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The host sat in their makeup chair, reapplying some soft blush to their cheek. They wouldn’t ordinarily do their own makeup—that was clear from the recent episode—however, they needed something to do with their hands.
Vic watched themself in the vanity mirror as they continued, trying to muffle out the noise coming from behind their dressing room door. The lightbulbs overhead gave a shine to their brown curls, and a sparkle to their ever fading grey eyes. In that moment they heard the echoed stomping of heavy footsteps barreling down the hall, heading straight for the dressing room. It didn’t take a genius to know who those footsteps belonged to as Vic held their breath and heard the squeak of the door opening.
Suddenly the stomps came to a halt, and Vic stared blankly, not even daring to look at the blurry reflection behind them that stood in their peripheral vision.
“Talking about your damn divorce on-air. Yeah, I’m sure the reviews for this episode will be great!” came the voice of Bianca.
Vic sighed and closed their eyes.
“I was trying to connect with the guest.” They murmured, the makeup brush already discarded on the table.
“The guest who is sixteen years old? Right. Perfect subject for a teenager.”
“I didn’t see you trying to stop me.” Vic said, slightly turning their head in Bianca’s direction.
“I wasn’t there. You know I wasn’t there! I had to hear it from Cass, of all people.”
“And what are you going to do now? The episode is out, we can’t edit it. And once the public actually finds out that you went through with the divorce, what are you going to do?” Bianca continued.
“Well, that’s not my problem anymore.” Vic said standing from the chair.
“And if he gets the press from this to boost his fucking career, have at it. I don’t care. It was probably his whole plan anyways.” Vic said, tiredness on the edge of their tongue.
“You don’t care.” Bianca repeated, holding a stone cold face.”
“Right. Yeah, that whole clip with you on the brink of tears really sold that.” Bianca spoke, almost in a half mocking laugh.
Vic didn’t say anything.
Bianca stared at them.
“You’re really bad with kids, by the way. It’s honestly kinda hilarious when I see them on the call sheet.” Bianca chuckled.
Vic’s voice cut through.
“He was my husband. I was getting a divorce. So I’d say that was a pretty reasonable reaction. But he was a piece of shit; I know that, and I’m glad it’s over. But he was still my husband.”
“Yeah,” Bianca said.
“And he was my dad.”
They didn’t break eye contact.
“And you knew that too.” She finished.
Vic and Bianca stood 4 feet from each other and yet it felt like a lifetime. One that they both lost a chance at reaching a long time ago.
“You were my best friend and you married my dad.”
“You’re forgetting the part where he married me.”
“And you let it happen! You said you loved him. You said that nothing I could say or do would change that!”
“I was a kid!”
“So was I!” Bianca yelled back.
Vic stood still, their eyes catching hers.
“You never loved him. You didn’t.” Bianca said, emotion hitting the back of her throat.
“I knew that. I always did. But it didn’t matter. Not when we were 22, pretending we didn’t wake up in the same bed every morning, and only kiss when we were drunk.”
“Or when we would stay out past midnight, walking to no where in particular with your hand in mine.” She continued.
“Not when it was him who was standing at the alter with you as you imagined it was me.”
Bianca’s voice went still.
“You thought you couldn’t marry me so you married him. And now your son will forever have my eyes.”
Behind Vic were many postcards and notes taped to Vic’s vanity. But one was a small photograph, right near the edge of the mirror.
One of a little boy who was maybe 7 or 8 months old at the time it was taken. Vic and David’s son. A little boy who was the perfect mix of Vic and Bianca.