Page 84 of This Changes Everything

I took in a quick breath and shook my head. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything.” He put my hat back on his head, facing forward. “I’m keeping this.”

My stomach dropped. “Well, I’m keeping this.” I touched the brim of his black hat and tipped it slightly downward.

“I hoped you would.” His sad smile dipped.

Rory finally tore his eyes away from me and looked out at the field littered with golf balls and flags. He pressed his hands into his pants and stood up, then pulled one of the clubs from the bag he had just gifted me and said, “You’re up.”

Rory and I closed the place down. It was 2 a.m. We had moved to the same couch in our private bay. The entire venue was empty except for the cleaning crew and a couple of other employees and managers, who told us not to worry or rush. They promised they would kick us out when they themselves were ready to go.

Throughout the many hours that we’d been there, we’d played friendly competitions with Tessa, a few other employees, and the two parties in the bays next to us. Closest to the flag, long drive, games like that. They all loved it, and I could tell Rory was having fun, too. You would never have known he was a sports celebrity. They were strangers, but he was their pal, buying drinks, sharing food, telling inside jokes that developed over the course of the night. It reminded me of how popular Rory was at his prom. Everyone loved him. He was kind, funny, thoughtful, fun, and easy to love.

Rory had his arm draped over the back of the couch. It wasn’t around me, per se, but it was certainly behind me. I had my legs curled into my stomach and was turned toward him, with my head in my hand. My elbow was dangerously close to touching his outstretched arm.

“Do you think you’ll stay at your job?”

“Ugh.” I hung my head. “I really don’t know. My boss, Ken Caplin, is an icon, and he’s kind and respects me. He’s like a mentor, which I never thought I’d have. And the kind of shows he’s making are exactly the kind of shows I want to make.” I sighed. “But I take all the meetings, manage budgets, help with contracts, coordinate logistics with production managers, work closely with editors, writers, and the studio, and put out all the fires. Truly, the list goes on and on. I can’t turn my phone off, ever, because I’m always on call. I’m essentially a producer, but I don’t have the title or make the money. So I think part of me is biding time until I meet someone who’ll recognize what I do and poach me. Or I’m waiting for Ken to give me a promotion, which I don’t think is coming. He’s happy with how things are. It’s hard, because Ken is . . . different from a lot of other people I’ve worked for.” I swallowed, not wanting to dig any further into that powder keg. “But I feel like I don’t quite know how to crack him. I don’t know if he’s testing me or what.”

Rory put his feet on the coffee table, which was still littered with empty glasses and plates of half-eaten food. “How quickly did you stop acting after moving to LA?”

“I figured out before I moved that I wanted to go into development. I was writing a lot. I guess that’s the truth of it,” I admitted. “I want to write. I want to be a writer. Everything else is just happening along the way.”

Rory’s eyes softened as he took in my words. “Yeah, Blair told me you wrote a play when you were still in New York. Have you been writing this whole time?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s always been there. I don’t think you know this—I don’t think anyone knows this—but my mom tried to get something of mine published when I was around twelve. But that was just unrealistic-overly-enthusiastic-mom behavior. The diaries have always been a thing, and I’ve twisted and fictionalized them, turning them into stories and scripts. I would miss auditions because I didn’t want to stop writing.” I smirked. “I guess I like the feeling of being somewhere else.”

Rory let a small smile slip through his lips.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. Déjà vu.” He pressed his finger into my knee. “So, you’ve written stuff based on your diaries?”

I laughed. “I mean, it’s not literal, it’s not based on, but it’s inspired by, I guess. Oh god . . .” I closed my eyes with anticipation. “I know what’s coming next.”

Rory chuckled, keeping his finger poking into my knee. “What am I going to ask?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you in anything I’ve written.”

His smile grew. “Am I?”

I looked to the ceiling, took a moment to consider my options, then decided to be honest. “You’re in everything I write,” I admitted. Rory looked at me and blinked. I could tell he was stunned. “Everyone I’ve ever loved is. You, Ben, Hannah, Kara, Zoë, Lucas, Blair, everyone. It’s a nugget of a real thing that happened, or a real feeling I had. All the people and feelings get mixed together, so it’s never inspired by just one thing or just one person, but you’re all in there somewhere . . . everywhere. You’re everywhere, Rory. So, yeah, it’s kind of real, but also not at all. Kind of like me.” I smiled meekly, but I could feel my voice shaking as I finished my thought.

Rory looked at me. He removed his hand from my leg. “Ellie, when I said that you weren’t real, and that we weren’t real, the night before you moved away . . .” He let out a deep breath. I waited, letting Rory say what he needed to, even though I didn’t need to hear it anymore. He closed his eyes and put his palms together, twisting them in two different directions. “That night and everything that followed . . . it completely altered the course of my life. I can trace everything back to that moment.” Rory opened his eyes again and pressed his mouth together. “I’m sorry.”

“I forgave you a long time ago.” I placed my hand gently on Rory’s leg. “Though I’ve had a harder time forgiving myself. I’m not sure if I ever said I’m sorry for everything I did, too, and all the hurt I caused, but I am. I’m very sorry, Rory. I have a lot of regrets. I made a lot of mistakes.” I pushed out a quick breath, trying to release the tension. I lifted my hand. “The good news is, if you can trace everything back to that night, then maybe our disaster is the reason you have the spectacular life you have today. You’re welcome.” I smiled.

“It hasn’t been that easy for me,” he said quietly, then straightened his body and cleared his throat. “We can get into that another time. But right now, it’s late, and I’m so absolutely screwed for tomorrow. I should really get going.”

“Okay. Yes, totally.” I stood, adjusting my jean shorts and my new black Titleist hat. I looked at my phone for the first time all night. I had forty-seven unread text messages from my Lover Ladies text thread.

“Wait, your tee time is eight o’clock? Rory, it’s two thirty! How did that happen? Did you know that happened?”

“Yes, I knew that happened.” Rory stood beside me, and somehow managed to sling both golf bags over his shoulders. “If I’d wanted to leave, I would have.” I reached for my bag, but he twisted his body and pulled out his phone to order me an Uber.

“Let me carry my bag,” I argued, knowing he would fight me on it.

“No.” He took a step away from me and walked toward the exit. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”