“What kind of crap is that?” she asks. “I plan to watch out for it every step of the way. Even when it looks like an alien.”
I decide it’s best not to argue with her.
Thankfully, no more paparazzi attempt to tail us as we make our way to the studio. We pull into an underground garage without fanfare and take an elevator upstairs to the recording stage. A production assistant greets us with bottles of water before leading us to a small lounge to wait. Settling in on one of the plush chairs, I ask if Grayson has arrived yet; she’s not sure. I ask when she thinks we’ll start filming the interview; she has no idea. I ask if we can expect a debrief with Reggie, the show host, before we start recording; she can’t say definitively.
Essentially, she is utterly useless as a PA.
“I’ll come get you a few minutes before we start. It shouldn’t be too long,” she informs us blithely, drifting out the door with a dreamy look.
“Who didshebang to get this job?” My best friend snorts.
“Harper!”
“What? I’m genuinely curious. There’s no way she landed this gig on merit.”
“Go find your seat,” I implore her. “Please.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “But if there’s a makeup person backstage, don’t let them cover you with setting powder. It makes you look like you sneezed in the warehouse of a cocaine cartel.”
Masters winks at me as they disappear out the door to find their seats.
Alone at last, with no one around to mock me for my sentimentality, I pull out the ultrasound picture and stare at the black and white image. A strange sensation creeps over me as I trace the tiny shape with the tip of my finger. There’s no single word to describe what I’m feeling.
Fearjoyguilthappinessanxietyterrorhoperegretlove.
I slide it back into my purse and grab my phone, scrolling to Wyatt’s name and sending a quick text message.
Kat: I miss you.
He responds almost instantly.
Wyatt: I miss you more, guaranteed. These meetings are a slow death.
Kat: Sorry. I’ll revive you tonight. How does Thai takeout sound?
Wyatt: Perfect.
Kat: And then maybe we can take a long hot soak in my giant bathtub…
Wyatt: You’re killing me.
Kat: Don’t die yet. I need you to fuck me first. Preferably in the tub.
Wyatt: Baby…
Kat: I like when you call me baby. I like when you do all sorts of things to me.
Wyatt: Fuck, Katharine.
Kat: …That can be arranged.
Wyatt: That’s it. I’m cancelling my last meeting.
Kat: Good. We can have a meeting of our own. My mouth. Your cock.
Wyatt: I’m hard as a rock.
Kat: That was my intention.