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“Romeo,” I hear my mother say, walking out of the kitchen and coming to me. She hugs me and kisses my cheek before she looks over my shoulder at Gabriella. “Hi.” She walks over to her.
“We got you some flowers,” Gabriella says. I can tell how nervous she is, and it makes me love her even more.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” my mother says, smiling at her and grabbing the flowers from her, “but thank you.” She closes the distance between them to hug Gabriella.
“It was my pleasure,” she replies to her softly. “Thank you for having me.”
“What can I get you to drink?” My father looks at me and then back at Gabriella.
“I’ll have a water,” she says with a smile, and the need to be next to her pulls at me.
“Here is dessert.” I hold up the brown bag before I place it on the counter and then walk back over to her, putting my arm over her shoulders. “Hi.” I smile at her.
She looks up at me, smiling, and I bend to kiss her lips. “Hi,” she says softly.
“Come and sit,” my mother says to us as she walks into the kitchen. “Please make yourself at home.”
My father comes over and slaps me on the shoulder when Gabriella steps away from me to go to the kitchen and sit down on the stool. “She’s going to be fine.”
I just smile at him and walk into the kitchen, pulling out the stool beside Gabriella, who is in a conversation with my mother and Ryleigh, who is standing next to the island instead of sitting down. “So how is work?” my father asks, pulling out the stool at the counter, looking at me.
Gabriella turns her attention to me and must sense that I’m getting a little nervous because she puts her hand on my leg. “It’s going good,” I confirm, looking down at the counter thinking about the words to say to my father. “It’s a totally different feeling when you are behind the camera.”
“It is,” my father agrees with me, smiling at my mother, who comes over and puts down a bottle of water for Gabriella before sitting next to my father. His arm goes around her chair, pulling her closer to him.
“Actually,” I say, taking a deep inhale and a huge leap of faith, “I think this is going to be my last movie.” Gabriella squeezes my thigh, and my hand covers hers. She turns her hand around to intertwine her fingers with mine. She gives me the extra strength I need. “At least the last one I act in.”
“Really?” my father asks, his eyes going big. “That’s a big claim.”
“I just think I want to create the movie instead of being in the movie.” I look over at my mother, who smirks, and then looks over at my father, and the two of them share a look. But instead of waiting for them to say something, I continue, “When I was on location, Sander and I would talk about the scenes. We would talk for hours about how the scene would be shot. It was so exciting. But now that I’m here and I’m seeing the back end of it, it’s even more exciting. Clipping everything together and making sure that the vision is there.”
“It’s a great feeling,” my father says to me, and I nod. “What do you need from me?”
My father asks, and I knew, no matter what, he would be supportive of my decision. He always has been but hearing it and seeing it are two totally different things. “Nothing, I don’t think.” I look over at Gabriella, who with just one look makes me know she’s also proud of me. “I spoke with Sander today about a script he came across.”
“Really?” Gabriella asks. “About what?”
“It’s really hard to explain, but it’s an adaptation of a book about this man who is a World War Two veteran who becomes a mule for the drug cartel,” I explain, thinking about the story, playing it over and over in my head. I can see the whole movie play scene by scene, and I want to make it happen.
“Is it a true story?” Ryleigh asks, also interested.
“It is,” I confirm. “We are meeting with him next week.”
“It sounds so interesting,” my mother joins in. “I would love to read the book.”
“Of course you would,” Ryleigh retorts, “you’re a journalist.”
“It sounds like a great book,” she says and then looks at my father. “You should see if you can get in on this.”
He looks at my mother. “World War Two was in the forties,” he almost shrieks, throwing up his hands.
“Dad, you’re in your sixties. It’s not that much of a stretch,” Ryleigh points out, and now I’m the one rolling my lips when he glares at her before turning back to look at me.
“I don’t know if they would want me. I haven’t starred in a movie in over ten years.”
“Would you do it?” I ask my father. “If I signed on and brought you the script, would you think about it?”
“For you,” he says, “I would.”
