When my dad had his heart attack, it felt like my life had ended.
On top of the stress that came with not knowing if he'd be alright, the thought of spending a year away from school and my friends was overwhelming -- more than overwhelming. Paralyzing. Even though I wouldn't have admitted it back then, it seemed like my entire world was spiraling hopelessly out of control but that all changed the day I got my internship.
In spite of the fact that I was working in an industry I knew nothing about and dealing with people who were unlike any individuals I'd ever met before, interning with Michael helped me in ways I hadn't expected. By the time my contract at the agency ended in June, I'd learned how to think differently -- to anticipate the unexpected and to accept that things went wrong... And things went wrong often. Most importantly, though, I learned not to let the setbacks stop me from pushing forward. I had a lot to thank Michael for but that was definitely the lesson I'd remember forever.
I felt like a completely different person from who I'd been nine months before and I knew that, in addition to Michael, I had Sophie to thank for that, too. After the first day that I went to see her at the clinic, Sophie spent three more weeks in an inpatient treatment program and, true to my word, I visited her every single day that she was there.
As she got healthier, Sophie's eyes shone brighter and her smile grew wider. We talked constantly -- about everything. Nothing was off limits anymore and the tension that had grown between us while she'd been sick disappeared seemingly overnight. Our relationship wasn't perfect but I knew it never would be. Neither of us needed perfection, though; we were more than happy with what we had.
Although it surprised me when she told me, I was the first person Sophie confided in about her plan to go public about her bipolar disorder. According to her, Sophie's last step in recovering from her manic episode was to accept that her mental illness wasn't something to be embarrassed about after all, and, after years of hiding it, she was ready to make it known to the world in a big way.
"I agreed to film a documentary with Kelly's independent production company," Sophie told me a few days after she'd been cleared to go home. "About, like, the last few months, my treatment."
"Really?"
Sitting together on her living room couch, we flipped through a booklet of paint swatches while she tried to decide which shade of white to re-paint the room. Sophie cast a glance at the putrid green walls that surrounded us and shuddered, clearly mortified by her attempt at home improvement. She'd asked me how I could let her destroy her house like that, but we both knew that I wouldn't have been able to stop her even if I'd tried.
"Yeah, I feel like if I want to move past everything, then I need to keep talking about what happened... But it's not just about me," Sophie added quickly, as if worried that I'd accuse her of publicity seeking. "You know, while I was in a group therapy session, I realized that I'm really lucky--really, really lucky."
"Why do you say that?"
"I have you, for one," Sophie said, squeezing my knee. "I have my dad. You both love me, you both are there for me. One woman on my floor has been in treatment six times in the last eight years and she never had any visitors while I was at the clinic. Can you believe that?"
"What was she there for?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Sophie's stories about the people she'd met at Crystal Pines were always interesting, if somewhat depressing. I had no doubt that there was a great screenplay waiting to blossom from her experiences, but I had no interest in being the one to write it.
"She has schizophrenia. It's sad because her parents were some of the first billionaires in Silicon Valley but she spent most of her twenties living on the streets." Sophie shook her head, clearly affected by the thought of what the other woman had been through. "She stopped taking her meds while she was in college and ended up dropping out a few months later."
"No one helped her?"
"She didn't want help."
Sophie looked down at her lap and I could see the anguish in her eyes. Although we had an open communication policy now, the one thing we tended to gloss over was what could have happened to Sophie the night that she fell. Neither of us spoke while I remembered the moment her body hurtled towards the ground, followed by the realization that I wouldn't have known what to do if she'd died that day; somehow, she'd become the most important part of my world.
I tossed the color swatches onto the floor and draped an arm around Sophie's shoulders. Though she was still obviously underweight, I was pleased to feel her bones retreating beneath her skin. Pulling her close, I asked, "How do you feel on your medication now, by the way?"
"Fine," Sophie replied with a shrug. "Good, I guess. I can't complain."
I didn't know if it was appropriate to say that I was proud of Sophie for accepting her illness -- for surviving through its ups and downs -- but I was. I was very proud of her. I was even more proud when she later called me and said, "Keep October tenth open."
"Why?"
"I'm hosting this thing -- a charity fundraiser for mental health awareness," Sophie explained, the excitement in her voice bubbling through the phone. She spoke quickly as she described the event -- upbeat, maybe slightly rambling, but without any of the pressured intensity that she'd exhibited a month before.
"Sounds fun. I'll be there," I promised, and I knew that I would be. I'd be wherever she needed me for as long as she wanted me around.
"You'd better not flake; I already paid for your plate." She laughed, then added, "I'll be auctioning off all the stuff I bought, too, so the organization can make more money."
"Even the Lamborghini?"
It was a joke, for the most part; of all the things that Sophie regretted from her manic episode, buying the Aventador was not on her list. She'd grown very fond of zipping around -- or, at least, sitting in traffic -- in it, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the envious looks that people shot us as we drove along the highway.
"I might keep the car," she admitted after a long pause, and we both laughed.
Sometimes I still wondered how I'd ended up with Sophie -- how she'd wound up falling in love with someone like me. I thought about the moment when we first met constantly, about all the little things that had to happen to bring us together. If I'd gone to lunch ten minutes later, or if the dust in my office hadn't given me allergies, maybe we never would have met. Like the leads in a movie, we were flung together, and maybe it was luck that everything had happened the way it did, but I had a hunch that it was probably fate.
Replaying the scenes of Christmas morning in my mind, a hand on my knee brought me back to the present and I twisted in my seat to look at Sophie. It was the second time in my life that I'd found myself in the back of a stretch limo, the other time being the evening of my senior prom. Tonight, however, I wasn't on my way to dance to bad pop music underneath cheap paper streamers.
It was the evening of Kelly's movie premiere and no amount of champagne could calm the swarm of butterflies that fluttered around my midsection, their little bodies ramming against my stomach's walls. Sophie smiled at me, that knowing smile that told me I didn't need to say anything for her to guess exactly how I felt. She gave my thigh a soft squeeze while I leaned over and carefully brushed my lips against her forehead.
Sophie's hair fell in gentle curls that framed her face, and she reached up to tuck a strand behind her ear as she studied me through heavily made-up eyes. Her stylist had smeared glitter and other goo all over her eyelids, and although she looked amazing, I decided that I preferred her without any makeup on at all -- not that I'd ever think of mentioning that to her now.
Tonight's event was important for a lot of reasons; not only were we on our way to my first red carpet event, but it was also Sophie's first official appearance since leaving the treatment center. She denied it, of course, but I could tell by the way she fidgeted in her seat that she was more nervous than I'd ever seen her.
When the car came to a stop in front of downtown Los Angeles' legendary Temple Auditorium, Sophie and I both stared out the limo's window as a man stepped forward to open the car door. When the attendant's fingers were on the handle, Sophie asked me, "Are you ready?"
I shook my head. "Not a chance."
Blinded by a dizzying flurry of camera flashes as soon as my feet hit the ground, it took me a moment to remember Sophie's lone instruction: "When in doubt, just smile."
Holding a grin until my cheeks began to hurt, I felt myself being propelled along as if on autopilot. Sophie, of course, was stopped every few feet, either for an autograph or to take a picture with someone. Dutifully, I stayed to the side and watched her shine as she posed and chatted with fans and other celebrities. Completely in her element, I could see Sophie's anxiety melt away as she answered reporters' questions with a familiar ease.
"You look wonderful," Brian Pinecoast, a popular celebrity correspondent from More! News, gushed as he subtly motioned for his cameraman to zoom in on her dress. "Really wonderful. Everyone at the studio has been rooting for your recovery and I know that our viewers at home will be thrilled to see that you made it here tonight."
If I'd been Sophie, I probably would've told Pinecoast to shove it after all of the horrible stories that his network had broadcast about her... In fact, that's what I would've said to all of the magazines and talk shows that had reached out after learning about her bipolar disorder. With nearly all of her past bad behavior absolved through her revelation and Richard's confession, Sophie had truly regained her status as America's sweetheart, a title that she should've held regardless.
But while I may have held a grudge against everyone who'd made her life miserable, Sophie possessed a level of poise that most people could only dream of. As she'd done when interviewed by all of her former critics, Sophie answered Pinecoast's questions with unwavering respect, only breaking his gaze to reach for my hand.
"You know, I probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for Parker," Sophie said, a twinkle in her eye. She paused for effect, then added, "I never would've been able to pick a dress without his help."
Still too stunned by my surroundings to really react, I blinked as the camera panned over to me and then nervously shied away from the machine's eye.
"You two seem like a great couple," Pinecoast commented after rattling off a few more questions, including one that I attempted to answer. I couldn't remember what I'd said but I was sure I'd see it replayed eventually, though I didn't know if that would be a good thing or not.
"We are," Sophie replied, nudging me gently with her elbow. "I'm the luckiest girl in the entire world and you can definitely quote me on that."
"What do you love most about him?" Pinecoast asked, and Sophie didn't even wait a full second before offering her reply.
"Everything."
Nodding, Pinecoast turned to me. "And, you? What do you love most about Sophie?"
I didn't have to think about it either. "Everything."
The kiss that Sophie and I shared after she heard my response wound up on the cover of four major tabloids, and, as I'd later find out, my mom had all of them framed. When we broke apart, I struggled to stop smiling, thrilled by the realization that everyone across the globe now knew that Sophie Winters was mine. No more sneaking around, no more disguises... I could love her openly now, the way that I'd always wanted to.
It felt like an eternity had passed by the time we reached the end of the carpet, but when we did, Sophie glanced at me and laughed.
"Oh, my God, you're shaking!" she exclaimed.
Other than when she'd stepped away to take a series of group photos with Kelly and her cast mates, Sophie hadn't let go of my hand once since taking it. I blushed while she stroked my thumb with hers. "How'd I do?" I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Honestly?"
I nodded.
"You're a natural."
Relief spread through me and I turned to look back at the red carpet that we'd walked down. Though they really weren't far from us at all, the limousines pulling up on the street seemed like they were a million miles away... Kind of like the person that I'd been a year ago. Where had the old Parker Jennings gone? Wherever he'd disappeared to, I hoped that he was doing alright.
I wanted to soak up everything, to take in every detail, so that I'd never forget the evening. Even if I had a million more nights like this one, I knew that I'd never feel exactly like I did in that moment again -- like the stars had perfectly aligned to make all of this happen.
And, just like Jack in Titanic, I was the king of the world.
"This has to be a dream," I heard myself say, and Sophie nodded.
"It is," she agreed.
We stayed like that for a minute, just watching the other attendees process down the carpet. It wasn't until Kelly came bounding up and asked why we weren't inside that Sophie and I began to move again.Before we stepped through the front door of the mega-auditorium, Sophie leaned in to whisper in my ear, her breath tickling my cheek.
"Welcome to Hollywood."
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The E--
"But, wait! This can't be the end -- you still haven't told us about what happened to Parker's film application!"
I know, and don't worry. Although this story is now technically complete for the purposes of meeting the Watty's entry deadline, I'll be adding an epilogue very shortly to tie up those remaining loose ends. I hope that you enjoyed this story and its ending and I'd like to thank all of you for your support and encouragement throughout Parker and Sophie's journey! If you haven't already, please feel free to continue voting/commenting/sharing as the Watty's begin. :) <3
Lots of love,
Lia
PS: You should really listen to the music video at the top. I was listening to it when I came up with the idea for this story so I suppose you could say that it's near and dear to my heart.