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Me: You already told me you missed me. Can’t take it back.
Ian: I don’t want to. When do we get to hang out for longer than ten minutes?
Me: Can’t today. I have to pretend to work again.
Ian: I … I’m not sure how to respond to that.
Me: Best not to. I’ll explain eventually.
Ian: Why not now? I’m at the jobsite early because I like to see Cameron’s face when I beat him there in the mornings. This gives me something to do until he shows up.
Me: I see you didn’t grow out of your competitive urges with your brothers. That’s strangely comforting.
Ian: Avoiding the question. Interesting.
Me: Ugh, fine. I have writer’s block. So instead of writing actual words for my very legitimate and legally contracted deadline, I sit and stare at a blinking cursor and try not to spiral.
Ian: I fucking KNEW you could do it.
Me: Sigh. You did. As much as I hate inflating your ego by saying this, I probably would’ve given up if it hadn’t been for you.
Ian: Nah. You just needed a kick in the ass, but anything you achieved is all on you.
Ian: I know you don’t write under your actual name because I did sporadic searches over the years.
Me: OMG, you know how to work a search engine?? Who even are you?
Ian: Harlow…
Me: What? You didn’t actually ask me a question.
Ian: What’s your pen name?
Me: You know, the first big life lesson I taught Sage was how to ask for things politely. I know Sheila raised you better than this.
Ian: Can I please have your pen name so I can go buy all your books?
Ian: Don’t ignore me.
Ian: Harlow … don’t be stubborn.
Ian: Who am I kidding? I know people don’t change that much. You’re more stubborn than I am.
Me: Sorry, had to listen to my daily guilt trip from my parents about why I don’t just get another job and quit the author gig. Today’s key points were maternal responsibility and general productivity of society. Also wanting to know why I haven’t found a husband by now. Being home is the funnest.
Ian: Lovely. The pen name?
Me: Oops, sorry, phone is glitching out. Have to get the kiddo off to school.
Ian: Oh, so you’ve turned into a chickenshit the last seventeen years, sparky.
Me: Usage of the old nickname is emotional manipulation. Low blow, Wilder.
Ian: Come on. Like I’m going to judge you.
Me: EVERYONE judges what I do. Part of that whole “creativity is subjective” thing. And they get especially judgey when they realize I haven’t published a book in a year because my brain doesn’t work. My publisher is super happy with it too, trust me.
Ian: Let me know if I can help. Remember how good I was at helping you plot your story ideas?
