Now That I've Found You Read online

  “No.” I stop him before he can say anything else. “Milo, please.”

  I’m surprised when he steps back and lets me pass him.

  Gigi isn’t coming to the ceremony. Maybe I should feel some way about this, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I do feel something as we’re on our way to Rockefeller Center for the ceremony. What I feel is panic.

  “So let me get this straight,” Kerri says, an email draft open on her phone. “You found your grandmother, but she still isn’t coming to the ceremony, you’re accepting the award on her behalf, and now you’re not sure about the remake anymore?”

  When I finally returned to the hotel in even worse shape than when I first showed up, Kerri didn’t freak out. She sat me down and gave me a few minutes to breathe, and then I went straight to the makeup chair. I’m wearing a black gown that she and I chose before I left LA, designed by Christian Siriano. The bodice is a sleeveless V-cut, and the skirt billows out like a dress made for a princess. I look beautiful and put together, but I feel like an absolute mess.

  “That’s right,” I say, trying to remain as calm as possible. It’s not working. I’m sweating in this dress. And I’m wearing a big curly wig so no one will know that I actually cut off all my real hair.

  “I’m sending an email to the FCC committee right now to give them a heads-up,” Kerri says, moving her thumbs at the speed of light.

  My breathing is getting heavier, and I’m starting to feel dizzy.

  “Am I having a panic attack?” I say.

  Kerri breathes slowly in and out and encourages me to copy her. She puts her hand on my arm. “Evie, look at me. Are you sure you want to do this? I’ve been behind you every step of the way, not only because it’s my job but also because I believe in you, but if this isn’t what you want to do, I can reach out to the committee right now and tell them that you can’t make it.”

  I almost take her up on this offer. I’m so tired. I’ve been running on empty for months. But I’ve made it this far. What kind of sense would it make to turn back now?

  “No, I’m going to do it,” I say. “I can do this.”

  Kerri squeezes my hand, searching my face. “All right.”

  Originally the plan was for me to walk the red carpet, but I bow out of that. I don’t want my picture taken, and I don’t want to do any interviews. The FCC committee freaks out when Kerri tells them that Gigi isn’t coming. They pull us into a back room and create a game plan for what I’ll say when I accept the award for her. Brianne Thompson, the president of the FCC, advises, Just say something good. She’s tall and white with blunt blond bangs and a very serious demeanor.

  Someone gets tasked with writing what I’ll read from the teleprompter, and I’m told to make it as personal as possible while reading. It sounds a little ironic, since the words won’t be coming from me.

  Soon the show begins, and Kerri goes to find my parents, who have just arrived. I promise her that I’ll be okay finding my seat, that an FCC employee will be able to help me. She looks apprehensive but leaves, handling one issue at a time as deftly as she can.

  With as much nerve as I can muster, I head to the auditorium, passing by all my idols, who are dressed to the nines. No one even notices me or spares much of a second glance, unless they’re looking at my gown.

  I think about how Milo didn’t believe that everyone hated me, how he thought that was a stretch. And I think about the way no one at his party mentioned anything about Paul Christopher. Has it all been in my head this whole time?

  But then, right as I reach the auditorium doors, I see him. Paul Christopher. He’s with Simone. She’s wearing a tight-fitted pantsuit, somehow looking better than the last time I saw her. Of course they’re here together. Paul doesn’t even look in my direction, but Simone sees me. She freezes, missing a step.

  I was trying my best to make it through tonight, but seeing them is what finally breaks me.

  A nauseous feeling builds in my gut, and I turn around and rush to the bathroom. Nothing happens when I push through the door and run into a stall. I don’t even throw up. But somehow I manage to stay there for the next forty minutes, trying to calm down. The ceremony has started by now. I think about how the camera has probably panned to my and Gigi’s empty seats, and I start sweating all over again.

  Kerri texts, Where are you? Is everything okay? They just announced that your grandmother’s award is coming up soon. I’m worried. So are your parents.

  I text back, I’m here. In the bathroom. Everything is under control.

  Do you need me to come and find you?

  No, I’m okay.

  There’s been a steady stream of people coming in and out of the bathroom, but no one has stopped to wonder why a girl in a black ball gown is monopolizing one stall. I wait for the moment that the bathroom clears, and I finally emerge. My cheeks are blotchy, and my eyes are red. I look terrible. I can’t go on live television like this!

  “No, no, no,” I mumble, opening my clutch and grabbing my concealer. My stupid, shaky hands drop the bottle, and when I bend down to grab it, all I can do is put my head in my hands and try to breathe.

  I stand upright and look at my reflection. I don’t recognize myself. Aside from the red cheeks and blotchy makeup, I have a wild look in my eyes, a look of desperation. I’ve gone to so many lengths to change myself just so that I could be liked. So that everyone would find me worthy of my parents’ and grandmother’s legacy. That they would find me worthy at all. I’ve become so obsessed with it I didn’t realize what it was doing to me.

  I think back to the other night, when Gigi and I argued. She said that my behavior was unlike me, that she didn’t understand why I cared so much about what people thought. I told her that she didn’t understand where I was coming from; she’s always been loved by everyone.

  But maybe I don’t need everyone to love me. Just the ones who matter. James and Gigi both said that I need to learn my worth. Maybe I should start trying now. By taking off this stupid wig.

  I drop it in the sink and look at my matted curls.

  Breathe, Evie. Just breathe.

  “I thought you might be in here.”

  I turn and find myself looking at Simone. The second time we’ve met in a bathroom this week. Seriously, what are the odds?

  “You look terrible,” she says. “Well, not the dress. The dress is gorgeous. You look like you’re about to have a nervous breakdown.”

  Ignoring her, I focus on applying the concealer to the areas underneath my eyes.

  “Everyone’s looking for you and your grandma, you know,” she says, coming to stand behind me. “It’s all anyone can talk about.” She glances back at the stalls. “Where is she?”

  “She’s not here.” No point in keeping the secret. Everyone will find out soon enough.

  Simone’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything, choosing to watch me silently as I attempt to make my face presentable.

  “Here,” she says, agitated. She grabs my shoulder and spins me around, taking the concealer from my hands and dotting my face herself. Deftly, she uses her thumb and index finger to smooth the concealer over my skin.

  I feel a pang in my stomach, thinking of how we used to do each other’s makeup all the time.

  “And this hair,” she mumbles. She wets her fingers with faucet water and runs them through my hair, trying to give my curls as much volume as possible.

  “Why are you helping me?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” She frowns. “I feel bad for you.” She places my concealer back inside my clutch. “And I guess I feel bad about what I did to you.”

  I blink. “That is not what I was expecting you to say.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to say it either.” She’s completely straight-faced.

  “You never answered me when I asked why you leaked the video,” I say quietly.

  She stares at me for a beat, then sighs. “I saw a way for me to get a
leg up, and I jumped at the chance. I don’t regret what I did, because it worked out for me in the end, but the consequence is that our friendship was ruined. That’s just a decision I’ll have to live with.”

  I stare back at her, taking in the open and honest expression on her face. I miss us. But I know we’ll never be an us again. That doesn’t mean that I can’t learn to forgive her. Someday.

  “I really hope you get everything that you want in life, Simone,” I say.

  She doesn’t respond to this. Instead, she steers me toward the door. “No more hiding in the bathroom. It’s time for you to get out there.”

  We step into the hallway.

  “Thanks,” I say to her.

  She’s already walking back to the auditorium, pretending as if she didn’t hear me, but I know that she did.

  Everyone is frantic backstage. When a woman wearing a headset spots me, relief washes over her. “Evie Jones is here,” she says into her headset’s microphone. She listens for a moment. “Got that. We’re on our way.”

  Right now, I really wish I were holding Milo’s good-luck pick.

  “I’m so sorry about showing up late,” I say to her, but she’s barely listening, ushering me through the chaos backstage. Everyone keeps looking in my direction, and I feel the nausea brewing again. But there’s no time to run and hide. We’ve reached the wings.

  “Thank God,” another headset-wearing woman says, anxiously standing by the curtain. She clutches a clipboard to her chest. “Ms. Jones, you need to look straight at the teleprompter. Make sure to speak clearly and directly into the microphone. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I don’t got it. I’m terrified.

  The auditorium darkens, and a large screen lowers onstage. A slideshow begins to play, featuring pictures of Gigi throughout her career, from when she was only a couple of years older than me to when she stopped acting a few years after my mom was born. The video is accompanied by a narration that lists her accomplishments. And then it ends all too quickly.

  “That’s your cue.” The woman with the clipboard nudges me out of the wings.

  The ceremony emcee says in a deep voice, “Please welcome Evie Jones.”

  The crowd applauds as I walk to the microphone. All I can do is focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I try not to pay attention to how my heart is hammering in my chest. Or the faces of all the people I thought I’d impress tonight, how their eyes widen at the sight of my short hair. The people whose opinions I thought I cared about.

  I spot my parents and Kerri in the second row, seated right behind where Gigi and I were supposed to be. My parents smile proudly yet look a little apprehensive. I’m sure Kerri’s caught them up on how Gigi won’t be here tonight. I wonder just how much she’s told them.

  The teleprompter clicks on in the distance, and I clear my throat.

  I begin, “My grandmother Evelyn Conaway…” Then I stop.

  Say something good. That’s what they told me.

  But where do I even start? How am I supposed to praise Gigi when I’m so upset?

  And anyway, what does a teleprompter scriptwriter know about my relationship with my grandmother? What do any of these people know? They don’t know her life story. That she moved to Los Angeles on faith, with no guarantee that she’d become a star. They don’t know that she was intensely private for good reason.

  They don’t know that she’s managed to find a sense of peace, that she refuses to submit herself to her peers for their approval.

  I’ve wanted to be like Gigi my entire life, but I’ve been approaching it the wrong way. I was so stuck on her success, the ways I measured up to her and the ways that I didn’t.

  I wanted tonight to work in my favor, to give me the comeback I’ve so badly wanted. I wanted to prove to the world that I was worth more than being cast aside. But I don’t have to be a movie star to know my worth. I don’t need to make appearances at fancy award ceremonies or wear wigs or get the perfect role with the perfect director. I spent this week looking for Gigi when she didn’t need to be saved or found. I should have been trying to find myself.

  I take another deep breath and start again, this time ignoring the teleprompter.

  “My grandmother Evelyn Conaway isn’t perfect. But she is, and always has been, my favorite person. I learn from her even when I’m not expecting to. She’s taught me how to be confident and strong. Through her example, I’ve learned the importance of self-respect and what it takes to persevere. She’s shown me time and again that her love is something I will never be without. I’ve learned more about her this week than I have in years.”

  I look at my parents and Kerri when I say, “She isn’t here tonight to accept this award.”

  A collective gasp overtakes the audience, but I continue on. “She doesn’t need to be here, and she doesn’t need an award to prove that she’s worthy. She’s always deserved each success that has come her way. And regardless of what I’ve been through, and regardless of what you all have seen, I don’t have to prove anything either. I am proud to accept this award on my grandmother’s behalf.”

  Kerri is the first to clap, loudly. She stands, and my parents quickly follow. Kerri gestures to the rest of the audience, and they’re slow to join in, but that’s okay. I don’t care about receiving a standing ovation. I’m accepting the award for Gigi like she asked, and that’s all that matters.

  A woman walks toward me, holding Gigi’s award, but she pauses and glances into the audience. I follow her line of sight and watch as everyone swivels their heads to the back of the auditorium. Suddenly they begin to stand and clap, and I have no idea what’s going on until I see Gigi coming down the aisle straight toward the stage, toward me.

  She’s wearing one of her white suits and pearl necklaces. Her gray curls frame her face.

  She climbs the steps confidently, not bothering to focus on the crowd that’s giving her a standing ovation. Her eyes are on me.

  I stare at her, completely in shock.

  “Gigi—” I say, and she wraps me in a tight hug.

  “I’m not here for them,” she whispers in my ear. “I’m here for you.”

  The applause surrounding us is deafening as Gigi continues to hold me in her arms.

  Then she pulls away and turns to the microphone. “I’d like to thank the Film Critics Circle for this esteemed honor. I’m forever grateful for my late husband, Freddy Stevens, who started me on this journey. And also to James Jenkins, who is more deserving than I give him credit for.” She pulls me forward. “And I want to thank my granddaughter for reminding me that we all have to start somewhere.”

  She loops her arm through mine, and we walk offstage together.

  Brianne Thompson rushes toward us. “Oh my goodness, you saved the show. That could have been a complete disaster. Ms. Conaway, thank you so much for being here tonight.”

  “Of course,” Gigi says serenely.

  To me, Brianne says, “That was perfect, Evie. Just perfect. Everyone will be talking about this tomorrow.”

  I look at her and shrug. “You told me to say something good.”

  “Please let me escort you both to the audience.” Brianne smiles at Gigi and says, “You have front-row seats.”

  Gigi looks at me. “Do you want to stay for the rest of the ceremony?”

  “No.” I feel like the heaviest weight has been lifted from my shoulders. “I’d really just like to go home.”

  Gigi smiles in the warm and lovely way that only Evelyn Conaway can. “Let’s go, then.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My parents have a ton of questions, but I don’t have nearly enough answers.

  We’re sitting at Gigi’s kitchen table. After we left the ceremony, we came back to Gigi’s town house, and she cooked dinner. Mark Antony and Cleo keep meowing at her feet. They haven’t left her side since she walked through the door. Kerri sits beside me, her phone placed facedown on her lap.

  “Why didn’t you answer any of my calls thi
s week?” Mom asks Gigi. “Are you feeling any better?”

  Gigi glances at me and smoothly says, “Loads better. And something was wrong with the landline, but it’s all fixed now.”

  “What made you change your mind about the ceremony?” Dad asks. “Why weren’t you already in your seat?”

  Mom follows up with “And, Evie Marie, why weren’t you in your seat at all?”

  Gigi and I exchange a look. I can either keep them in the dark about what happened this week, or I can tell the truth. I decide to go with the latter. And when I’m done telling them everything, they look so confused.

  “Why would you keep this from us?” Dad says, frowning.

  “And how could you leave Evie Marie here alone?” Mom asks Gigi.

  “Wait,” I say, stepping in. “It’s not entirely fair for you to point a finger at Gigi when you and Dad have left me alone too. I didn’t tell you the truth because, after this summer, I was so tired of being a disappointment. I didn’t want to let you down even more or for you to blame me for Gigi having left.”

  “And that wasn’t her fault,” Gigi says across the table. “It was my decision alone.”

  My parents look at each other, then look at me. “I’m sorry we’ve made you feel as though you’re a disappointment,” Mom says. “You’re not.”

  “We love you, Evie Marie,” Dad says. “Whenever you find yourself feeling that we don’t have your back one hundred percent, I want you to tell us.”

  I nod, and the weight that has been sitting on my chest all summer lightens a little. I can’t help but think that their work will always come first, but if they’re willing to try, I’m willing to believe them. I have to start somewhere. “I love you too.”

  A silence passes over the table. Gigi is the first to break it.

  “Marie, baby, why don’t you tell us about Botswana?” she says. Unable to resist discussing their work, my parents launch into a long discussion about their documentary.

  While they’re talking, Kerri fidgets in her seat beside me. Now that she doesn’t have any emails to send, she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.