Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Jess sits down across from me. “That’s fantastic.”
“No, it’s garbage,” I say, “but I’m just happy to be typing words that aren’t hate mail to myself.” I shrug before remembering something. “Oh my God, I eavesdropped on the best conversation today.”
She leans in. “Hit me, I’ve missed gossip.”
“These two women were sitting at the front table with the wobbly leg—”
“I hate that table.”
“—and one of them said her husband fired the nanny after recognizing her on an escort site.”
“Wait,” Jess says. “Why was he cruising an escort site?”
“Exactly! Wouldn’t that make a great opening for a book? Scumbag husband sees familiar face on an escort site and is too stupid to realize he shouldn’t tell his wife? Wife leaves him and falls for the handyman who comes to fix the toilet her ex never got to.” I tap my chin, turning the idea around in my head. “Scratch that, make it the roof so he can be shirtless.”
I reach over to jot it in my notebook before I forget.
Satisfied, I turn back to Jess. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Working.” She winces. “I’m bored at home. River is planning a new start-up with Sanjeev and… I miss it. The idea of not working anymore is sort of depressing to me. I didn’t get into math for money, I got into it because it’s fun.”
“Maybe we’re getting our mojo back?”
She grins. “Fuck, I hope so.” The moment lingers, our gazes hugging, and slowly, Jess’s smile straightens as, I presume, she reads the shadow in my eyes. “Hey.” She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I’m sorry that things with Connor fell apart. That really sucks about the other show tanking.”
I nod. I’ve got nothing useful to add. It does suck.
“But does it help to know it wasn’t just about what happened at the hotel, that there were other things at play?” she asks. “I’m guessing he didn’t have much of a choice.”
“I guess?” I laugh and it comes out a little watery; I didn’t realize I’d gotten teary. “I know this situation is complicated. I know he has different pressures and responsibilities. It’s bigger than me and my feelings.”
“Look at this character growth. Five stars,” she says, grinning. Pushing back to stand, she says, “I’m going to order coffee. Need a refill?”
“I’m good.” I’m so close to finishing this terrible document. I’ll probably never show it to another human, but it isn’t even about that.
Two hours ago, my agent called to let me know she expects several of my backlist titles to hit the bestseller lists this week. Apparently new readers have been discovering my books, and posting photos and hilarious challenges, videos, and reviews. She sent me a few and I laughed through teary eyes as I watched. Writers can work for years and never know how a story will land with an audience. Being reminded that my words really affect readers made me want to get back to it immediately. Book people are just better, I swear by it. She also scolded me for avoiding her calls (valid), but said that she cares about me first, and if I never want to write another book, that’s fine. I won’t be letting her down, and she won’t take it personally. I have to do what’s best for me. Four months ago, the idea of hearing that would have been a relief, a weight lifted, but the moment Amaya said I could quit if I wanted, all I felt was a devastating bleakness.
It made me realize I’m not ready to give up writing. I did the show to find myself, not for fame, and if I have to give up Connor, I want to at least hold on to what makes me me. And what I am is a writer. So even if every word in this doc is garbage, I’m not quitting.
And tomorrow, I will put on my mental blinders and sit down and try to make a diamond out of a hunk of coal. Because tomorrow, I will do everything I can not to think about Connor and the show and how in just over four days I will be expected to embark on a trip with a man who isn’t the man I want.
When my phone buzzes on the table, my immediate hope is that it’s him. I need to work on that. But then it buzzes again. And again. I turn it over and my heart takes off in a gallop for a very different reason. It’s a text from Alice.
Fizzy.
Fizzy oh my god
Meet us at the hospital
I’m in labor
* * *
Everyone says newborns are ugly, that they look like grumpy old men or tiny, unfurled leaves. They’re wrinkled and red-faced; fuzzy and grouchy. They do nothing but sleep and eat and cry and poop.
That might be true for other babies, but at only six hours old, Helena Ying Kwok is already, hands down, the most beautiful and entertaining human ever to grace this planet. Baby Lena—I chose the nickname—has her mother’s tiny button nose and her father’s permafrown. She has her maternal grandmother’s full lips, her paternal grandfather’s long neck, and her maternal grandfather’s gassiness. But the dimple in her left cheek is all mine. This one is going to be a rascal. From this moment forward, I have no choice but to lay down my life for her.