AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My fingers still ache with the feel of her calves. Itighten my grip around my bowl and press my back a little harder into the counter behind me so I don’t abandon my sense to feel her again.
And then I realize she’s successfully dodged my original question. Christ. When did she get so good at hiding? At moving the attention away from herself?
“Fess up. Why did you move back?”
When her face falls, I want to kick myself. Maybe I wasn’t so far off base with the ex-boyfriend theory. If that’s the case, I’m going to book a flight and kick the ass of the person who broke her heart.
“I did something stupid.”
I grab the first thing I can find, an empty jar of pasta sauce I rinsed out yesterday but haven’t thrown in the recycling yet. I place it beside her. “First new rule of the house. No insults to intelligence. Say fuck as much as you want, but every time you call yourself stupid, idiot, dumb, etc., it’s five dollars in the jar.”
“Five bucks? That’s extortion.”
“All the more incentive to not say it.”
It was a rule my mom used in our house, mostly because I had a bad habit of kicking myself when I failed a test, and I’m living proof that it worked. Positive reinforcement has nothing on capitalism when it comes to changing behaviors.
Unlearning casual insults was another way my mom proved herself a woman of Herculean strength. Not only did she leave, but she poured everything she could into raising me right. I wish I’d appreciated it more at the time, but all I cared about back then was forgetting him.
“Not only is it ableist bullshit, but you’re going to undermine yourself.”
“Wow. Will all your lessons come with a price tag, or will you charge me by the hour? I’m technically unemployed, remember.”
“What am I, a talking cricket? The angel perched on your shoulder? Nuh-uh. If anyone’s an angel, it’s you. But I’ll balance out your yang if you need.”
“Fine. I owe you five dollars.”
She’s so utterly disgruntled I have to step back. Fuck. Living with her is going to be harder than I thought. Leaning against the opposite counter with my coffee in hand, I prod for the rest of the story.
Bee pulls at her sweater. “I already told you about the book I’m working on.”
I nod.
“Well. My plan,” she stresses, “was to spend some time revising it, really getting it ready, before I ever mentioned it to my editor. It’s a long shot anyway, because they rarely take on fiction, but I knew they’d at least hear my idea out. And I’d hoped they’d back me up if they believed enough in it.”
“Okay, that’s a sound plan.”
She hums, stalling again.
“What happened?” I prompt again.
She swings her legs as she exhales, long and hard. “I was celebrating the final submission of my last project. Nothing crazy, just a cheap bottle of bubbles at my apartment while Morgan and I video called. By the time I finished the bottle, I started rambling about how they’d soon have me working on the next one and how much Iwished my next project could be my own book, not someone else’s.”
She looks so small and shamed when she lifts her head to meet my gaze. “Morgan dared me to email my agent about the book, and I was drunk enough to think it was a great idea. So I did. Emailed her on the spot. Went to sleep excited and woke up completely panicked. Luckily, I wasn’t fired, and autocorrect saved me a sliver of additional embarrassment. But the worst part is that she agreed to assess it.”
I hate to admit it, but I’m confused. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“It’s awful,” she says. “Because the draft is far from good, and now I have less than three months to fix it so I can send it to her. That’s why I came back. Writing is an isolating job even at the best of times. I didn’t want to be alone in case this completely fails. That’s why I need your help.”
Her head is lowered, her gaze firmly on her knees, and the vulnerability in her voice is ripping through me. My wrists ache from gripping the counter, but if I don’t, I will sweep her into my arms.
“All I can think about is, what if they hate it? Or worse, what if they don’t? What if they want to publish it, and then I have to start talking to people about it? Getting photos taken, marketing, putting myself out there for people to judge. Just the thought of it scares me more than finishing the book itself. I’m sick of being afraid. But I can’t do this without help. I need you.”
There was never a doubt. Thanks to Bee, I’m a stepcloser to my dreams. If she asked me to take down an empire in her name, I couldn’t refuse her.
“You have me.”
Historically speaking, my timing with Bee is awful.
