Quintin propped open the door of Station to Station, lifting his arms and hugging me against him, careful of the baby bump. I allowed my head to rest on his chest for a long moment. A wave of fatigue crashed over me, a reminder of all the shit I’d forced myself through over the previous few months.

“Pregnant. Picking back up with your asshole ex. And directing an entire film,” Quintin said, chuckling. “All I wish is I could pour you a beer.”

“Ha.” I sighed, falling into a stool at the bar.

I placed my hands over my stomach, watching as the new bartenders Quintin had hired continued to set up for the party. I was hosting the wrap party for the cast and crew that night. Already low on funds—and far too frightened to ask Wesley for anything else, because I wanted to begin distancing myself, even more, emotionally—I’d had to cut back. To have the wrap party at a “free” place. To pay Quintin all I could for the beer and wine and food they would take in.

“So. Is he coming?” Quintin asked me, leaning his elbow against the counter. “Because I haven’t heard from him in days. Which means he really fucked up.”

“He really fucked up,” I repeated, my tongue slipping across my lips. “I don’t know if we can repair it this time.”

“Come on. You’ve said that so many times over the years,” Quintin said. “I can’t believe you anymore. It’s like the two of you get off on pissing each other off.”

“It’s different this time, Q,” I whispered. “There’s a baby coming into this world, and I don’t think he’s ready for it. I don’t think he cares that this was mostly his idea. And that this idea—while it did get us the cash to do whatever we want—links us forever.” I trailed off, my brain burning. I ached to fall back into bed and bemoan the fact of Wesley abandoning me again. “Do you think he left on his bike again? He could be all the way in Colorado by now.”

“I stopped over there the other day. No sign of him,” Quintin said, his voice lowering. “I think you should do like me and Sam keep saying, Rem. Just decide how you want your relationship with this baby to be. And take what you want from it. You’ve already made your movie. Now, what’s next?”

“Editing. And submitting it to the indie circuit,” I said, trying to draw up strength in my voice. “I have just a bit of money left for all of that. And then, I’ll have pretty much nothing. I’ll have to take this bar job all over again. Can you imagine, raising an Adams son and also having a bar job? Jesus.”

“Seems a life of contrasts,” Quintin said, trying to make a joke. “But it’s good, really. Like the kid will be able to see both sides of life.”

“While Wesley’s off barreling across the mad American night like some Jack Kerouac wannabe,” I said.

About an hour later, just past seven-thirty, the cast and crew began to arrive. Sam was first to arrive, wearing a glittering black dress. Her ego filled the room, and I couldn’t help but smile. Making her the main character of the movie had put pep in her step in ways I hadn’t seen since we were twenty-one, walking in stiletto heels through Los Angeles clubs and flirting with whomever was around. We’d ruled the world.

“Hi baby and baby,” she said to me, kissing me on the cheek like some kind of Francophile. She perched on the stool beside me and eyed the window, the spot where Wesley’s bike was ordinarily parked. “I suppose you haven’t heard from him?”

---

I gave her an ominous look, my lips pursed. “Maybe I was too harsh on him?” I asked, recognizing that I sounded sheepish, weak.

“No,” Sam scolded. “He tried to fuck up your movie. And he treated you without a single ounce of respect. If you call him first, I’ll be so angry at you, Rem. You need to focus on making edits on this film and on resting up for the baby. Nothing more.”

I knew she was right. Although my head swam with fear and sadness, I forced myself to rise from my stool and greet the cast and crew as they arrived. Gwen arrived wearing a long, glittering yellow cape. She wrapped her soft palms around my cheeks and stared into my eyes, unencumbered.

“You,” she sighed. “You gave me hope, with this movie. Hope that maybe I can keep acting until I die.”

“If you don’t,” I swallowed, “It will be a huge disservice to all of art. You’re impeccable.”

Throughout the next hours, the bar filled with the sixteen people, minus Wesley, who’d been involved in the yet-untitled production. I found myself forcing laughter alongside them, reminiscing about our long days on set and quoting lines from the film.

Gwen ordered a line of tequila shots for her, three of the camera boys, and Sam, and the five of them tossed them back, pressing limes between their lips. Just when I thought Gwen had maybe had a few too many, she ordered another round—making Sam guffaw with laughter. Everyone seemed full of vitality and excitement for what we’d created. I tried to fly with them. But I felt constrained, held back. More than once, I heard some of the crew inquire with one another about where Wesley was. The answer was always hushed. “He and Remy got into another fight. I mean, can you imagine two more volatile people making a baby together?”

---

I dropped myself into the street for a breath of fresh air. Outside, Quintin leaned against the red bricks, smoking a cigarette. He blew the smoke away from me, scratching at his scraggly beard.

“I just can’t believe he didn’t come,” I said, trying to laugh at my own hopelessness.

My words were filled with so much emotion. My throat felt squeezed. Quintin dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk and pressed on it with his shoe, marching toward me and wrapping me in a hug. It was the first time I’d really given into this constant fear that Wesley might not be returning to me. Months and months of being sure that I was fighting my feelings for him came crashing down over my shoulders. My movie, this baby. They mattered. But who was I kidding? Wesley mattered, too. He always fucking had.

“Look at all of them in there,” Quintin said, pointing through the window of the pub. We watched as the cast and crew bantered away, Sam gesturing wildly as she told a story we weren’t able to hear. “You know you brought them all together, right? That you formed a world for them. Sam? All she was doing was dating deadbeat assholes on Tinder. And Gwen? She thought she was washed-up. Most of the cameramen were considering taking jobs to make commercials, soon. But you? You hired them. You helped remind them that they’re capable of making art, dammit. What else is time good for, if not this?”

I nodded my head against him. I remembered those lost days, just after Wesley had sped off on his bike, when Quintin had done just this. “You’re going to fucking kill it in Los Angeles, Remy. They won’t know what hit them.” He hadn’t been correct, of course. But the sentiment had been dear to my heart. Words were never enough. But they were a kind of drug, pushing you to the next moment. You had to move forward.