As Stuart Bloom In TBBT

March 2011. Eleven months.

The calendar notification pops up: April 15 - One Year Anniversary.

I'm at my desk. Spreadsheet open. Santa Monica buildout costs.

But I'm thinking about Katie.

One year since the premiere. Since I bumped into her. Since everything changed.

I should do something big.

I call a travel agent. Wine country. Napa or Sonoma.

"Budget?" she asks.

"Whatever it takes. Best hotel. Best experiences."

"Romantic weekend?"

"Anniversary. One year."

"Congratulations. I have the perfect package."

She emails me options. I book the most expensive one.

$4,500 for the weekend. Hotel, tastings, spa, dinners.

Worth it.

Katie's worth it.

Lunch with Leonard. Cheesecake Factory.

He's eating pasta. I'm pushing salad around.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Planning anniversary stuff."

"One year already?"

"April fifteenth."

"That's—fast."

"Feels longer. In a good way."

Leonard twirls pasta on his fork. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"The Tuesday thing. Still happening?"

My jaw tightens. "Yes."

"Every week?"

"Every week."

"For eleven months?"

"Yes, Leonard. For eleven months."

"And you've never—"

"Never what? Followed her? Spied on her? No."

"I'm just saying—"

"She has an acting workshop. Meisner technique. It's a real thing."

"Have you been there?"

"No."

"Has she invited you?"

"She offered once. I said no."

"Why?"

"Because I trust her."

Leonard sets his fork down. "Stuart. I'm your friend. So I'm going to be honest. That doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't?"

"Eleven months. Same night. Every week. And you've never seen where she goes. Never met the teacher. Never—"

"I trust her."

"Trust isn't the same as blind."

"I'm not blind."

"Then what are you?"

"In love."

Leonard picks up his fork again. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"If you're sure. I just—I worry."

"Don't."

But his words stick.

Trust isn't the same as blind.

That night. Katie's cooking. Our kitchen. Our apartment.

She moved in two months ago. Her stuff everywhere. Integrated.

"What are you doing for our anniversary?" she asks.

"Can't tell you. It's a surprise."

"Hints?"

"Nope."

"Come on."

"You'll love it. That's all I'm saying."

She's chopping vegetables. Precise cuts.

"I'm planning something too," she says.

"Yeah?"

"Special. You'll see."

"Now who's keeping secrets?"

She freezes. Barely noticeable. Knife hovering.

Then resumes chopping. "Not secrets. Surprises."

"Same thing."

"Not even close."

Her tone's—sharp. Defensive.

"Katie—"

"I'm excited. That's all. Our anniversary. One year. It's big."

"It is."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She's still chopping. Won't look at me.

Something's wrong.

The memory tingle hits. Faint. Like static.

Wrong. Something's wrong. Can't see what. But it's there.

I push it away.

Paranoia from Leonard's comments.

Tuesday night. March 22nd.

Katie leaves at 6:30 PM. "Workshop. Back by ten."

"Have fun."

"It's not fun. It's work."

"Then—work hard?"

She kisses me. Quick. Distracted.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

The door closes.

I'm alone.

Our apartment. Her clothes in the closet. Her books on the shelf. Her life mixed with mine.

I pull up her calendar on the shared iPad.

Every Tuesday: Workshop. 7-9:30 PM.

For eleven months.

Same time. Same duration. Like clockwork.

I google Meisner technique classes in West Hollywood.

Twelve studios come up.

I could call them. Ask if Katie Stevens is enrolled.

My finger hovers over the first number.

Do it. Just call. Confirm. Then you'll know.

But that's—spying.

That's not trusting.

I close the browser.

Put the iPad away.

Leonard's wrong.

Katie wouldn't cheat.

She loves me.

We're planning our future.

Moving in together. Talking about engagement. Building a life.

Nobody does that while cheating.

Right?

Saturday. Ring shopping.

Not engagement. Just—a present. Anniversary gift.

I'm at a jeweler in Beverly Hills. Looking at options.

"Budget?" the clerk asks.

"Three thousand."

"Bracelet? Necklace?"

"Bracelet. Something elegant. Simple."

She shows me options. I pick platinum. Classic design.

"Engraving?"

"Yes. 'One Year, Forever To Go.'"

"Beautiful sentiment."

"She's—everything."

"Lucky woman."

Is she?

I'm hiding a fortune. Supernatural powers. Impossible knowledge.

She knows successful Stuart. Not wealthy Stuart. Not transmigrator Stuart.

She knows the edited version.

Is that lucky? Or lied to?

"When do you need it?" the clerk asks.

"April fourteenth. Day before anniversary."

"No problem. We'll have it ready."

I pay. $3,200 with engraving.

Another secret expense. Another thing she doesn't know about.

My wealth. My resources. My impossible advantages.

The distance keeps growing.

Sunday. Game night. My penthouse.

The gang's here. Katie's at a callback.

"She doing okay?" Bernadette asks.

"Fine. Why?"

"Just—she seemed tired last week."

"Busy. Auditions. Work."

"How's the anniversary planning?" Howard asks.

"Good. Napa. Four days. Leaving Thursday."

"Fancy."

"She deserves it."

Leonard's quiet. Watching me.

I ignore him.

"Fourth shop opens next month," I say. Changing subject.

"Santa Monica's ready?"

"Almost. Two weeks of buildout left."

"Four shops," Raj says dreamily. "You've built an empire."

"Not an empire. A business."

"Same thing."

We play games. Drink. Laugh.

But Leonard keeps watching me.

Like he's waiting for something.

That night. Katie comes home at midnight.

"How'd it go?" I ask.

"Fine. Callback went well."

"You sound tired."

"Long day."

She's taking off makeup. Bathroom. I'm in bed.

"Katie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you—are we okay?"

She appears in the doorway. "Of course. Why?"

"I don't know. You've been—distant lately."

"I'm not distant."

"You left the shop opening early."

"I had an audition."

"You've been on your phone a lot."

"I'm always on my phone."

"More than usual."

She sits on the bed. Takes my hand.

"Stuart. I love you. We're fine. I'm just—stressed about work. My career. Feeling like I'm falling behind while you're succeeding. But that's my issue. Not us."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

She kisses me. "Anniversary in three weeks. Then everything will be perfect."

"Okay."

She goes back to the bathroom.

I lie in bed.

Staring at the ceiling.

The memory tingle's back. Stronger.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong—

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Make it stop.

Trust her.

Choose trust.

Three weeks until anniversary.

Everything will be fine.

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