Unscripted

Wine, Whine, and Everything In Between

It was Friday night, and Lila had already poured two glasses of wine by the time I sank into the couch. My week had been a blur of editing sessions, awkward silences with Daniel, and far too many unresolved feelings. By the time I stepped into Lila's apartment, I was ready to talk. Or, more accurately, "complain".

Lila grinned at me as I collapsed beside her, taking a hefty gulp from my glass. "I swear, if you don't stop looking like you're carrying the weight of the world, I'm going to start thinking you're working for NASA and not a production company."

I let out a frustrated sigh. "You don't understand, Lila. It's like being trapped in a never-ending awkward encounter with an ex. And not just any ex-one that is somehow convinced that his character is "tragically misunderstood" in everything he's ever done."

Lila raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Are we talking about Daniel? "The" Daniel?"

"Yes! The one and only," I groaned, rubbing my temples. "It's like he's still the same guy who left me on read for days and then claimed he was 'not ready for a serious relationship.' But now he wants to be a tortured artist on screen. You have no idea how frustrating it is."

She took a sip of her wine and leaned back. "So, wait. You're telling me Daniel-your ex, the one who ghosted you-"wants to play the victim" in a movie? I can't even handle this. I'm about to throw my glass at the wall for you."

I shot her a dry look. "Don't. The wine stains will never come out, and I'll have to explain that to the landlord."

Lila snorted. "True. But still-he's somehow found a way to make everything about him, even the breakup?"

"Exactly!" I exclaimed, leaning forward. "I'm sitting there, watching him defend this scene where he's painted as this tragic, misunderstood guy, and I'm just... I'm "done". All I could think was, 'Really, Daniel? REALLY?'" I set my wine down and flung my arms dramatically in the air. "Do I need to hand you a tissue for all the "tragic pain" you're carrying, or is it enough that I'm clearly the villain in this script?"

Lila chuckled, shaking her head. "Abigail, honey, if Daniel is the "tragic hero", you need to rewrite his story into a "comedy" because it sounds like that guy is living in some fantasy world."

I took a deep breath and slumped back into the couch. "I don't know how much longer I can take these late-night editing sessions. I swear, every time he opens his mouth, I feel like I'm about to combust."

Lila set down her glass and gave me an exaggerated look of sympathy. "Sweetie, I think you need a vacation. Maybe a nice, quiet retreat. Somewhere with no exes, no scripts, and definitely no 'tragic heroes' who think they're misunderstood."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, that sounds great. Maybe I'll book a ticket to "literally anywhere but here". I'd probably end up sitting next to him on a plane, though. He'd be like, 'Oh, I'm so glad we both decided to get away from it all.' And then I'd throw my glass of wine at him."

"Honestly, at this point, I think it's the best plan." Lila smirked, grabbing her own glass. "But in all seriousness, maybe the trick is to "just" start writing him as a complete disaster. Make him so miserable on screen that he can't even defend himself. Like a walking, talking cringe-fest."

"Ha!" I barked, laughing despite myself. "I could totally do that. Write him as the kind of guy who can't even pick up a coffee order correctly and makes passive-aggressive comments about pineapple pizza. That would "really" give him something to ponder."

"Exactly!" Lila beamed, clearly pleased with herself. "Just make him so embarrassing that he can't help but go "wow, I really was a mess, wasn't I?""

I let out a laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing. "I like this version of the script. Daniel, but with absolutely no redeeming qualities."

"That's the spirit!" Lila raised her glass to me, as though we'd just come up with the greatest plot twist of all time.

We clinked glasses, and for the first time all week, I felt a little lighter. The drama with Daniel and the project was far from over, but at least tonight, I could forget about it for a while. And, as much as I hated to admit it, Lila had a way of making everything seem less "tragic" and a little more ridiculous-exactly what I needed to survive the week ahead.

"So," she said, settling back in, "what's Daniel's excuse for not making you the heroine in this tragic masterpiece of his? I mean, if you were going to be in this story, shouldn't you get a cool redemption arc?"

"Ha," I muttered, sipping my wine. "I don't think he's ready for the "Abigail Gold" redemption arc. It's too much for him to handle."

Lila grinned. "Then maybe you should "write" it for him."

I raised an eyebrow. "You think I should make "my" character a genius who outwits every pathetic male lead? Or one who discovers the art of "not tolerating" ex-boyfriends?"

"Now you're getting it," she laughed, as we both clinked our glasses again, and I realized that, maybe, this whole thing didn't need to be quite so serious after all. If I could just laugh at it, maybe I could survive this whole "Daniel Borne" saga with my sanity intact.

The next morning, I felt like a different person-drained, frustrated, and more overwhelmed than I'd been in ages. It wasn't just the project. It was him. And I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep pretending I wasn't still haunted by the things we never said.