Summer Fling: An Anthology by Vi Keeland

 

 

 

Ten Years Later. Los Angeles.

FINE, I DIDN’T forget about Adam Mackay, but I did move on.

Slowly. Cautiously. Like trying to walk underwater in a swimming pool.

I got accepted to UCLA, and was over the moon to pack a bag and move across the country. It was a great school. Adam was still in New York, and from what I’d heard from Val and my parents, he’d been approached by some off-Broadway productions and was likely going to stay in the Big Apple for a while. A continent between us seemed like a sufficient number of miles.

I never watched the end of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It was something I came to terms with. Almost everything from that night reminded me of Adam. The movie. That flowery couch. I even stopped drinking LaCroix.

UCLA shaped me like I was moving clay, each spin making me a more defined, clearer version of myself. I majored in filmmaking, found out the magic of boys who weren’t Adam Mackay, and more importantly—boys found out the magic of me.

My parents and Val watched from the sidelines as my wings finally burst from my back, too big to be contained. I soared. I was involved in great indie projects and found friends and a community in L.A. I even looked like a proper L.A. girl. Put highlights in my already-blonde hair, worked on my tan weekly, and started taking Pilates. No one was surprised when I decided to stay in sunny California after graduation.

Weeks after I got my undergraduate degree, I started dating Chris.

Chris was the lead guitarist for a legendary, albeit aging, rock star. He was handsome in a non-threatening way. I never had to knee his balls because I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to kiss or kill him. He didn’t confuse or frustrate me. We always understood when the other person had a lot of work and needed space.

A year after graduation, I found a job writing dialogue for a soap opera after months of freelancing. The money was solid, my bosses were far from the Hollywood asshole cliché, and I got my foot in the door. The years slipped away like sand in an hourglass, without my even noticing, and I got promoted from dialogue writer to scriptwriter.

Twenty-six was looking great.

A nice, stable boyfriend.

A good job.

And a horizon sparkling with opportunity.

So, when I got back home early one day from work to find Chris in bed with someone who definitely wasn’t me, I wasn’t majorly surprised. It just seemed like the universe had snapped its fingers together and remembered, “Eh, Nika Popov of New England couldn’t—and shouldn’t—have it all.”

I found Chris with the rock star. I guess it made sense. The rock star—let’s call him Johnny—had been married for a couple decades, and Chris had been his much younger guitarist, whom he’d hired for his world tour weeks after escaping a gay sex tape scandal that had threatened to tear his marriage apart.

The worst part was it was an intimate moment. Not a torrid, erotic romp, like affairs usually were. Chris was on top of Johnny, missionary style, holding the back of his thighs while drowning in his eyes. It looked intense and real, even a little beautiful, in a twisted, screwed-up way, which was why I spared all of us the dramatic face-off, slid out of the bedroom before they noticed me, grabbed my keys, and darted downstairs. I texted Chris from the stairway.

Nika: When you’re done pleasuring your boss, could you please text me a good time to pick up my things? By the way, you’re in charge of dealing with the landlord if you want to break the lease. –N.

I got into my car, which had gotten unbearably hot in the ten seconds I was away, baking under the unforgiving Los Angeles sun, and banged my head against the steering wheel, producing small, frustrated honks that rang through our sleepy Sherman Oak neighborhood.

What do I do now?

Surprisingly, I wasn’t hysterical. I was annoyed at the inconvenience, offended by the betrayal, with a dash of exasperated with myself for not figuring it out sooner. All the times Chris couldn’t talk while he was on tour. The times I’d heard Johnny in the background, popping bottles of wine in his hotel room, late at night.

I could call my parents, but they’d just throw the customary I told you so in my face. They always viewed Los Angeles as plastic, soulless, and thoroughly corrupt. Chris was just a byproduct of the stigma they were so fond of.

I could call Greta, but she was back home in Boston, trying on wedding gowns, getting ready for her looming nuptials to Nathan. I didn’t want to shit on her parade. That left me with Val. Sweet, reliable Val. I dialed my brother’s number before I had the chance to chicken out, putting him on speaker.

“Sis?” he answered after the first ring. “How are you?”

“Val,” I choked. “Chris cheated on me.”

The words tasted like ash. Uttering them made what had happened upstairs real, and suddenly I was not just angry. I was heartbroken, too.

“Jesus Christ, what a fucker.” Val sucked in a breath. He sounded like he was driving, probably back from work. Val was still single, living in the same small town we came from. He’d taken over Dad’s carpeting business and had done well for himself. “You caught him in the act?”

“Yeah,” I heaved, refraining from mentioning with whom. It seemed gossipy and distracting to the real issue here—Chris had cheated. Did it really matter with whom he’d cheated on me? The point was that he had. I let my tears fall, fat and hot and ngry. It was a cleansing kind of cry. A cry where you purge out all the negativity and frustrations. I wasn’t crazy in love with Chris, but I’d felt content with him. Obviously, that was enough. Not for him, though.

“I have nowhere to go. I mean, I could probably check into a Holiday Inn Express for a couple weeks, but…”

But I needed an apartment. Pronto.

It was summer, and L.A. was buzzing with tourists and out-of-towners paying thousands of bucks a week on Airbnb. It would take me weeks to find a place. I had friends, but they were all living with partners or roommates, and it seemed rude to crash on them like that. Plus, I just didn’t have time to start looking for an apartment. I had a bunch of deadlines to hit with the soap opera, The Fast and the Fabulous, not to mention I’d just bought an expensive car, booked a vacation to Cancun for Greta’s bachelorette party, and spent a considerable amount of money on crap I’d thought I could afford.

“Wait, don’t do that,” Val said. “Give me a few minutes, okay? I think I can work something out for you. Shit,” he mumbled, facing some internal battle. “I can’t believe I’m doing what I’m about to do.”

“Huh?” I could barely hear him through my bawling and my phone buzzing. Chris was texting me like mad, but reading his excuses was low on my to-do list.

“Just wait,” Val growled. “I’ll call you in a few. I can hook you up with something. Maybe.” He hung up.

I waited, thumbing down my screen, reading Chris’ text messages.

Chris: Fuck, I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.

Chris: Nika, I swear, I thought I could quit him. I wanted to break up with him from the moment I met you. I really do love you. I will always love you. We can work it out.

Chris: Okay. Fine. Sorry. I’ll take care of everything with the landlord. I’m here if you want to talk.

Chris: Please don’t tell anyone about this, okay? This could ruin Johnny’s career…and mine. He has kids. A wife. A reputation.

That was what he cared about? That I wouldn’t run my mouth to the tabloids? I shook my head as Val’s name popped up on my screen again. I answered.

“Good news,” I heard the tight smile in his voice. “You have a place to crash in the Hollywood Hills. It’ll give you time to figure things out, and it’s completely free. All you have to do is babysit a cat on and off, which I figured wouldn’t be a big deal, since you work from home most days.”

“Oh my God.” I laughed through my tears, wiping them. Relief washed over me. One less problem to worry about. “That’s amazing! Who is it for?”

“Adam. Adam Mackay. Remember him?”

I choked on my own breath. I thought I didn’t remember him, up until the moment Val said his name. But thinking and doing were two completely different things, because as soon as his name fell from Val’s lips, all the memories rushed back, crashing into me.

“Adam Mackay,” I repeated dumbly. “Didn’t you say he lives in New York?” I asked in my most casual tone.

“Yeah. He went to L.A. about six months ago, once his Broadway show was done. He is filming an action movie now, between L.A. and Mexico. His cat is super old. I think you know her. Betsy?”

Sure. I knew Betsy. From all the times I didn’t go to Adam’s house, because Val refused to let Adam and me develop any type of friendship on the grounds that his best friend was a manwhore. In other news—I had no idea who Betsy was. “Anyway, he mentioned something about needing a cat-sitter but not trusting anyone with his apartment, and I thought this would be a great fit. I didn’t want to tell you before he said yes, though. So I called and asked him.”

“And he said yes?” I asked doubtfully. I’d pretty much ghosted Adam to death after the way he’d treated me the last time we were in the same room together.

“Sure did.” “Does he know that it’s me?” I was trying to breathe regularly, a mission I couldn’t quite master.

Adam. Mackay. And. Me. Under the same roof.

It didn’t compute. It sounded crazy, and yet, I knew it was the logical, grownup thing to do.

“Of course,” Val said. “I told him you were in a pickle, coming out of a bad breakup. He said he’d be happy to have you. Why, do you have a better option? I’m sure he won’t mind.”

I didn’t. Unfortunately, Adam was my best shot. I probably wouldn’t have to outstay my welcome, but he was my chance at surviving this breakup without missing some major deadlines.

It had been a decade. I’d had several relationships, one of them a serious one. I was no longer the starry-eyed teenager who’d worshipped Adam like he were some kind of a titan. Except now he truly was a Hollywood god. I just had to put on my big girl panties and pretend he hadn’t broken my heart.

“Nope. No better option,” I heard myself mutter.

“All right. I’ll text you his address now.”

“Coolio.” Did I just say coolio? I was already starting to lose brain cells from simply thinking about living under his roof, before I even saw him again.

“Oh, and Nika?” Val asked before hanging up.

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s farfetched, but if you two screw each other, I’m done with both of you.”

“I thought you were in New York.”

That was the first thing I told Adam Mackay when he opened the door for me, anger and pain lacing my voice.

No hi. No thank you. No how have you been this past decade? Sorry I kicked you in the balls. Did you ever check if you could reproduce?

I said it before I even got a good look at him, and once I did, my knees buckled and I remembered why I’d put an entire continent between us as soon as I was able to.

His face was radiating with a gorgeous, heartbreakingly beautiful smile when he saw me. That smile dropped faster than the NASDAQ during the coronavirus epidemic.

Eighteen-year-old Adam Mackay looked like your next beautiful mistake.

Twenty-eight-year-old Adam Mackay looked like your gorgeous, colossal downfall.

He was taller, wider, and scruffier. He had stubble now and crinkles around his eyes and forehead that seasoned him into a sex symbol. I still looked much like I had at sixteen: small, blonde, blue-eyed. A Russian doll, with a heart-shaped face, small but pouty mouth and average build. Not L.A. skinny, but not heavy, either.

“Nice to see you, too, Nik,” Adam said dryly, catching himself. No hug, no pleasantries, just pushing off his door and walking deeper into his condo. I followed him, rolling the suitcase I’d managed to get from my apartment after my texting session with Chris. The place was everything an expensive Hollywood Hills bachelor’s pad should be: clinically and minimally furnished, white fixtures, expensive pop art everywhere, and futuristic-looking kitchen appliances I was one hundred percent sure he didn’t know how to use.

“Found the place okay?” he asked disinterestedly, not turning back to look at me. Crap, I’d really done it this time. I couldn’t just fake a smile and hug him, could I? My knee-jerk reactions when it came to this man scared me.

“Sure.”

“Good to know. You weren’t always the best at reading the map,” he jabbed.

Ouch. But also: I totally deserved this.

“Guess I have Waze to thank,” I said sweetly. I wasn’t ready for another battle. I felt weak and battered, furious and confused with Chris. Still, the old Adam ache was quick to sneak back into my heart. Adam did the talking for both of us, giving me a reluctant tour around the house while I wheeled my suitcase over his crème limestone floor.

“Here’s your room. There’s an en-suite. Betsy is somewhere around, ruining a piece of Italian furniture with her claws. She likes company, should be fed twice a day—her food is in the pantry, top shelf—and likes her water bowl refreshed frequently. I’ll be in and out of here. If you need anything, call my assistant.”

Adam didn’t only treat me coldly, he handled me like I was a complete stranger. I mean, I did ice him out and refused to hear him, but then he practically half-assaulted me. He might hadn’t known he did, but that didn’t make it any better.

“Okay,” I said on autopilot, dumping my bag in the guest room. It looked plusher than any space I’d ever inhabited. “I will take care of Betsy. Thanks for…” I motioned around with my hand. “Everything. And sorry for being aggressive earlier. It was uncalled for.”

He jerked his chin in my direction, but said nothing. That’s when I realized Adam taking me in had nothing to do with his fondness toward me. All of it was gone. This favor was all about doing Val a solid. Being unwanted here was a depressing thought.

“Truly.” I took a step toward him, smiling weakly. “Thank you.”

“Bad breakup?” He scoffed.

“Oh, the worst.” I chuckled bitterly. “Seriously, think of the worst possible scenario, then continue going. That’s how bad it was.”

“At least now I know that you can feel.” He smiled bitterly, clutching the fabric of his black shirt.

“Adam…” I winced. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. Maybe that I’d felt all along. That that was why I’d pushed him away when I’d just had too much.

Adam beat me to it.

“Just get out as soon as you can, Nika. You are, and always will be, someone I will take care of. But just because I do care doesn’t mean that I should, and it definitely doesn’t mean that you should take advantage of it. Do we understand each other?”

“Crystal clear.” I swallowed, watching his back as he walked away. I finally understood what it felt like for him all those years ago.

Seeing me running away.

I hadn’t realized he felt anything toward me. That this was mutual. That this could have been something.

The temperature dropped, and all I could think about was how nothing had changed. The air was still soaked with electricity when we were together. My fingertips still tingled. I still couldn’t look away from him.

I was still in love with Adam Mackay.

I’d just put my love on pause.