Chapter Text
January 2018
She didn’t want to be here.
There wasn’t a single problem with the event itself. Getting nominated for the Best Comedy category for the Critics’ Choice Awards was one of the greatest things that had ever happened to her. She hadn’t expected it, yet with her career rising over time, it made her genuinely grateful for the opportunity. But there was one thing gnawing at the back of her mind. One complication she couldn’t ignore.
He was here.
Lenny Bruce.
Shit, of course he would be here.
He had been nominated in the same category. Her stomach twisted the moment she remembered when it was first announced. When the news first broke, social media had exploded. Tweets, posts, and comments flooded in: “Who’s going to win? ”“Midge or Lenny? ”“The ultimate comedy showdown.” People treated it as if it were some kind of battle, a competition, a contest for validation—as if the award itself wasn’t recognition of her work but a personal duel between her and him.
And it was a competition.
It had always been a competition to them.
In their first year of college, they couldn’t stand each other. Not the casual, eye-roll kind of way. It was louder. Sharper. They’d often argue or banter with each other, challenging each other in every class or practice. Corrected timing, argued about delivery, structure, anything. They were practically enemies. It was constant, sharp, and entertaining to everyone else. Even their friends couldn’t recall a time when they’d have peace with each other. They’d groan whenever they ended up in the same study room, study groups turned into debates, and practice meant them constantly correcting each other.
“Are they dating? ” someone joked.
“They’d rather die,” another replied.
Until it all changed.
It didn’t happen on stage, it didn’t happen with everyone around, it happened once. Quietly, unexpectedly.
A regret.
One late night after a party, drunk and tired. Everything spilled. Too many vulnerable things were said; the space between them disappeared. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t strategic, and it wasn’t part of the game.
Just once. They said to each other.
And somehow, that once shifted everything.
Months later, their friends noticed it at first. The tension—the constant edge that used to sit between them—had thinned, almost vanished. They barely argued anymore. No more constant bickering and correcting every single move they made. The passive-aggressive remarks disguised as jokes and the silent standoffs in rooms were gone. As if it was replaced with something softer, gentle. They laughed more with each other, not against each other. Both of them kept it light and kept it vague, letting people assume maturity just happened.
But deep down, they both knew something fundamental had shifted.
Then one night, she found out.
They were staying at a hotel with the rest of their class for their theater performance, the final requirement before the second semester ended. It was a one-week stay, just long enough to rehearse, perform, and survive each other’s nerves. The lobby had been chaotic when they arrived: suitcases bumping into ankles, classmates arguing over keycards, and someone already complaining about the lighting in the rehearsal hall. Room assignments were passed out quickly; half the girls were already paired up, as were the boys. Names were called in neat little duos, easy and uncomplicated. Then there were two names left.
“Midge Maisel.”
“Lenny Bruce.”
Their professor glanced at the list, unfazed. “You two will share.”
Both spoke at the same time, wanting to protest.
“What?”
“That’s not—”
They looked at each other briefly, then away just as fast.
“It’s unprofessional,” Midge said quickly, folding her arms in disagreement. “We can’t even rehearse in the same space without arguing.”
“Exactly,” Lenny added. “We can’t stand each other.”
The professor barely blinked. “You’re both adults,” she said calmly. “You’re mature enough to know what’s right and what’s wrong. This is a hotel room, not a battlefield.”
“But—” Midge started.
“No buts,” the professor cut in. “Unless either of you would prefer the couch in the lobby.”
Silence.
They exchanged another look—brief, charged, unreadable.
“Fine,” Lenny muttered.
“Fine,” Midge echoed.
It wasn’t about professionalism.
It was something else.
Lenny had been acting strange lately. Not the usual kind of strange, but the theatrical, overconfident, deliberately provocative version of himself that he wore as if it were a tailored suit. This was different, quieter, and frayed at the edges. It started small at first—he’d snap at things that normally wouldn’t have bothered him. A misplaced prop. A line read too slowly. Someone laughing too loudly during rehearsal. His irritation flared fast and burned out just as quickly, leaving behind a restless sort of tension that clung to him for the rest of the day. Everyone thought he was stressed. The performance was coming up, finals were close, and people were tired.
If anything, it worsened. He began fidgeting during practice, tapping his fingers against his script, bouncing his knee, and running a hand through his hair over and over again. When a professor would call his name, even casually, his shoulders would stiffen before he’d mask it with a smirk. The kind of smirk that didn’t reach his eyes anymore. And then there was the withdrawal. Lenny, who used to linger after rehearsals just to argue about interpretation or throw out a last sarcastic remark, started leaving early. He stopped sitting with people at lunch, waving them off with a lazy excuse.
“Got work”
“Not feeling it”
“Maybe next time.”
Even with Midge, something had shifted. He’d still talk to her, still stand close enough for their shoulders to almost brush, but he wasn’t present. His responses came a second too late. His jokes felt automatic. Sometimes she’d catch him staring off mid-conversation, like he’d forgotten where he was. And lately, he looked pale, not dramatically, but the kind that could make Midge notice enough. There were dark circles under his eyes he tried to cover with bravado. He’d rub his temples during breaks. Once, she saw him steady himself against the back of a chair when he thought no one was looking.
“Are you sick? ” Midge asked him one afternoon.
“I’m fine,” he replied too quickly. Too sharply.
To everyone else, it looked like stress. Maybe exhaustion, maybe nerves. But Midge knew him; she knew the difference between Lenny being dramatic and Lenny being unsettled. It showed in the way his laugh sometimes cut off abruptly, like he’d remember something unpleasant, and how he’d often check his phone more often lately. Only for him to lock it as soon as someone passed his way, and how he’d gone quiet during moments that should have been easy.
And the distance…
After everything that had changed between them—after that one stupid, reckless night, where everything shifted—he was pulling back. Not in a cruel, obvious way, just enough to create space between them.
One night after rehearsal, Midge decided to go back to their hotel room earlier than usual. The others had gone out for late-night Chinese takeout, still buzzing from a decent run-through, but she claimed that she was exhausted and slipped away. The hallway outside their room was quiet, carpet muffling her steps. She slid the keycard in and pushed the door open, only to be greeted by silence. The air felt still, heavy in a way she couldn’t immediately place. Lenny’s jacket was thrown over the back of the desk chair, and shoes were kicked off near the foot of his bed. He was here.
But the room itself was dim. Then she noticed it, the faint glow of light spilling across the carpet from beneath the carpet door; the light was on. Midge stood there for a second, listening. There was no shower running, no sink, no movement, just the low hum of the fan. Her stomach tightened slightly. “Lenny? ” she called out, keeping her voice light and casual. “Are you planning on moving in there? ”
No answer.
She set her bag down slowly, eyes still fixed on the thin line of light. The silence stretched too long, not dramatic, not alarming. Just wrong. Midge walked closer, each step measured. The glow grew brighter against the dark of the room. When she reached the door, she hesitated, hand hovering just above the wooden doorknob. “Lenny?“ She tried again, trying to hide the worry in her voice.
There was a faint sound, just a shift, a breath, something subtle. Her fingers curled around the doorknob. Midge didn’t throw it open directly and didn’t panic. She turned it slowly, pushing the door just enough for it to creak inward. The bathroom light made her blink.
And there he was, sitting on the edge of a closed toilet lid, needle halfway in. For a split second her brain refused to process it. It didn’t fit him; it didn’t fit the sharp-tongued, controlled, composed Lenny she knew. It looked wrong in his fingers, foreign. The needle sticking inside his skin, the substance almost empty.
“Lenny, what—”
Her voice cracked.
He froze. Turning around slowly, almost instinctively, he found her standing in the doorway. Her eyes were wide, shocked, and impossible to miss. The dim light of the bathroom illuminated her face, casting soft shadows across her cheekbones, highlighting the sudden sharpness of her expression. She wasn’t angry yet, but the shock radiated from her like heat from a fire. Every muscle in her body was tense, and yet, she didn’t move closer. She just stood there, frozen in fear and disbelief.
He couldn’t speak, words caught somewhere between his throat and the needle still clutched in his hand. His heart hammered, a rapid, uneven rhythm that seemed almost loud enough for her to hear over the faint hum of the fan in the hotel room. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed again. A shallow breath escaped her lips; her gaze flickered towards the needle once again, then back to his eyes, searching for an explanation that wasn’t there.
He could feel her staring at him, really seeing in a way he hadn’t allowed anyone to do for months. Not the jokes, not the confident, untouchable persona he put on, just him. Vulnerable, ashamed, caught in the act of something he desperately tried to hide.
“Are… are you using?” Midge asked, voice trembling with a mix of disbelief, fear, and something he couldn’t place. That single question landed like a weight on his chest. His eyes met hers, and in that frozen, terrible moment, he realized she saw everything. The anxiety, the fear, the exhaustion. The self-loathing that he’d been carrying silently.
“Yes. I am,” Lenny admitted, voice barely a whisper, raw and ragged. As if speaking aloud made it all painfully real. He avoided her gaze, letting his eyes fall to the cold bathroom tiles instead.
She stepped slightly closer, voice trembling in disbelief, frustration, and fear all at once. “Why, Lenny? I—I don’t understand. You were fine months ago! What…what made you think that you should be doing this—? ”
Her words hung in the air like glass shards. Sharp, unforgiving, and honest. The sheer incredulity in her tone cut through the numb armor he had been wearing for weeks, exposing him in a way that made his chest ache. For a moment, he just stared at the tiles, jaw tight, hands clenched around the needle like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Every instinct screamed at him—defensiveness, self-preservation, the old habit of sarcasm—but none of it felt enough. Then the words spilled out, harsh and abrupt, almost louder than he intended.
“Fuck off, Midge.”
The sting in his voice was raw, but it wasn’t aimed at her. It was aimed at himself—at the shame, at the weakness he thought he had to hide, at the fact that she had seen him like this. It was anger mixed with vulnerability, brittle and jagged, that needed an outlet. Midge flinched, but she didn’t retreat.
“I’m not leaving,” she says, her voice cracking, betraying the worry she was trying to mask. “You need help, Lenny.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. Not because of what she said, but because she meant it. Midge wasn’t judging him, she wasn’t yelling, and she wasn’t running away like everyone else seemed to do when he cracked. She was standing there, unwavering, even as he tried to shrink under the weight of his own shame.
But he didn’t need her concern right now. He didn’t need her pity.
Not her words. Not her gaze. Not the way her chest rose and fell, steady and determined, in contrast to the chaos of his own.
All he wanted was the floor to swallow him, or the walls to disappear, or the ability to press pause on himself and all the mistakes he felt he’d made.
He gritted his teeth, jaw tight, trying to push the feelings down. Trying to shove away the shame that threatened to spill over.
“I don’t need your help! ” He snapped sharply, the words cutting the air like a knife. Bitter, defensive, and full of every ounce of shame and fear he’d been trying to bury. His voice echoed faintly off the bathroom tiles, too loud for the small room, too raw to ignore.
“You do! You weren’t like this, Lenny! ” She snapped back, her gaze flicking down, then back up, her hands gesturing toward the needle still loosely clutched in his other hand.
“Well, I don’t care! ”
“But I do! “She shot back immediately, stepping closer, her voice trembling with frustration and fear. “I care, Lenny! I can’t just stand by and watch you—”
“I can’t fucking do this, Midge! ” He tossed the needle aside, now standing. “I don’t need your pity, and I certainly don’t want your help! ”
Her breath caught, her hands dropped slightly, but she still didn’t retreat. Lenny’s gaze hardened, not in anger towards her, but toward the vulnerability in himself that she just exposed. The fear of being seen, being judged, and being “fixed” by someone he cared about. It was unbearable for him.
“I said,” he started again, voice rising slightly. Cracking under the weight of everything he had kept inside. “I said leave. Now.”
“I—” she protested, but she was cut off with a sharp shake of his head.
“Please. Just go.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she hesitated, taking one careful step back. Her eyes lingered on him, on the tremor in his fingers, the shadowed exhaustion under his eyes, and the tight line of his jaw, but she obeyed. Slowly. Reluctantly. Lenny turned his gaze back to the bathroom tiles, pressing his forehead lightly against the cool wall, the needle still in his hand. His chest heaved with shaky breaths, every inhale and exhale heavy and unsteady. The click of the bathroom door shutting behind her echoed faintly, a hollow sound that felt louder than it should have. Silence returned to the room, oppressive and suffocating.
She didn’t sleep in her bed later that night.
Then it happened.
Midge could recall the time she found him unconscious at his own house after the second semester. Pills and a needle scattered against the floor, his hand weakly clutching the bottle like his life depended on it. She screamed, instantly dropping to her knees, shaking her head in disbelief, and begging him to wake up and stay with her.
Holding his limp body against her, rocking slowly, she was trying to ground them both as they waited for the paramedics to arrive. His breathing is shallow, drifting in and out of consciousness.
“Lenny, please, please stay with me,” she begged, brushing a curl out of his frame. He was pale and so weak and vulnerable; she had never seen this side of him before, not until now.
God, she wishes she didn’t leave.
Midge didn’t realize she was crying until a medic put their hands on her shoulder. Comforting her as the others took him away from her arms. She wanted to protest, wanted to hold him once more, and wanted to think that this is all a dream.
Fuck, she didn’t even notice the paramedics arrived.
Standing outside the front porch, rain drizzling softly, she stared as they wheeled him away in a stretcher, medics working as quickly as possible to do their job. Neighbors peeked through their windows, and others stood at their porches observing the scene, but she didn’t care.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Feeling bored halfway through the event, Nikki Glazer, who was seated next to her, was talking about how excited she was for the comedy award to be presented. Midge couldn’t hear her well; the noise felt like static in her head, and she was completely zoning out. But she came to her senses again as Nikki called her softly, concerned, and then continued to speak. Listening to her opinions on the nominations so far, Midge couldn’t help but glance where Lenny was seated. He was sitting next to a lovely woman, clearly showing affection towards her. Midge didn’t think much until she realized it was his fiancée.
Being together for 2.5 years was the happiest moment of Lenny Bruce's life. He was glad that he found someone he could trust and love forever. They were constant and public, and they often did podcasts or gigs together. The public agreed; they were a perfect match. Made for each other. He had proposed to Nellie in March ‘17, announcing it on social media. Comments, captions, and photos flooded instantly everywhere. The couple became what everyone talked about; their engagement was dissected or admired at the same time.
Midge stared at his fiancée’s Instagram post.
I said yes. 💍💝
She should be happy for them; it’s been years. He’s moved on; he looks better now. Healthy, carefree, nothing like the Lenny Bruce she once saw behind those hospital doors. Broken, not wanting to be fixed.
Looking at the comments, the pinned comment was his.
Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with this woman 💕.
She threw her phone against the room and screamed into her pillow, not caring if her throat burned or if her voice would be hoarse in the morning.
She wanted to scream until the ache went away.
Wanted to let out the fury—at herself, the timing, the damn screen.
By the time the supporting actor category was called, she wanted to leave the place already. The applause from the others felt too loud, her heels aching against the marble floor. Midge patiently tried to wait for this event to end, but it was way too far from that.
I could get a drink right now.
I really need a drink.
Fuck, I don’t want to face him now.
She kept clapping with everybody else, the thought hitting harder now. It wasn’t because of him. He’s not the reason why I don’t want to be here. I am not bothered anymore by the fact that he’s here. She was sure of that. With her schedule loaded and her days becoming more and more busy, she was practically exhausted. Midge was barely home anymore, and when she could be—she would still be busy. And her kids—fuck, she doesn’t even remember the last time they had a family bonding. It was mostly Joel who would take care of the kids. Both parents did not want to separate their kids over custody, so they would take turns on whose house they’d get to stay in.
I think I just want to go home.
Why am I feeling this way?
Thoughts were a mess, even though she tried to push it away—it lingered. The chatter and the applause felt distant, yet all she could think about was the feeling. It was unlikely that those thoughts occurred, especially during public events. Mainly Midge would just put on a show, smile, act, and remain composed. But it stayed. Ignoring her internal problems was a fucking mess. Random doubts would resurface at any given moment. When she’s busy making time for her children, is this the reason why Joel left? The performance wasn’t good: Am I cut out for this?
Doubting things was okay, and that feeling is normal, they said. She had learned to accept uncertainty in her life, even if hesitation would’ve looked like weakness to others.
She couldn’t afford to let people see that.
Not anymore.
Bringing her attention back to the program, David Harbour had already given his speech. The applause immediately followed, cheerful and loud. Midge joined a beat late but continued to clap. Whatever he said made people nod along; some were even wiping their eyes at the inspirational speech he had given. A few minutes from now, the comedy category will be called. People were already preparing for it—voices lighter, shoulders loosening, and the excitement of it all was intriguing as the people around her started to talk about who would win.
The host’s voice lifted; the room slowly quieted down as he prepared to speak. The screens behind him showed the category, warming the room instantly.
“And now for the comedy category, let’s give a round of applause! ” the host said, smiling widely. The room responded on cue, layered with applause and easy laughter. The cameras shifted towards the audience as people straightened in their seats, hands in rhythm as they
continued to clap.
“This year,” the host began, “there are many amazing and talented comedy entertainers. In fact, they had a hard time choosing who would win,” he explained, voice booming through the speakers. Midge felt her breath hitch; suddenly her dress felt tight against her skin, clinging in a way it hadn’t before. She unclasped both of her hands and clasped them again. Her palms were warm and slightly damp; she focused on the slight grip of her hands, trying to regain composure.
If I don’t win, it’s alright.
But if I do win, what happens now?
She had started her career around 2014, mostly doing stand-up comedy for small clubs, often doing it for herself. At the beginning of the year, she had no manager yet. Sometimes after her performances, she would be asked by some people if she was interested in entertaining at gigs, not small ones—but big ones. As much as she wanted to do it, they had told her she needed a manager, which she didn’t have.
In the middle of the year, that’s where she met Joel Maisel. The first time they met was simple; Joel had attended to see her performance at the Gaslight Cafe while waiting for his turn on stage. At the end of her performance, he had approached her and complimented her on how amazing she was. After that night, they had started seeing each other more, sometimes at the corner of the stage or unexpectedly meeting each other.
Fast forward to around 2015, they had gotten married and had a beautiful boy named Ethan. With her new family, Midge had decided to take a break from comedy, staying at home to take care of her child. But sometimes when she’s free, she would still do small acts at the same cafe or somewhere else.
With her divorce from Joel in January ‘17 after finding out he cheated with his own secretary, Penny Pan, she was now left alone with her 2-year-old son (soon to be 3) and 11-month-old baby named Esther. Sure, he would help in taking care of the kids, paying child support, and bringing them to his house whenever she’s busy. It felt as if it wasn’t enough. She thought she found the one. A man who could love her and support her no matter what—she was wrong. Her earnings weren't enough, having paid only $150 if it’s an opening gig, or nothing at all. The apartment she and her children had stayed in, even when he left, was owned by her ex-father-in-law. Trying to buy the apartment wasn’t enough; having another job was exhausting. During the day she would work at the makeup counter, and at night she would do opening acts her manager, Susie, booked for her.
That’s until Shy Baldwin saw the opportunity in her.
He heard her one night when she was opening at a club he usually went to. Her jokes carried past the clinking cups and laughter, which caught his attention. He didn’t interrupt her the way others did when it was done. He waited patiently until the crowd dispersed to talk to her. Midge was accompanied by Susie as he approached them both. Shy told her that she shouldn’t make jokes in small crowded rooms anymore.
Shy asked her to work with him.
The offer stunned them both. He casually spoke about venues, crowds, and schedules that would give her better opportunities in the future. Both women were stunned when he mentioned Europe. Shy even told Midge that he could pay whatever she wanted; hell, he was even willing to pay for Susie’s wants or needs. Midge didn’t know how to respond at first; she never saw herself as someone who would be working for someone big and famous.
But she said yes.
She was grateful for the opportunity, grateful in a way that made her determined not to waste the chance away. The US tour in August was more successful than she had imagined. Night after night, the rooms got bigger, and the applause felt louder, warming her whenever she’d performed. Her name started to appear in social media, news, playlists, and even conversations.
By the time both the US and Europe tours ended, people started to book for her.
Messages filled Susie’s inbox; venues she had once dreamed of were now asking for dates. Opportunities came faster than she could process. Midge felt as if her life had changed; she was successful now.
Letting the noise fade, the corners of the card peeked out as the host slid it free, eyes glancing at it for a second before lifting it again. A few people in the audience leaned forward without realizing, and some held their breath.
“And the winner goes to…”
A beat.
“Midge Maisel.”
Applause and cheers exploded through the room. The cameras swung towards Midge as she was still frozen in her place, then immediately stood, covering her mouth. People were looking at her and clapping, faces lit with surprise and delight. Nikki patted her hard on the shoulder while Susie pulled her into a quick embrace. Nodding at Susie, tears threatening to form, Midge quickly made her way towards the stage. Still shocked to process it, yet happy that she won.
The host hugged her politely before congratulating her. A person next to the host gave Midge the award. Midge took the award with shaky hands, almost obviously captured by the cameras.
As the people sat down, she stepped towards the microphone. She could feel her shaking hands as one held the trophy, while the other one tapped on the microphone to ensure it worked. Exhaling slowly and trying to stay calm, Midge spoke.
“Hi,” she said, her voice barely steady; a soft laughter of hers broke the tension. She exhaled once more. “I honestly don’t know what to say. Wow, I guess.” Midge chuckled, trying to ease the tension. People chuckled softly too, which made her feel more confident in her speech. Her fingers tightened slightly around the award; quickly glancing at it, she could see the clear trophy shine brightly under the stage light. Bringing her attention back towards the crowd, she spoke again.
“So, first of all, thank you so much for choosing me. I absolutely wasn’t prepared for this; I was convinced I was just here only for the free food!” People immediately burst into laughter, even the host. She caught herself laughing too, brushing a stray tear off her face. Grinning, she glanced at the trophy, then at the audience again. But this time, slowly locking eyes at Susie and at Shy.
“Shy,” she said, nodding. “I want to thank you for the opportunity you have given to me in August. You saw something in me and helped me to where I am now.”
Midge took a breath, playful yet sincere.
“And to Susie, my manager, thank you for believing in me during the times I couldn’t even believe in myself. I’m glad to have you through this journey.”
People stood up almost all at once, chairs scraping softly against the floor as applause filled the room again. The sound is loud and unrestrained, whistles and cheers cutting through the noise. Photographers flashed the scene, sparking in quick succession as they captured everyone’s attention towards Midge. She lifted the award, holding it with both hands for a short moment, before raising it higher. She felt pride and joy as she stood there, shoulders back, chin lifted, as she felt confident.
The after-party was great; the music was replaced by slow, calming jazz. People were talking with one another, engaging in lovely conversations, while some congratulated the winners of each category. Midge leaned against the wall; she had ducked around a corner to have privacy. With all the glitz and glamour for the night, all she wanted to do was go back to her hotel room and relax. Her flight to New York will be in the evening tomorrow, so it was best to leave already.
Looking at her phone, she opened her WhatsApp to find Joel had greeted her; attached to it was a photo of Ethan playing with his truck toys while Esther was in his lap.
Congrats, Midge, you did it! The kids say hi too.
Thank you, missing them both 💕. Give them a kiss for me!
Looking through her phone one more time, scrolling through the congratulations messages from friends and family, looking at the playful jokes, little emojis of applause, and champagne glasses. She tried to focus on them, tried to soak in the small affirmations, but her mind kept wandering, circling the one thing she hadn’t wanted to think about tonight.
Then a voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and familiar.
“Maisel.”
Her stomach dropped.
Oh, shit.
Fuck.
Her grip on the phone tightened. Her thumb hovered over the screen, suddenly meaningless. Every cheerful notification, every lighthearted emoji, felt heavy now, weighed down by anticipation she wasn’t ready to face. She slowly looked up, and there he was.
Lenny Bruce.
He looked… different. Almost impossibly composed, older, sharper. And yet, somehow, exactly the same. The smirk that had once been infuriatingly charming was still there, tucked just at the corner of his lips. The same mischievous glint in his eyes that had always made her both laugh and groan in equal measure.
“Bruce.” The name felt lodged in her throat, heavy and awkward, like she was swallowing a word she hadn’t spoken in years. It came out clipped and hesitant.
“I'm glad to… see you again.”
She stumbled over the words, forcing a polite, measured tone over the storm of feelings she couldn’t quite sort. Her eyes flicked up briefly to his, catching that familiar, unreadable expression, and then quickly away. Her chest tightened. Every nerve in her body seemed to hum with the same old energy—the friction that had defined their relationship for so long. It was impossible to ignore now, sitting here under the warm glow of the award hall lights, with people milling around and congratulatory chatter all around them.
Lenny didn’t smile immediately. Not the easy, teasing smirk she remembered. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying her. The air between them was taut, heavy with the history they shared.
“I… yeah,” he said finally, voice low and careful. “You too.”
There was a painful awkwardness now, settling between them like a fog. Thick, suffocating, impossible to ignore. Midge shifted, adjusting the strap of her elegant sling bag, then her bracelet, then nothing at all. She needed something to keep her hands occupied—anything—but even the award wasn’t with her since her assistant offered to hold it for her.
Lenny slipped his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed in a way that looked practiced. But his jaw was tight; they both noticed it.
“So,” he said finally, clearing his throat. “Critics’ Choice.”
“Yeah.”
God, this was unbearable. The silence felt uncomfortable in the worst way, thick and heavy with things unsaid. This wasn’t how it used to be. Once, silence between them had been impossible. They filled every gap with wit, sarcasm, arguments that bordered on flirting, and flirting that bordered on war. Even when they were angry, there was noise. Energy. Movement.
Now there was restraint.
“Congrats on winning,” he said, voice steady, controlled, and almost casual.
“Thank you,” she replied, keeping her tone safe and professional.
“You’re welcome.”
Silence.
“I better get going,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the press area. “They’re probably waiting.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to keep them.”
“See you around, Upper West Side.”
The nickname hit her like muscle memory. Old, familiar, and loaded. Midge swallowed; a dozen responses flickered through her mind—sharp ones, soft ones, and brave ones. Instead, she managed a small, restrained smile.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “See you around.”
She turned before she could hesitate.