Nine more days until July 15th.I sighed into Max’s shoulder. The truth was, I knew what I wanted to do. I just wasn’t sure if I had the courage to go through with it.
Luna filled me in on the rest of her time with her grandparents, how much candy they got at the parade, and their trip to the Flying Horses Carousel, over macaroni and cheese on the deck.
After dinner we watched a Disney show and got through two chapters ofMagic Tree Housebefore she fell asleep.
I tiptoed downstairs, got my laptop and a glass of wine, lit a sea salt-scented candle, and set up at Luke’s kitchen table. For some unknown reason, I always got the most writing done here—on his deck or at this table.
The more layers of my characters I pulled back, the more convinced I was that they’d be good together, romantically. I was starting to love the idea that their meet-cute happened because he was investigating her. After a scene break, I dove into the conversation where she tells him how hard she worked to put herself through school and he begins to soften toward her. I’d been writing more than usual the last few days, bringing my laptop with me into Mimi’s living room when she watched the news at night. I felt like I was running out of time, and I hated it.
After I got up to refill my water and wine glasses, unwelcomethoughts about my return-to-work date seeped in, distracting me from my characters’ story. Dread formed a rock in my stomach.
I didn’t want to go back. I could ask my therapist to sign a note recommending an extension, but even that thought provided no relief. I didn’t want a date looming.
I wanted to be done.
But how would I explain it? To my friends, my family, my old coworkers. Max.
The conversation played out in my mind:I’m quitting this career I’ve been dedicated to for almost ten years, if you include school, to try my hand at writing. In the meantime, I’m a babysitter.
I slumped into the back of the chair. I could feel their judgment already.
“What’s on your mind?”
I gasped, my hand slamming into my chest. Luke’s large frame cast a shadow on the table.
“Oh, um. I don’t know,” I said softly once I caught my breath.
His eyebrow rose skeptically. “C’mon Val, you were so absorbed in your thoughts, staring into space, you didn’t even hear me come in. Unless there’s a ghost in that corner of the room you can see that I can’t? Are you a medium?”
His joke cut through my melancholy and a laugh released from my throat. “Okay,fine.” I sucked in air, holding it in my chest for a moment before spilling my thoughts in a stream. “I’m upset because…I only have nine days to decide if I’m going back to work. And…” I took a breath and looked at him.
His open expression urged me to continue.
“When I took this babysitting job I was just hedging, I wanted the concept of flexibility, but I still assumed I’d return to the firm, if not in mid-July then after a brief extension. But now I’m thinking thank god I did hedge because I actually don’t want to go back. At all. I don’t want to make those sacrifices anymore. I want to have time for other things. I didn’t like the person that job made me into. I’m just starting to feel like myself again…”
When I looked at him this time, he was biting the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile that’d already reached his eyes.
I blew out my breath as all the needling insecurities rushed in, just like they always did when I thought I’d made up my mind. “But I know everyone is going to ask me what I’m going to do instead, and I don’t know how to answer. Max called my writing a hobby.” My voice cracked slightly on the word ‘hobby.’ Why did that word bother me so much? I gave Luke a small, one-shoulder shrug.
He opened his mouth but closed it again without speaking, as if he could tell that wasn’t it.
So I continued. “I know that’s how everyone will think about it. And I’m embarrassed to be pursuing this pipe dream that I have no relevant experience to do. People from my prior life will think it’s dumb. A waste of my education and work experience. A silly flight of fancy that will never work out. I just…” I swallowed, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I don’t even want to tell anyone else.”
Luke nodded, his arms crossed in front of his chest, biceps straining the fabric of his button-down shirt. “You don’t know until you try, right? And knowing you, you’ll need to try your absolute best, make the writing the best it can be. And that’s going to take time and a lot of believing in yourself. I say go for it.”
I gaped at him. “Really?”
“Yeah, why not? All careers and businesses start out with risk. You gotta do it anyway. You’re smart and passionate; I have no doubt you could write something great. You probably already have.” His palm gestured toward my laptop.
A lump formed in my throat. “Thanks, Luke.”
“Let’s talk about the practical plan. Don’t go anywhere.” His pointer finger wagged at me, an order to stay put. He strode to the fridge, took out a beer, and placed it on the table next to my wine glass. Then he bounded up the stairs. He returned moments later with a legal pad and a pen.
He dropped into the chair beside mine, took a big swig of hisbeer, and wrote,Author Business Planat the top of the page. His hand pushed the notepad to his right, positioning it between us.
“I mean, I don’t know if I have a plan per se, it’s more at the dream stage right now.”
“That’s why we’re making one. This is what they taught us in business school. You gotta take the vision and turn it into a plan.”
