CHAPTER 37: CHAPTER-37. (BILLION DOLLAR DEAL).

The two days went by in a haze.

Dave and I kept going onto the set. Fortunately, nothing happened, and I progressed with my story.

I kept asking Linda, indirectly, trying to get something that could help me figure out the birthday secret.

But seeing an ongoing series of fate, I failed miserably.

She was too careful with her words. Always smiling, always dodging smoothly. Acting up like she was busy washing the plate, which she washed and wiped two times.

Like she knew exactly what I wanted but refused to hand it over. It was frustrating.

And Dave... he was the same. Silent. Locked in his own world. At work, he stayed professional. Josh always stayed with him like a shadow.

If anything started to get messy, he would take care of it without anyone doubting about Dave’s health.

Josh and Grandpa Albert have already taken care of the excuses they have to give in every imaginable situation. So, overall they took care of everything which set me at ease to some extent.

I kept myself till the van so I did not have to meet the ’hotel-girl’....Becka. I refrain myself from speaking her name as I did not have any intention to ruin my mood or day.

And coming back to Dave.

Sometimes I had to catch him staring off into nothing, like he was there but not really there. Like part of him was missing.

It made me wonder if that part had been left behind on that eighth birthday.

I kept replaying it in my head, over and over. Walter. Vivian. Something happened that day. Something that broke him.

But what?

Every time I thought I was close to piecing it together, the answers just slipped through my fingers like smoke.

By the end of the second day, I was tired. Not just body tired, but bone tired. Soul tired. The kind of tired where even breathing felt like an effort.

And still, I had nothing.

No clues.

No truth.

No Dave. Speaking to me.

[The truth was I did not have the guts to speak to him about such a sensitive topic.]

Just me, circling the same thoughts again and again, waiting for a door that refused to open.

No more questions about birthdays. No more pushing, Linda. No more trying to break Dave’s walls. Not now.

Because tomorrow wasn’t about him. Tomorrow was about me.

My meeting with the Silver Fox.

I tried to make some preparations, like writing down possible answers to the questions they might ask me.

You know, those formal things people always say in interviews or meetings. Except the problem was...I wasn’t formal.

Not even close.

I couldn’t sit straight, smile politely, and talk about myself like some perfect person who had everything figured out.

Because I didn’t.

Half the time, I barely knew what I was doing. The other half, I was just winging it and hoping I didn’t trip on my own shoelaces.

Still, I tried.

I wrote some notes on a crumpled piece of paper, made a list of things I could maybe talk about, things like my writing, my story ideas, and what inspired me.

And then, after reading it once, I thought to myself that...

Why am I making notes like I’m about to deliver a TED Talk nobody asked for?

So, I crumpled it all up and threw it in the trash.

It sounded fake. Too neat. Too rehearsed. Like someone else’s voice, not mine.

And if the Silver Fox really wanted to meet me, then maybe they didn’t want the polished version. Maybe they wanted me. The messy, confused, sarcastic, too-honest me.

At least according to my logic, that would want a creative person who is not bound by some traditional learned and rehearsed lines.

That thought should have been comforting, but instead it made my stomach twist. Because what if I wasn’t good enough? What if they regretted reaching out?

I tossed and turned on my bed, hugging my pillow like it could somehow keep me from falling apart.

The clock ticked louder than usual, every second reminding me how close tomorrow was.

Sleep? Forget it. My brain refused to shut up. It kept running in circles, switching between "you can do this" and "you’re going to embarrass yourself so badly you’ll want to crawl into a hole and never come out."

By midnight, I gave up pretending. I sat up, switched on my lamp, and stared at my laptop screen.

I thought maybe if I read through my story again, it would calm me down. Remind me why I was even here. Why did they notice me in the first place?

But instead, every line looked wrong. Too plain. Too childish. Too... me.

I groaned, dragging both hands down my face.

Tomorrow was going to be a disaster, wasn’t it?

Still, I whispered to myself, almost like a prayer: Just get through it. Just one meeting. You can do this.

I didn’t know if I believed it.

But it was all I had.

***

The morning was a mess. I had slept late, and when I opened my eyes, Linda was already standing there, looking annoyed.

"You’re still not up? Breakfast in ten minutes," she said and left for the kitchen.

I panicked.

Ten minutes?

That was nothing. I jumped out of bed, rushed to the bathroom, brushed my teeth like a maniac, splashed water on my face, and tried to make myself look alive.

Then I pulled out the formal clothes I had ironed before, the ones I didn’t even like wearing, and were too tight for my too curvaceous body.

It’s not like I was showing off. Maybe a little, but it’s self-love.

I quickly changed into it, already uncomfortable and tigethening at some areas but it was worth it. I actually looked liked some high-elite woman who was ready to do some billion dollar deal.

By the time I came out, Linda had already put the breakfast on the table. I grabbed a toast, shoved it in my mouth, and tried putting on my shoes at the same time.

"Thanks, Linda," I mumbled, half-running to the door.

I was just about to leave when I heard his gruffy voice.

"Where are you going?"

I froze.

It was Dave.

I turned to look and he stood there, standing in the hallway, arms crossed, eyes on me. Not angry, but sharp enough to make me nervous.

Holy Jesus! How could I forget about him? Now, what excuse will I make?