for insulting one of the few acting-related professions I’m able to pursue.
He lifts his empty glass of water to his mouth and tilts his head back far enough to salvage a sip from the melting ice. “Water,” he says, shaking his glass in the air until the waiter nods and walks over to refill it.
I stab at my salmon again, which is no longer warm. I hope he finishes his meal soon, because I’m not sure I can stomach much more of this visit. The only sense of relief I feel at this point is from knowing I’ll be on the opposite coast from him come this time tomorrow. Even if I am trading sunshine for snow.
“Don’t make plans for mid-January,” he says, changing the subject. “I’ll need you to fly back to L.A. for a week.”
“Why? What’s happening in January?”
“Your old man is getting hitched.”
I squeeze the back of my neck and look down at my lap. “Kill me now.”
I feel a pang of guilt, because as much as I wish someone would actually kill me right now, I didn’t mean to say those words out loud.
“Fallon, you can’t judge whether or not you’ll like her until you’ve met her.”
“I don’t have to meet her to know I won’t like her,” I say. “She is marrying you, after all.” I try to disguise the truth in my words with a sarcastic smile, but I’m sure he knows I mean every word I say to him.
“In case you’ve forgotten, your mother also chose to marry me, and you seem to like her just fine,” he says in retort.
He has me there.
“Touché. But in my defense, this makes your fifth proposal since I was ten.”
“But only the third wife,” he clarifies.
I finally sink my fork into the salmon and take a bite. “You make me want to swear off men forever,” I say with a mouthful.
He laughs. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve only known you to go on one date, and that was over two years ago.”
I swallow the bite of salmon with a gulp.
Seriously? Where was I when they were assigning decent fathers? Why did I have to get stuck with the obtuse asshole?
I wonder how many times he’s put his foot in his mouth during lunch today. He better watch out or his gums are going to get athlete’s foot. He honestly has no idea what today is. If he did, he would never have said something so careless.
I can see in the sudden furrow of his brow that he’s attempting to construct an apology for what he just said. I’m sure he didn’t mean it in the way I took it, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to retaliate with my own words.
I reach up and tuck my hair behind my left ear, putting my scars on full display as I look him square in the eye. “Well, Dad. I don’t really get the same attention from guys that I used to get. You know, before this happened.” I wave my hand across my face, but I already regret the words that just slipped from my mouth.
Why do I always stoop to his level? I’m better than this.
His eyes fall to my cheek and then quickly drop to the table.
He actually looks remorseful, and I contemplate laying off the bitterness and being a little nicer to him. However, before anything nice can come out of my mouth, the guy in the booth behind my father begins to stand up and my attention span is shot to hell. I try to pull my hair back in front of my face before he turns around, but it’s too late. He’s already staring at me again.
