trudging through ~ and chapter 44

hiiiiii, alien lovers!

some days, i wake up and ask myself, "what the fuck are we doing? why are we continuing this fanfare we call 'life' under late-stage capitalism?"

and then, i remember i wrote a book, and that i really want to publish it so that another weirdo can find it, read it, and think "wow, insane!" (but in a good way, you know?)

i'm trudging through life because my friends told me i shouldn't jump off a bridge. instead, i'd much rather work tirelessly so other weirdos can find this scrappy little corner of the internet and gain +1 bonus point of radical hope, joy, fun, or whatever they want to gain from my stories.

it's wet and muddy in the trenches of creativity when capitalism rains unreasonable demands and expectations. however, amidst the wuthering howls of self-exploit and capital greed, i can happily express that i appreciate each and everyone of you reading me.

farewell for now xx

Chapter 44 is Maple finally realizing that she's been the main protagonist of a rom-com all this time. this chapter is a metaphorical coming-home for her as a romance writer, but also literal because she's back in Sobriquet Lake after trudging through (!!) to find Daphne. (soooo many layers to my writing, thank you, BFA in creative writing! *insert cheeky, nonchalant emoji here*)

enjoy!

Previously in Perilous Stars

Maple blew a breath of relief as she set down in front of her the freshly printed draft of the finale episode of Betteraves & Betrayals. She pushed her coffee mug away from the script and angled her body to meet the late summer sunlight blazing into Nesty Nestor’s dining room. 

She paused, taking it all in, letting the scent of coffee and the hydrangeas in the nearby vase soothe her.  

She was seated at the massive oak table occupying most of the dining room at Nesty Nestor, the local Bed & Breakfast she and Daphne had been hiding at since their return to Sobriquet Lake. The local inn had shut down after the passing of its owner and namesake, Nestor Garfunkel, and  sat now empty in an isolated corner of town, surrounded by trees and bushes, making it the perfect place to hide the two renegades. Brooklyn had found the place through her therapist, Yonah Garfunkel, who had connected her with her other son, Fitzgerald, who had inherited Nesty Nestor after his brother’s untimely death. Brooklyn didn’t have to convince Fitzgerald for long. The poor fellow had seemed terrorized at the idea of running a business and welcomed the pile of cash Daphne provided for their stay. They had all trusted the Garfunkels to keep their location private, and so far, almost a month into the hideout, there hadn’t been any issues. Cohabiting with Daphne, her volatile temper and mood swings had made for an interesting four weeks, but no one had tried to murder them, which was all Maple really could ask for.

Her return to Sobriquet Lake, albeit devoid of murderous drama (so far), hadn't been all so smooth. There was something particularly unpleasant about feeling like a criminal on the run in your hometown. Maple and Daphne hadn’t left the confines of Nesty Nestor in weeks. They weren’t even allowed outside for a short walk in case hikers were to spot them. Nobody wanted to risk Ermett discovering their plan, and with the threat of The Professor still looming large, every precaution was taken to keep them safe. 

For tonight's finale, they’d both leave the house with extra hired security. Loretta and Cruz planned to get Daphne inside the studios incognito, and Maple was scheduled to stay in Salvatore’s near-indestructible SUV outside the studio lot, posted with bodyguards so she could safely watch the live retransmission of the finale. By the time Ermett and Bōøbol would realize the subterfuge, it’d be too late to intervene. 

As for the Professor, Salvatore and Brooklyn were working together, using Sobriquet Lake’s gossip grapevines to monitor the situation. If a man matching The Professor’s description or someone resembling one of his goons made an appearance in town, or if any other suspicious activities were noticed, both had a direct line to alert the teams guarding Daphne and Maple.

Maple felt like a caged animal with little control over her own destiny. She had spent the last few weeks writing the new finale and secretly coordinating with her team to make sure they’d be able to swap the episode Ōgust had written for the one Maple had crafted. She was still in charge of most creative decisions, but she felt disconnected from her crew. She hadn’t seen them since production had shut down, and although they communicated via secret phone calls and group chats, something pulled at her. The Scandalous Crew were more than coworkers, they were Maple’s friends. She was counting the hours until the finale aired, and she could go to them, hug them, and apologize in person for the harm she had caused. Although everyone was following her lead right now, Maple knew more repair was needed. They had all come together for a common cause—taking over the finale and saving the show—but she would have to face all of the consequences of her deception before she would feel like a true leader again. Trust needed to be rebuilt. Today, she would keep her eye on the prize and make sure the finale—which was about to broadcast live in less than eight hours on Bōøbol’s platform for millions to watch—would be a success.

And, if it all went according to plan, viewers were in for a treat. Maple had crafted an exquisite finale, honouring the work and the stories she, the crew, and fans everywhere had spent years of their lives invested in. By the end of the day, Betteraves & Betrayals might be over, but the show would get the ending it deserved. 

The script written by Ōgust wasn’t awful, but it certainly lacked the human touch needed to conclude such an iconic show properly. More importantly, the AI had spilled out an ending without Daphne Dutrignon and her legendary character, Adele Betterave. Maple’s version, which was the version they would all use tonight instead of the “official” script, invited the Betterave matriarch back into the story right before the third commercial break, promising a spectacular finale. The script generated by Ogust had five acts and four commercial breaks, and Maple had rewritten the last two acts so they would include Daphne’s return, and the return of Adele Betterave to Betterave Town in a desperate attempt to save herself from a mysterious Alien killer. Adele asked Saturno and Evelyn for help, and the rest of the episode followed the trio’s efforts to save Adele’s life. The episode, although concluding most of the show’s ongoing storylines, ended with Saturno’s sudden kidnapping by Adele’s new enemies and the promise of a 64^th season that would see the dynamic mother-daughter duo, Adele and Evelyn, working together to find the Alien. The ending was meant to shock and excite viewers into igniting a fan campaign strong enough to convince Bōøbol or another media company to order a new season of Betteraves & Betrayals . Maple wasn’t thrilled at the idea of going back to work for a corporation that had replaced her with AI in a heartbeat, but she would do everything for the show and for the fans. 

Ending the finale on a cliffhanger was a risk, but everyone had agreed with Maple—if they were going down, might as well be swinging. They all hoped that Salvatore’s popularity, compounded with Marsha’s and Daphne’s, would push old and new fans alike to rally and organize to demand a new season. Maybe Maple was naive, maybe she was an optimist, but she believed in their plan. Three years ago, she had been given the biggest honour of her life when she was chosen as the show’s new showrunner. Now, filled with the same ecstatic energy she had been animated with at the very beginning, she wanted to believe that they had a shot at saving Betteraves & Betrayals if they all worked together—crew, actors, and fans. 

The only downside to their plan was its impact on Maple’s relationship with Salvatore. Four weeks stuck inside the inn had allowed Maple plenty of time to think it over. She and everyone else were hoping the show would be saved, which meant that no matter how hard her heartstrings tugged, she had to do what was best for Betteraves & Betrayals. Once more, she was “comforted”—if we could use that word— in the conclusion that her love story with Salvatore had no future.

It was for the best. 

After the alien divide on the plane, Maple had realized how much she needed time and space from the actor to maintain her boundaries. Her focus had to stay on the show, and if they were successful tonight, she would face multiple uphill battles tomorrow, none of which would include her feelings for the sexy Alien superstar. A press release in which Daphne Dutrignon called for a renewal of Betteraves & Betrayals as well as Maple’s reinstatement as showrunner was ready to be published as soon as the finale ended. The next few days would be crucial, and Maple wouldn’t waste the second chance she’d been given. Once the fans’ campaign was launched, she’d worked tirelessly with the crew to keep the momentum growing until they’d secured a new season, and hopefully, cleared her name in the process. (Now that her legal team had mandated Peyter to stop corroborating lies about her, most people didn’t think she was an alien trafficker anymore, which was a win. However, a lot of them were still upset with her for lying, and she refused to look at what people said about her and Salvatore’s relationship.)

All of that meant keeping Salvatore at arm’s length until things settled. She hadn’t lied to the teenagers. She wanted to stay in Salvatore’s life as a friend. Nothing else. Love and lust were two emotions she had no control over, and if Maple wanted to save the show and her career, she had to stay in control. Her story with Salvatore was a free fall she wouldn’t indulge in anymore.

Her phone vibrated. It was Loretta informing her that the new green wig had been delivered to the set. The original wig was still missing, and despite Brooklyn’s frequent visits to the studios, the baker hadn’t yet identified the culprit behind the theft. Thankfully for all of them, Loretta had asked her secret Alien boyfriend—who turned out to have a lot of disposable income—to buy a new wig when he’d begged for her forgiveness after ghosting her for weeks. Loretta still refused to disclose her lover’s identity, but had gladly shared with The Scandalous Crew that she had used emotional blackmail to force her boyfriend into buying a new, $15,000 wig for Salvatore’s character. It had been the last piece of their plan still in limbo, and with the confirmation that the wig was in Loretta's hands, Maple authorized herself another sigh of relief. A lot could still go wrong tonight, but they were as prepared as they could be.

Someone knocked on the kitchen door. 

The ground floor of Nesty Nestor was an ample, open space featuring a kitchen, living room, and dining room. The security guards never used the side doors and generally stayed outside, guarding the two-story house 24/7 in construction worker gear that Brooklyn made them wear in an effort to seal the lie that the inn was under renovation, in case anybody started to ask why a group of four men was always lurking outside the property. Brooklyn was the only non-security person allowed to visit the inn, always knocking three times in a row to let Maple know it was safe to open. 

Maybe it was her knocking to let Maple know she had finally found the secret research. She’d told Maple two days ago she was following up on a lead, without giving any details or confirming if they’d been right about the numbers they’d found in Charles’ submarine. She hadn’t shown up or called since then.

Maple waited for the other two knocks before she made her way to the door, which was alwats locked from the inside for security reasons. 

After the final third knock, she opened it. She gasped when, instead of Brooklyn, she found Salvatore standing on the other side.

A wolfish grin brightened his face when he saw her. “Hello, Maple.”

She was at a loss for words as her brain acclimated to his presence. She’d spent weeks decluttering her mind from him, and here he was at her doorstep, sexier than ever, his heavily muscled chest stretching the fabric of the black linen shirt he had on, which was unbuttoned enough to reveal a hairy chest. Salvatore always shaved during filming, so this was the first time Maple saw his natural chest. 

Unfortunately, she greedily enjoyed what she was seeing. 

She shook her head, prompting away intrusive thoughts about Salvatore’s naked body or silly details like how warm and smooth his skin had felt on hers when he was fucking her in the submarine. Would fucking a hairy Salvatore feel different?

“What are you doing here?” she asked to distract herself from the thoughts of a hairy—and feral—Salvatore jamming her mind.

He showed her the Brooklyn’s Warm Croissant pastry box he was holding. “I brought sweets. Can I come in?”

She wanted to say no. They would be alone inside the house, except for Daphne who was having a nap upstairs. But having the older actress around hadn’t been a deterrent from jumping Salvatore’s sexy, Alien bones before and she wasn’t sure it would be one now.

He caught on to her hesitation and broadened his smile. “No hidden agenda. I just want to talk to you about something.”

Didn’t all their sexual encounters start with simple conversations? Could she risk it?

“Yes, okay. Come in, that’s fine,” she said, then left him at the door and rushed behind the kitchen island. 

She could risk a conversation with him if she promised herself to keep the island (or any other furniture) between them. No physical contact whatsoever and limited eye contact only. 

She could do this. 

She grabbed the cold corner of the island as Salvatore made his way inside the kitchen. He placed the box of pastries in front of her and opened it. The warm aromas of butter and smoked paprika wafted through the air.

“Berries scones with paprika and maple-infused butter,” Salvatore announced. “Today’s special. I thought you might enjoy it.”

Maple grabbed one scone and bit into it, moaning at the taste. Maybe it was due to her name, but she had a sweet spot for maple syrup. “God, Brooke is a baking genius. So good.”

A flicker passed in Salvatore’s eyes, as if he was recalling the other times Maple had made a similar noise, moaning from the pleasure he gave her. He knew very well how to make her squirm, and she was trying very hard not to think about that.

She took another bite of the scone. 

“What did you want to tell me?” she asked when his eyes darkened, and he stopped blinking, staring at her like she was a delicacy he wanted to devour. 

She frowned, and he cleared his throat, catching himself. “I’m going to release a personal statement on my socials just before we go live tonight. I want everyone to know I’m an Alien.” 

Maple opened her mouth, then remembered she was still chewing. She closed it, finished chewing, then exclaimed, “Salvatore! That’s huge news. What made you change your mind?” 

“You.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “I’m not sure what you said to the teenagers, but they listened. I’ve been waking up with less and less anxiety around disclosing my alienhood. Something you said got through to them. I’m done hiding. I want everyone to know who I really am. I’m not afraid anymore. I was trying to protect myself from the Professor, but that was pointless. I’m ready to step into who I am, and to let everyone else know about it.”

Lying or hiding—no matter the reason behind it—ate at your soul, little by little. Maple remembered how she felt reading her mom’s texts after her own lies were exposed. Rosalie and Cynthia modelled what unconditional love was supposed to look like. Maple had only emulated some of that powerful love with the teenagers. Just like coming out as trans had liberated her in many ways, having her lies exposed forced her to acknowledge how much love and support she was surrounded by. Maybe Salvatore and the teenagers were finally coming to the same realization. They weren’t alone and wouldn’t be, even after their secrets were exposed.

“I’m happy for you.” Maple smiled, comforted by the truth of that statement. “It’s a brave thing you are doing, and it’s going to have a major impact. A lot of people will feel a little bit less lonely tonight thanks to you.” 

“Thanks to you, too.” Salvatore smiled back, and Maple’s heart squeezed. “Thank you for everything, Maple. Not just talking to the teenagers, but fighting for Betteraves & Betrayals. I owe a lot to this show and to you.”

The weight of his gaze made her look away. She threw the last bit of scone into her mouth and wiped her hands on a towel.

Salvatore was being honest and vulnerable, something she’d always yearned for from him. It might be too late for their love story, but maybe they could still build a friendship.

“I’m glad you told me,” she said after some hesitation. “I’m proud of you for doing this. Even if you change your mind at the last minute, I’ll be proud of you. The show wouldn’t be the same without you. We owe you a lot, too.”

She didn’t add how much she owed him in particular. Without Salvatore’s help, she’d never have found and convinced Daphne to come back. She would have let her failures overwhelm her, losing the show or any chance to rescue it or her reputation. Without Salvatore by her side, she’d never have confronted her mythomaniac tendencies, and she would have never had the opportunity to gain her peers’ trust again.

Salvatore had helped Maple secure a second chance.

“I should go,” he said when she continued avoiding his eyes. “Busy day ahead. They’re waiting for me at the studios. I don’t want to be late and start raising Ermet’s suspicion.” 

He started to leave, then turned when he reached the kitchen door. 

“Maple,” he declared, in his actor’s voice, the one he used to declaim the most dramatic lines on screen.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”

“We’re all so lucky to have you.”

Before she could formulate an answer, he was gone, the door self-locking behind him.

Maple grabbed another scone, hoping to soothe the conflicting feelings bubbling up with the sweetness of Brooklyn’s baking. A scone with paprika and maple-infused butter would never be as good as a naked Salvatore praising her in a soft voice, but it was something.

Daphne entered the room seconds later, loudly announcing herself, “I smell something good!”

She made a beeline for the fresh pastries, grabbing the one from Maple’s hand on the way. 

“Oh, scones! My favourite!” She dragged the box with the rest of the scones to her side on the kitchen island. 

“How do you stop aching for someone who you know is bad for you? Like, a relationship that could jeopardize everything you work for?” Maple asked, leaning against the island, daydreaming of a reality where she could have a relationship with Salvatore without worrying about media backlash or whether it would threaten the livelihoods of hundreds of people. “I know love is supposed to be worth it, but what if it costs that much?”

Daphne slid the box back to Maple with a grimace. “If I leave now without a scone, can I escape whatever conversation you’re trying to force me into?”

“In the show, characters always figure it out,” Maple continued, determined to get some validation—or at the very least some guidance of any kind. “But in real life, everything’s different. Like, you can’t just forget how complicated things are. Plotlines don’t just disappear or conclude conveniently. There’s a reason why some love stories don’t work… right?”

Daphne moved to the coffee machine. She sighed, getting herself a cup. “Ugh. Since I am a prisoner in the confines of this house with you until tonight, I might as well entertain your naive disillusionments. What is this lamentation about?” She pushed the machine’s button, watching as dark liquid filled the “Hot Jewish Bubbe” mug she’d picked from the cupboard.

Maple didn’t want to tell her about Salvatore. Her feelings were confusing enough without the actress’s input. She wanted general validation, it didn’t need to be specific.

She shrugged. “Just, like, in general.” 

Daphne rolled her eyes. “It’s clearly about Alien Boy. I saw him walking the house away from my window, .”

Maple widened her eyes at the implication that she was in love with Salvatore. Attraction and love were very different. 

She chuckled uncomfortably. “I don’t love Salvatore. We had a thing, and it’s over now.”

“How do you know?” Daphne asked, generously soaking a piece of scone into her coffee.

“I just… do. I’m… I don’t love him. Love is too big for what we have—had—what we had. It was more of a fling anyway.”

“How do you think love starts?” Daphne rolled her eyes again. “How old are you again? Twenty?”

“I’m thirty.”

“Good lord. And you still don’t know anything about love? Your generation is a disaster.”

Maple ignored the casual dig. Two weeks living under the same roof as Daphne and hours editing the finale under the actress’s intransigent feedback had rendered her immune to the older woman’s spite. There were so many “No wonder you were fired, this is BURNING TRASH! REWRITE!!!” scribbled in bright red that one could read before the criticism started to lose some of its sharpness.

Daphne was mean and bitter, but she had guided Maple to the right path before. Maybe she could again. “When did you know you were in love with Charles?” Maple asked. “And Mrs. Parviere? How… how do you even know when you love someone?”

Over the years, she had written enough about love and romance to know what other people expected to see and read. But she’d never taken the time to reflect on what that feeling would arise in her because, somehow, she had never been in love before. She had crushes, plenty of one-night stands during brief dating sprees. Sex and attraction were familiar to her, and she understood non-romantic love and practiced it with her moms, Brooklyn, Storm… but romantic love? Love that’s supposed to turn you inside out and supply you with that elusive final piece required to complete yourself? The Love that she had so extensively written about and built an entire career on? She wasn’t sure she had ever felt it for anyone before.

Daphne impressively gobbled up an entire scone before wiping crumbs off her lips with the back of her hand.

“Well,” she said, eyeing with appetite the rest of the pastries, “if you strongarm your unwilling roommate into a stupid conversation about love when all she wants is to have a little snack and drink coffee in peace, I’d say that’s a pretty good indicator you have the hots for someone.”

“So, you believe that all love stories can eventually overcome their challenges?” Maple probed, needing something her heart could hold on to for the time being. Maybe keeping Salvatore away would be easier if she convinced herself that one day, decades from now, they might find their way back to each other under different circumstances.

“Absolutely not.”

Maple was about to speak again, but Daphne raised her finger. Maple had learned to stay quiet when that happened.

“But if you’re foolish enough to try,” the actress continued, “if you really put yourself out there because you love someone so much that not taking the risk would be worse, then, I don’t know. Maybe? I’ve been hurt by love many times, I shouldn’t still believe in it.” She paused, as if waiting for Maple to support that statement. “But if I didn’t believe in madness, to which love is tightly connected, then would I be here, hiding in this shithole, waiting for my grand return to television? Isn’t that also ‘love’ in some deranged way?”

“I thought you were a pessimist, at least when it came to romance.”

Daphne let out a dry chuckle. “I thought so too. I guess coming back to Sobriquet Lake after all these years, even as a prisoner of the dullest inn I’ve ever stepped in, must be somewhat reminiscent of the magic of love.” She stared at Maple, wiggling her finger. “That doesn’t mean love isn’t an absolute clusterfuck that won’t leave you bruised and heartbroken.” Then, when Maple nodded enough times to convince Daphne she understood, the actress softened, her voice dropping a few octaves. “Yet, it’s also true that nothing is as resilient and envigorating as that feeling. Loving someone and being loved back can make you feel invincible."

Daphne was clearly thinking about someone in particular who wasn’t Salvatore, but her words echoed the ones Salvatore had told Maple before their return to town.

Maple took a leap and asked, “Does that mean you will talk to Mrs. Parviere?”

She prepared herself for another dismissal. The actress would clearly see how Maple was using someone else’s love story to avoid confronting her own. 

But Daphne only shook her head. “I haven’t talked to Chantal in twenty years. It’s too late for us now.”

“I don’t think so. She still loves you.” Maple said with a renewed passion about the love affair between her neighbour and her childhood hero. Clearly, the two older women had unresolved feelings for each other. Amidst all the chaos and danger, and while Maple’s own love life was on standby, something beautiful should be born again. “What if you talked to her? You have nothing to lose.”

Daphne scoffed at that. “I have a little bit of dignity left, and I’d rather not squander it begging for love.”

“You don’t have to beg. You could start by telling her how you’re feeling now. It’s been years, and she would appreciate hearing from you, I’m sure of it.”

“How?” Daphne’s voice was sad, almost timid.

There were many ways to express one’s feelings, but Maple would always be partial to writing them out. It’s how she had survived in this world for this long, by creating characters to speak the words of her heart.

“You could write her a letter,” she offered. “I could help you write it. Even if our plan works tonight and the show gets renewed, we’ll have some time before production on the new season begins. It’d be the perfect time to reconnect with her.”

A voice inside Maple’s mind warned that she was most likely using Daphne’s love life as a way to distract herself from Salvatore, but she didn’t care. Love wasn’t in the cards for her now, but Daphne deserved her second chance before it was too late. Both she and Mrs. Parviere weren’t getting any younger, and times had changed. They didn’t have to hide anymore, and if Maple succeeded in bringing Daphne and Mrs. Parviere together, there would be at least two fewer broken hearts in Sobriquet Lake.

 “You’d do that?” Daphne squinted at her, dubious.

“Of course. It’s the least I can do after…” She waved around, in a gesture she hoped encompassed everything from “breaking into your home” to “having sex in your library.” 

Daphne agreed with a look of disdain. “Indeed.”

“So,” Maple said, “what do you say?”

“Let’s see how tonight goes first,” Daphne answered coldly. “If your plan isn’t a total shitshow, then… perhaps we shall discuss.” 

Daphne strode back upstairs with the pastry box while Maple beamed. Helping people with their love stories was the perfect distraction from literally everything else. 

That’s when her phone buzzed in three short successions with texts from Brooklyn.

Brooklyn: Maple! I’m on my way! I have good news and bad news!

Brooklyn: Good news is that I found Charles’ secret research!!!!!!!

Brooklyn: Bad news is about Marsha. She’s missing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

to be continued <3

Lying Doll 🩷 Sexy Alien in Perilous Stars (Chapter 1).

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