“Timothée Chalamet?!” My arms swoop upward in shock, and water splashes across half my face and shoulder. “Excre-shit,” I grumble.

Dad hops up and snags me a paper towel. “He’s been cast in Father Daughter … did you forget? He’s playing Caroline’s love interest.”

“Oh yeah…” I reply dumbly as he hands me the towel.

“He was looking for new up-and-coming young comedians, and I recommended you.”

“You recommended me?”

Jamie’s a comedian?

“I’ve snuck in and caught your set a couple of times these past few months, Jame,” Dad says.

I can’t handle this right now.

“I know I wasn’t invited, but I’ve been keeping tabs on your progress…” he chatters on.

This is not how I wanted meeting my dad to go. I wanted him to run up and hug me, apologize profusely, and tell me he loves me. And yeah, I wasn’t expecting that to happen to me right now, while wearing a Jamie illusion. But for some reason, I believed Jamie today when she said Dad was a big asshole. That he only cared about himself. But he’s apparently been secretly going out of his way to watch Jamie perform?

Sounds like it’s only me he doesn’t care about.

And now Jamie’s three thousand miles away, and she has a stand-up comedy gig for a celebrity barbecue in two days? She should have been here to get this news! She should be having this moment.

I STILL HAVEN’T TALKED TO JAMIE!

Grams interrupts whatever Dad’s saying. “Hold up, Grier. Granddaughter, you said you’d help! Come over here and listen while you chop this, will you?”

I leap up gratefully and head to the counter. Grams trades my damp paper towel out for a knife and sets me in front of some garlic. I start at it immediately: crush, peel, chop, chop, chop. I focus on the satisfying staccato of the knife hitting the cutting board.

Dad’s still talking. His chair pushes out from the table.

“… Jame. I was at the Laugh Drop to watch your first go at ten minutes when you had your incident last week. It sounds like you’ve written a lot of content for a short set. You’re doing great. You just have to tighten everything up. I took down some notes. I’ll email them to you, and you should get back out there.”

He took notes. On Jamie’s stand-up? She had an incident?

I blink at Dad uselessly. “Okay.”

He smiles and pokes me in the arm. “Great. I’ll text you details. The gig doesn’t pay, but it’s going to be great publicity. This kid has millions of followers.”

This kid. Like I don’t already know of Timothée Chalamet. I’ve watched and loved Call Me by Your Name.

I continue chopping garlic. “Okay.”