After several seconds, he clears his throat, looks at me, and says, “I think we should talk about last night.”
“Okay,” I say, a nervous knot in my stomach.
“Do you remember everything?”
I nod. “I wasn’t that drunk. Were you?”
“I wasn’t drunk at all,” he says, staring into my eyes. He clears his throat, then says, “How much of that was alcohol driven?”
Flustered by the question, I stammer that I’m not sure. “I probably wouldn’t have gotten in the shower with you sober, if that’s what you mean. But I don’t regret it.”
“Are you sure you don’t?”
I take a deep breath. “No. I don’t deal in regret. It’s a waste of time.
“What about you? Do you regret it?” I hold my breath, knowing that I’ll be crushed if his answer is yes.
He shakes his head. “No.”
I feel a rush of relief.
“That’s not to say we should ever do it again,” he quickly adds.
My heart sinks but I quickly nod and say, “Totally agree. We should just forget it happened and move on.”
He bites his lip, staring at me. “I should also point out that if the gender roles were reversed—”
I give him a quizzical look.
“I could never just get into the shower with a woman. Uninvited.”
“Oh,” I say, suddenly getting his point—and the inherent double standard I live by.
“That said…” He pauses, then gives me a small smile. “It was very hot.”
I smile back at him, my cheeks on fire.
“You looked incredible.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling light-headed.
“You’re welcome.”
I hold his gaze for as long as I can stand it, then look away before he does.
—
For a couple of hours, Tyson and I immerse ourselves in The Pigeon Girl. We read the entire screenplay, start to finish, then run through a few scenes, discussing my character’s arc and motivation as well as various themes in the film.
At one point, Tyson asks me what I think about the Pigeon Girl’s ultimate epiphany that being alone doesn’t mean she’s lonely.
“That resonates with me,” I say. “Most people assume that the key to happiness is through marriage and children. And so many seem to wind up miserable.”
He gives me a noncommittal nod. “I hear you. I don’t think there’s anything lonelier than being in a bad relationship—or even the wrong one.”
I nod and say I agree.
Tyson gives me a playful look. “Um. Don’t you have to be in a relationship to know if you’re in the wrong one?”
“Shut up.” I smile. “Although you know what’s weird?”
“What’s that?”
“Sometimes I can’t tell whether I’m always lonely or never lonely.”
He nods like he can relate, looking as unguarded as I’m starting to feel. A hundred questions run through my mind—things I want to know about Tyson. I wish I had paid more attention to his love life over the years.
“What was the name of the girl you dated in law school?” I ask, trying to remember.
“Kendra,” he says. “Why?”
I shrug and say, “No reason…She was gorgeous.”
“Yeah,” he says. “She was cool, too.”
“Why’d you break up?”
“I wasn’t ready for a relationship. It was…too soon.”
