She opened the front door to her place and turned on the lights. Just as she set down her things, she heard her phone chime. It was a text from her mom.

Night night, my hardworking girl.

We love you!

Amanda sighed and pushed down the sudden feelings of loneliness brewing inside of her. Her parents had all the faith in her when they loaded up their cars and helped her move out west. She knew things wouldn’t be easy. She knew she would have to put in her time, pay her dues, but she never thought this was where her journey would bring her. She thought about the screenplays gathering dust in Final Draft files on her personal laptop.

Looking at her phone, she considered calling her mom back, since she was still awake. She decided against it though. She didn’t need to cry and if she talked to her mom, just the sound of her voice would have her bursting into tears. There were kind people in LA but no one like her parents, and sometimes she needed to pretend there wasn’t a different, far away place where she felt truly at home and truly loved. Less alone. If she let the homesickness settle in, the regret and self-doubt would immediately follow. She settled on a text.

Good night, Mom!

I’ll call you tomorrow.

Hug Dad for me.

A moment later she received a text from her dad.

I feel the love.

She took her time getting ready for bed. Something she didn’t understand was nagging at her as she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Something beyond the loneliness. When she climbed under the covers and tried to get back to her Sailor Moon rewatch, she couldn’t focus, even though she knew the dubbed dialogue by heart. Grabbing her phone off her charger, she flopped onto her back and found herself pulling up Sam’s GQ interview.

She knew better. No good would come from even thinking about him any further, but the idea of Dru trying to get with him made her stomach hurt. It didn’t matter if Sam took her up on her offer. For the first time ever she and Dru wanted the same thing. Something about that was so wrong.

She skimmed the article, trying not to look at the devastatingly beautiful picture of him walking a black horse down a trail as she looked for the declaration of his single status.

Pleasant is so gracious, letting me visit him on his family’s ranch. I understand the honor that has been bestowed upon me when his rather particular horse, Majesty, accepts a carrot from my open palm, but I know I would be making a terrible mistake if I don’t ask the twenty-eight-year-old what he’s looking for in a partner and if there’s a current partner helping to make those wishes come true.