SirianaSims

Hello, all my lovely readers! I’m sorry for the insanely long hiatus. Since I last published a chapter, I have:

• Gotten divorced
• Moved
• Fallen in love
• Handed in and defended my master’s thesis
• Graduated
• Travelled from Denmark to the US to spend the holidays with the love of my life and meet his family
• Gotten engaged

I can’t promise that updates will be regular, as my fiancé and I navigate immigration paperwork and long-distance for the next several months, but I will try my best.

Words cannot express how grateful I am for those of you who have been checking in, asked for updates, or binged the whole story during my absence. I appreciate you so much!

“So,” Lee says, putting his glass down, “are we calling this your big comeback, or are we simply pretending you never left?”

“I prefer ‘strategic re-emergence.’”

“Ah, but of course. Very dignified. Very mature.”

“Please don’t.”

Lee grins. The coffee table between us is still littered with the remains of dinner, empty plates, two bottles of Romeo red nearly gone.

“I took a peek at the script while you cooked,” Lee says.

“I thought you promised to wait for the premiere.”

“I lied. It’s a character flaw.” He studies me over the frame of his glasses. “It’s a good script, Paul. Pretty intense stuff. The kind of role that’ll show people you’re someone to take seriously.”

“That’s the problem, though. The script is great. So if the movie fails, it’s on me.”

“Paul, listen to me. It won’t fail.”

My eyes drift to the two magazines Lee picked up on his way here. Both covers are me, but I barely recognise myself – older, sharper, lit within an inch of my life. One cover has my name in huge letters, the other is asking if this is the big return.

“I’ve spent almost a decade in a sound booth,” I say. “Just me and a microphone, making silly noises. No one’s had to look at my face for a very long time.”

“But now they will,” Lee says.

“And they’ll expect me not to screw up,” I say, looking away again. “On camera. In my own body. Not just a voice they can animate around.”

I swirl the glass, watching the red liquid trace slow patterns down the sides.

“And even if this movie does go well, I’ll be expected to do it again. And again. And more movies means more auditions.”

I shudder. Lee chuckles softly.

“You know what your problem is? I mean, there are many – oh, so many – but you’ve always been treating auditions like they’re a job interview.”

“That is quite literally what they are, Lee. Do I need to cut you off?”

“Don’t you dare.” He eyes his glass, like he’s afraid I’ll make good on the threat and take it from him.

“But you can’t walk in there like you’re apologising for taking up space. Not any more. You were not rusty. You were hiding.”

I let out an awkward laugh. It sounds forced, even to me.

“Yeah, well, I still maintain that auditions are an advanced form of torture where your dignity goes to die in front of some asshole at a folding table. Not just that, but do you realise how uncanny it is to show up and there’s an entire waiting room of guys who look exactly like you?”

“Paul, they offered you this role because you’re a good actor. All those years of pretending not to be ridiculous taught you well.”

“That’s generous.”

“That’s accurate.”

“And if people can’t take me seriously?” I ask.

Lee shrugs. “You’ll make them. Or you won’t. Either way, you’ve at least stopped hiding in a soundproof booth pretending you don’t exist.”

I refill my glass. It’s nice having him here. It’s nice having anyone here. The house is too clean, too empty, too much like a hotel no one’s staying in.

“Since when do you know so much about auditions anyway, oh wise sage?”

Lee adjusts his glasses with mock gravitas.

“I do happen to be somewhat of a performer myself. You would have known that already if you’d pulled your head out of your ass a bit sooner, my boy.”

“Well, keep the fatherly advice coming, I’ve been in short supply.”

Lee lifts the glass to his lips. “You won’t go to therapy, so someone has to pick up the slack.”

“Thank you, daddy.”

Lee sputters, nearly choking on the wine. “For fuck’s sake, Paul, no. I can’t- I’m way too drunk to handle that. Have mercy.”

This time my laugh is genuine. “You better stop encouraging me then.”

He pushes himself up with a small groan, steadying himself for a second and looking around like he’s forgotten where he is. He hasn’t, of course. He’s been here dozens of times, sometimes for days, sometimes just for a night like this.

“Guest room’s ready,” I say, before he can ask. “Satin sheets. Memory foam. The same lavender pillow spray you mocked me for and then stole last time.”

Lee places a hand over his heart. “Aww, you do love me.”

“You’re the worst guest I’ve ever had.”

“Yet you keep inviting me.”

“Go sleep it off, old man.”

He grins, turning toward the hallway. “You know, in another life, I’d marry you.”

“You’d forget your vows halfway through and start roasting the organist for the utterly pedestrian way he played the wedding march.”

Lee snaps his fingers. “Exactly. See? You know me so well.”

Then he disappears down the hall, humming some half-finished tune as he goes.

I sit in the almost quiet for a while after, listening to the record in the corner spin out its last few notes, the needle catching in soft vinyl static.

My face is warm, my thoughts louder than they should be. Somewhere, the memory of Julia flickers, fast and sharp.

I don’t touch it.

Instead, I empty my glass and start gathering the plates. Lee is going to want breakfast in the morning. Two eggs, over easy. Toast. Probably some orange juice.

There’s comfort in knowing someone will stay the night, even if no one stays for good.