I still can’t believe you’re writing two books at once. You’re incredible.
The praise makes me squirm with discomfort. I set the phone aside and don’t respond.
I couldn’t sleep last night. Cosmos dominated my thoughts, which drove me to get up and work on my romance novel. I finished it at two in the morning, giddy with what I’d done. It won’t win any awards,but it makes me smile, and that’s something my thesis novel never did.
The second it’s done, I want to share the accomplishment with someone—specifically Cosmos, since he’s the only one who knows I’m writing it. I probably shouldn’t be texting him at 2am, but I know he’s on shift at the hospital until Wednesday, so I take a chance. Doctors are up all hours of the night, right?
I finished the romance novel
Cosmos:
That’s amazing! Will you let me read it?
His response comes so quickly I almost drop my phone in surprise.
Cosmos:
Or at least, let me reenact the spicy parts with you? I hear writers do that to help with accuracy ;)
My whole body lights up like a firecracker. There’s only one sex scene in the book, and I think I did a pretty good job keeping it tasteful and using it to develop the character arcs, but it’s still more graphic than anything I’ve ever written before. It’s more graphic than anything I’ve ever imagined writing. Secretly, I love it. It was my favorite scene to write. I was writing it for myself, and I didn’t hold back. I tried to channel my inner Kiara and my inner Aunt Joan, the two most sex-positive women I know. Theydon’t know what it means to be embarrassed about sex.
Now, I channel them again.
The sex scene in the book happens on a beach… maybe our date on Wednesday should be there.
I second-guess myself as soon as I hit send. We’re an hour away from any beaches, and it’s still cold for May. We can’t spend hours in the car going to a beach just to reenact a sex scene. Especially not on a first date. What the hell was I thinking?
I consider deleting the text, but Cosmos’ already saw it. I can see the little blinking dots letting me know he’s typing a response.
Then, they vanish. There’s no response for a long time. Embarrassment floods my body. Shame lectures me on being too much, taking things too far, not being able to read a room, even through a screen,especiallythrough a screen. Shit. Did I just ruin everything? It was bound to happen eventually, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.
Setting down my phone, I go back to working on my thesis. It’s the only way to survive the tsunami of emotions threatening to destroy me. Unfortunately, working on my thesis involves staring at the cursed cursor and metaphorically hitting my head against my keyboard. I still don’t know how to fix the end of this book. Dr. Pataal doesn’t like the original ending. Frankly, neither do I.
Maybe I should just go back to sleep and hope by some miracle I’ll wake up more inspired in the morning. It could happen, right?
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Book Bar is much quieter in the middle of the day, but there are a handful of people sprinkled throughout the room, many of whom I know from classes. A lot of people in our program come here. It’s quiet, and they give student discounts.
I yawn, then tug at the back of my shirt. It’s new, and I forgot to cut off the tag. It bothers me even more when I’m tired like this. I never did go back to sleep last night. And Cosmos never responded to my last text.
“Hello, Sullivan,” Kiara sing-songs a little too loud when she spots him at a table in the back. He scowls at her before returning his attention to his laptop.
“I love getting under his skin.” Kiara giggles. “Get me a latte, will you?” She heads in Sullivan’s direction and claims the table right next to him.
Being here, talking about classes, getting coffee, itall feels strange after spending so much time in the hospital. Good, but strange. Almost like it never happened. Like that time occurred in some bubble universe no one else knows about. I feel oddly distanced from my life and unsure how to step back into it. I want things to return to normal, but I also feel like normal doesn’t fit anymore.
The bell over the door chimes, and a woman walks in. Her head is bald, and she has that tired look I’m so familiar with. How long has she been doing chemo? Is it working? Or will she find herself like my mom, having to try experimental treatments that may or may not work? Mom’s doing well, but the doctors say we aren’t out of the woods. They still won’t make any guarantees that the cancer won’t come back, that we won’t find ourselves right back where we were.
I give the woman a small smile, which she returns. Then, I turn my attention back to the barista. After ordering my coffee, I lean across the counter and point as subtly as possible. “See that woman who just walked in? When she comes to order, would you put it on my card?”
I hand her the card, and she takes it with a conspiratorial smile.
While waiting for my drink, I check my phone again. No response from Cosmos. Doomsday thoughts bounce around inside my head, punching tiny holes in my already Swiss cheese level self-confidence. Does he hate the beach? Or just the idea of sex in public? Or was suggesting sex on a first date tooforward? He was the one to suggest it first, though… right?
I study our text exchange more closely. I guess he didn’t actually suggest sex. He just said‘spicy parts,’which could mean lots of things. Ugh. Of course, I took it the wrong way. I also made an assumption that we’d be going out on Wednesday when we never actually made plans. He told me he was off on Wednesday and that he was looking forward to seeing me, but he never asked me to go out with him then. Shit.
I start typing a message, backpedaling on my last text. But, it doesn’t sound right. Erase. Start again. This one is basically a short novel. The Tales of Panicking Hazel. All my neurotic tendencies on display for him to see.
