Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

have the words for. I waited to see what she had to say for herself, not sure what I was expecting. A tiny alien to crawl out of her ear, maybe?

Surprise. Aliens took over my brain. What did I say?

But she only hardened her features and looked into her lap. I turned from her in favour of grunion hunting, taking Harriet with me.

27

Badly Done

Emma

I liked to think I had developed thick skin working in show business. One must endure rejection and ridicule from peers and the media. It seems the more famous you are, the more the sharks come out with rows and rows of teeth.

I could handle all that. Sharks were like little fishies in a bowl… unable to touch me. But Jaxson. When I fell out of Jaxson’s favour, I wanted to throw up. The look he gave me. So filled with disdain. I’d never seen him look at me like that. It made me feel incredibly sad. Then he took off with Harriet.

I wanted to sink down into the sand and hide myself away forever. I cleaned up the stuff I’d brought and decided to sneak away before they returned. I didn’t want Jaxson to see me leave. I didn’t want to ruin his birthday. But he found me.

“What happened to you, Emma?” he said. “I hardly recognize you anymore.”

I’m right here, I wanted to say. I’m just me. But I didn’t open my mouth. The way he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, I could tell he didn’t believe I was listening. But I heard every word that fell from his lips. They were bombs to my heart, each one, and they exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. How could I respond to that when I could hardly breathe? The last thing he said to me, the thing that stood out above every other word of admonishment was, “Badly done, Emma.”

Badly done.

And the thing that hurt the most about that wasn’t because I messed up. It was because I disappointed him. Somehow, that was what made my world implode. I could endure almost anything, but if Jax disliked me, I’d rather change my identity and flee to another country. I couldn’t handle it.

Days passed. He didn’t call. He didn’t text. His presence was everywhere in my house. Everywhere I looked, there was evidence of Jax, whether it be the silver elephant paperweight he gave me one day to help me organize better, or the sunglasses he accidentally left behind. I may or may not have confiscated those for my own personal use. I couldn’t even binge eat junk food without the reminder of how Jaxson raided my pantry like he owned it.

I lost sleep thinking about that night. How the whole party was cursed from the beginning. The weird vibe Elton’s new girlfriend gave the rest of the group. How she latched on to Jennifer with all sorts of crappy advice. And then how Jennifer reacted to Frank’s poem. I kind of felt sorry for her after that. Which made me feel like a jerk for not getting to know her. It was a lot to process, and I was determined to be better. Maybe Jennifer needed more gal pals. Just like I did. Maybe she needed a good friend to turn to, a friend who’d help her walk away from the potentially harmful relationship with that Dixon guy. Maybe I could help her find a new guy!

No.

Single pringles never to mingle. I could imagine meeting Jennifer for sushi and mani-pedis. Just us gals, doing gal things. We could invite Harriet and Beth. Then we’d all do films together—feel-good chick flicks in the tradition of Steel Magnolias or Waiting to Exhale. We’d be hugging and laughing on the movie poster, and our smiling faces would be superimposed over an image of the four of us running along the beach. In my dream, we’d be nominated for the same Academy Award but instead of feeling the competition, we’d all be winners. We’d make history with a four-way tie. Yeah, my future life would be brilliant. It would probably help if I rang Jennifer first, though. It would also help if she answered her phone.

My voicemail messages:

1. Hey Jennifer, it’s Emma. Give me a ring when you have a moment.

2. Hi, it’s me again. I think we should talk. Call me, kay?

When that didn’t reach her, I sent a text:

Emma: I’ve been thinking we should make a chick flick together. Something equal parts funny and sad. Like a modern Little Women. But not quite as sad.

When she still didn’t respond, I left another voicemail:

What do you think of Sisters from Different Misters for a title? For our movie, that is. Too sassy? Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.

Still no response. I didn’t blame her—it was a daft title. Coming up with ideas was harder than it looked. I’d never underestimate a screenwriter again.

After some hours of self-depreciation, I decided to ring my real sister Bella. We had this strange unspoken understanding. She hated to talk on the phone, and when I heard her offspring squealing in the background, I remembered why we never rang each other. Her idea of keeping in touch was a monthly group chat with the whole family. The whole family—cousins, weird uncles—everybody. Naturally, when I rang Bella, she freaked out upon answering.

“What’s wrong?” That was it. No greeting, no pleasantries. Just like Mum.

“Can a girl call her sister to see how she’s doing?” I said with a lilt in my voice.

She sighed, really sighed hard as though answering the telephone was the most inconvenient thing in the world. “It’s almost midnight, Emma.”

Oh, right. I forgot to check the time. “Sorry. Wait. Why aren’t your children in bed?”

“Because they’re mini terrorists.”

On that score, I thought it best to remain silent and so I said, “How are my favourite nephews and nieces?”

“Didn’t you get my last Facebook blast?”

“I deleted the messenger app,” I replied. No remorse there. My messenger