Off Script Page 3

  Chris and Marisol snickered as Tony leaned back in his chair and nearly tipped it over. This wasn’t the first time he’d voiced his disinterest in finding a partner. Tony had never been one for romantic relationships. Family, friends, and his job had always kept him plenty busy.

  A quick glance at her watch made Marisol grimace. “Ugh, we’ve only got thirty minutes until Mom comes home. Come on, World’s Best Tio, let’s get these lanterns into the guest room. Chris, can you clear off the table? Just throw everything into the bags, we can sort through it later.”

  Chris nodded as she absentmindedly began to sweep bits of flowers and ribbon into plastic bags. The marriage talk had her a little off kilter. She shook her head as she rewound the lace onto its spool. Anna would be back from filming in another three months. There wasn’t anything to be done until then.

  Chapter 3

  “My nose itches and it’s driving me up a tree.” Anna’s scowl filled Chris’ phone screen. She sat on a director’s chair in what looked like a dressing room, wrapped in a fluffy periwinkle robe with her hair styled into waves that Chris could guess were nowhere near as effortless as they looked.

  Chris speared a marinara-covered tortellini with her fork and popped it into her mouth. “Then scratch it,” she said between bites.

  “I can’t!” Anna exclaimed. “I’m all made up for this interview. I don’t want to smear anything. It’s that airbrush stuff, but still. Honestly, it’s been a month of constant hair and makeup, you think I’d be used to it by now.”

  “Don’t you do hair and makeup for every project?” Chris asked.

  “Yeah,” Anna replied, “but this is way more intense. Everything’s more intense. The schedule, the diet, the interviews, the paparazzi.”

  Chris wrinkled her nose in sympathy. She’d been keeping an eye on the stream of articles and news clips. It was surreal, seeing pictures of Anna doing nothing of particular interest being billed as hot news.

  “How’s this interview going to be? You nervous?”

  “Nah.” Anna shook her head, careful not to make any sudden movements that would jostle her hair. “This’ll just be a standard puff piece. It’s live, so they can’t get too wild. Probably the same rah-rah questions about being a woman in an action movie, how I feel about empowering other trans actors, that sort of thing. It’s nice that people care, but it’s a little frustrating, always having to be an ambassador for the marginalized community, you know?”

  “Sorry, babe.” Chris waved a tortellini at her phone. “Wish you were here eating lunch with me instead.”

  “Me too,” Anna sighed. “I haven’t eaten pasta in a month! Sure, I’m ripped, but at what cost?”

  Chris giggled at Anna’s dramatic tone. “Poor thing. You can always quit if you want. Come back home, we can move into the basement apartment with Tony and eat carbs all day.”

  “Don’t act like that’s not extremely tempting.”

  “It’s not,” Chris said. “You’re loving this.”

  One corner of Anna’s mouth turned upwards. “Yeah, I kinda am. Even if it sucks sometimes.”

  “That’s just life, babe.”

  “Truth.” Anna frowned as she looked at something off-screen. “I’ve only got a few more minutes, but how’re you feeling? You’ve got therapy today, right?”

  “Yeah, in a couple hours.”

  “Meds still doing their thing?”

  “So far,” Chris said, “but you know what the doctor said. I’ve got to take things one day at a time.”

  “That’s the only way to do it.” Anna jumped in her chair as someone banged on her dressing room door. “Shit, I’ve gotta go. I love you baby, and I’m so proud of you!”

  “Love you, too. I’ll be watching the interview, you’ll kill it.”

  They exchanged pinky kisses, then hung up. Chris polished off the last of her tortellini. By the time she’d finished cleaning up her lunch dishes, it was time for Anna’s interview to go live. Chris grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and settled on the couch with her laptop to watch.

  Anna’s prediction came to fruition as the interviewer—a young blonde exuding significantly more energy than required for the task at hand—asked the same questions that Chris had already heard Anna answer multiple times over the past few months.

  Is it strange to go from indie sets to blockbuster sets? How does it feel to be working alongside such a big name star? If the movie does well, do you think it will it inspire more support for trans actors? What’s your favorite diet cheat?

  The answers weren’t unique, but Chris enjoyed watching Anna answer each one with as much care and charm as though it were the first time she’d heard it. She’d changed out of her robe and into a jade romper that complemented her hair beautifully, and her tone was playful as she slipped a behind-the-scenes tidbit or two into their conversation. The interviewer seemed quite taken with Anna, which Chris understood. Everyone always loved Anna.

  “Wow, Anna! It’s been lovely talking to you!” The interviewer managed to keep her full set of teeth on display in a wide smile even as she talked. “I really appreciate you taking the time out of your super-busy schedule!”

  “It was my pleasure,” Anna replied with a smile towards the audience. “Not a bad way to spend my downtime.”

  “Well, I’m sure you have preferred ways to spend your downtime,” the interviewer giggled. “Like talking with your girlfriend. Is it hard being apart from her for so long?”

  Anna’s smile didn’t falter, but Chris noticed the corners of her eyes tighten. They hadn’t kept their relationship a secret, but they hadn’t publicized it either. So far, there hadn’t been much prying into Chris’ personal life, and she had hoped to keep it that way for as long as possible.

  “It’s hard,” Anna answered, “but we make it work. She’s very supportive.”

  “Mutually supportive, right?” The interviewer leaned forward in her chair. “She’s got a busy job of her own? In Silicon Valley? Or has she left her job?”

  Gatorade dribbled down Chris’ chin as she tried not to choke.

  “Yes, it’s absolutely a mutually supportive relationship.” Anna replied. Her voice was smooth, but Chris sensed the sharp edge. “I love her very much, and I can’t wait to see her again once filming wraps.”

  The interviewer clearly picked up on the note of finality in Anna’s tone. She whipped up a hasty goodbye and a handshake. Chris’ stomach knotted as she watched Anna make their pinky kiss gesture. She closed the laptop and sat there, numb, as she tried to steady her breathing.

  There was only so long that her luck at flying under the radar could last, it seemed.

  Chris’ photo was still up on her company’s website. Officially, she hadn’t quit; she was taking a sabbatical. Between her sister’s wedding and her partner’s career, no one had questioned it that much at first. She was still a junior member of the team, after all, and younger people came and went in the tech world.

  Only a few people at her job were aware of Chris’ mental health struggles, and Chris knew they could be counted on for discretion. She’d been well loved at her job, admired as having a keen eye for picking out investment opportunities that exceeded expectations. Chris liked to think that rather than her eye, it was her keen nose that sniffed out bullshit and wasn’t as easily swayed by conventions and assumptions as her colleagues.

  But as the months went on and she didn’t return, the rumor mill was bound to start churning. Once Marisol’s wedding was over and Anna’s movie was finished shooting, Chris was certain that the scrutiny would pick up even more, unless she officially quit.

  And if she officially quit, then what would she do? She’d never worked anywhere else.

  By the time Marisol came downstairs ten minutes later, Chris had pulled herself together and mopped up the Gatorade spills. Marisol eyed her with suspicion; Chris supposed that her tension was evident. There was no hiding of emotions in their family.

  There was, however, respect for bo
undaries, and when Chris ignored Marisol’s raised eyebrow, Marisol didn’t push. She merely held up her car keys and asked, “Do you need a ride to therapy?”

  Chris nodded. Neither she nor Anna had driven regularly since they moved to northern California nine years ago for undergrad and reliable public transport at UC Berkeley. In the months that they’d moved back to New Jersey, Anna had decided to pass on picking up her driving skills again. Chris drove occasionally, but she preferred to be a passenger, and there was usually a family member around to take her where she needed to go.

  It helped that her therapist’s office was next to a coffee shop where Marisol liked to work on her remote days. Marisol would drop Chris off and get settled in the coffee shop with her laptop. Once Chris was done, she’d pop over and enjoy a dulce de leche latte and read books on her phone for another hour or so while Marisol worked. It was a nice little routine to look forward to, especially on days when the thought of spending yet another hour talking about her feelings was unappealing.

  While they pulled on their shoes and got ready to leave, the back kitchen door opened. “Knock knock!” trilled the familiar voice of Aunt Bianca, their father’s oldest sister. Aunt Bianca was one of Chris’ favorite relatives, and one of Maria’s as well. Bianca had never once made a faux-concerned comment or a backhanded compliment about anything related to Anna and Chris’ life choices, which was a rarity in such a large family. Overall, Chris’ family was superficially supportive—they were used to Nick and Maria’s brood following the beat of their own drums by now—but her father’s side tended towards the judgier end of things.

  She set a brown shopping back on the counter and gave each sister a kiss on the cheek. “Is your ma home?”

  “No,” Marisol said, “she and Pop went out for a lunch date.” Maria and Nick often did lunch dates rather than dinner, since Nick worked nights.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Bianca cooed as she rummaged through the shopping bag. “I just wanted to drop a few things off for her. I got the almond cookies she likes. The good kind from the Italian market in Philly, with the chocolate drizzle.”

  “I like that kind, too,” Chris chimed in.

  “Well, there’s plenty for you, too.” Bianca glanced at the keys in Marisol’s hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you two headed out? That’s right, Christina has her doctor’s appointments on Wednesdays.”

  Chris looked up from her Timberland laces. “What?” she asked in a sharp voice.

  “Oh…” Bianca pressed her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry, sweetie, was I not supposed to say anything? We’ve seen you going into the office a few times. It’s not a big deal, I know plenty of young people these days see a therapist.”

  Chris’ teeth clenched. She knew Bianca was trying to be kind, but she didn’t appreciate the flippant tone. This was a very personal piece of her health, and apparently everyone knew about it like it was a hobby she’d picked up to pass the time.

  It made her feel ridiculous; other people might see a therapist, but did they stay in bed for days on end, eschewing meals and personal hygiene? Did they hold their breath until their lungs burned in fear that if they exhaled the wrong way, the next big earthquake would hit and take out northern California? Did they spend an hour in the shower, shivering while the water turned to ice and their skin pruned as they berated themselves for a cruel remark they’d made their junior year of high school?

  And if they did all that, why were they able to pick themselves up and go about their lives, while Chris had remained stagnant?

  “It’s fine, Aunt B.” Marisol’s voice, low and soothing, crept in and thawed the frost in Chris’ veins. “We’ve gotta head out, but Ma’ll be home any minute. Why don’t you put on some tea? She likes the manzanilla with the almond cookies.”

  Chris didn’t bother listening to the rest of their conversation. She left one boot untied and ran out to Marisol’s Jetta, throwing herself into the passenger’s seat and slamming the door shut.

  Marisol came out a few minutes later. She slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. It idled for a few minutes, and Marisol kept her hands gripped on the steering wheel. She took a deep breath, then turned to look at Chris. “She means well, you know that.”

  “No,” Chris choked out. “I don’t actually know that. Not today, at least. Sometimes it feels like people don’t want me to get better, they just want me to stop being difficult.”

  Marisol’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “That’s not true.”

  “I know it’s not!” Chris shot back. “I know it’s not true, but that doesn’t mean it can’t ever feel that way!” She let out a huff and threw her head back against the seat. “Why’s our family so damn nosey? It sucks sometimes.”

  “It does.” Marisol reached out and rested a hand on Chris’ knee. She gave it a squeeze as she blinked back her tears, then put the Jetta into drive without another word and pulled out of the driveway.

  Chapter 4

  Looking up from her phone, Chris eyed her mother warily. Maria hummed to herself as she flipped through an issue of Food Network magazine. They were seated in the living room. Maria was perched on the edge of a beige leather armchair, one which she frequently complained was the least comfortable seat in the house. Her eyes kept darting up towards the kitchen, even though there hadn’t been anyone in that room all morning.

  Chris shrugged to herself and leaned back against the mountain of pillows that she’d nestled into at the end of the couch. The heatwave hadn’t broken yet, but Nick had persuaded Maria to turn down the thermostat, so the house temperature was more bearable these days. She attempted to refocus her attention on the book she had open on her phone’s reading app, but quickly found her mind wandering. She just wasn’t in the headspace to get lost in someone else’s story.

  The past few weeks had been fine, all things considered. There had been some good conversations with her therapist, and Aunt Bianca had dropped off a tray of apologetic eggplant rollatini. With Anna’s filming schedule kicking off, she and Chris hadn’t been able to Skype for very long periods of time, but they texted constantly, sending photos and memes and jokes back and forth.

  “Yo! Who’s ready for tamales!” Tony’s voice boomed as the back kitchen door slammed against the wall. Marisol’s laughter trailed in behind him.

  Maria jumped and dropped her magazine to the floor. For someone who’d been watching the kitchen so expectantly for the last hour, she seemed shocked that someone had actually entered. “Where’d you get tamales from?” she called as she got to her feet and tossed the magazine onto the coffee table.

  “Maybe I teleported out to Los Angeles and stopped by your favorite taqueria,” Tony answered. “Or maybe I stopped by Tio’s house on my way home.”

  “Hilarious,” said Maria with a roll of her eyes. She turned to Chris and waved a hand towards the kitchen. “Let’s go, you’ve been rooted to that couch for hours. Come stretch your legs and have a snack.”

  Chris didn’t argue. She stood up, reached her arms up over her head for a stretch, then followed her mother into the kitchen.

  Two massive foil pans sat on the kitchen counter, labeled with an “R” and a “G,” which stood for “red” and “green.” Maria’s family generally only ate tamales filled two ways; pork in a red tomato sauce, and chile cheese in a verde sauce. There were several paper grocery bags on the counter as well, which Chris could assume held the bean and potato stew that was a staple of any Tio Aaron food delivery, hopefully some homemade tortillas, and no doubt one or two experimental dishes as well.

  Chris watched as Marisol started pulling out container after container from the bags. Tony was at the fridge, gathering hot sauces and salsas into his arms, and Maria was pulling plates and glasses from the cabinets. “What’s going on?” Chris inquired.

  No one answered. Tony managed to make it all the way to the kitchen table without dropping any of the condiments. “Where’s Pop?” he asked as he arranged the containers in an artful dis
play.

  “He’s running errands,” Maria answered. Tony, Marisol, and Chris exchanged fond smiles. “Running errands” was a catch-all for Nick that covered everything from picking up milk, to wandering around the hardware store, to stopping by the diner for a coffee and a chat with whomever else was sitting at the counter.

  Car wheels ground against the driveway gravel. Marisol, Tony, and Maria all swiveled their heads towards the kitchen door. Chris inched closer to the tortillas as she watched her siblings and mom with amusement. Their eyes were fixed on the door as though they expected a divine being to walk through.

  And then Anna did just that.

  The tortillas were forgotten as Chris flung herself towards Anna, shoes and shopping bags kicked out of the way as she barreled into her girlfriend’s open arms. Anna laughed and kissed her, again and again as they clung to each other with tears sparkling in the corners of their eyes.

  “Why are you here?” Chris mumbled into the crook of Anna’s neck.

  Anna’s chest rumbled with laughter under Chris’ lips. “Great to see you, too, babe.”

  Chris pulled her face back so that Anna could see her scowl. Anna kissed the tip of her nose with a smirk. She looked tired, with large bags under her eyes and her hair in a wild nest on the top of her head, but her smile brightened her face into something beautiful.

  “A couple of the producers were coming back to New York for a few days,” Anna explained, “and Aisha and the kids flew out to the set to visit James, so we got a few days’ break. I hitched a ride on the private jet. Couldn’t let that spare seat go to waste.”

  “Of course not,” Chris said with a solemn nod. She turned to her father. “Pop, you picked her up?”

  “I was out and about anyway,” Nick chuckled, “no trouble at all, giving one of my kids a lift home.”

  “Good to have you back, baby sis.” Tony reached out a fist, which Anna bumped with her free hand. Her other hand rested firmly on Chris’ waist. Chris buried her face into Anna’s hair as they shuffled awkwardly towards the table without letting go of each other. They managed to get settled into two seats while Tony and Marisol dished up plates for them.