Page 49 of A Bookish Story

Mami appears in the doorway and we both turn to see her, hair perfectly styled, full makeup, wearing a dress that emphasizes the straight lines of her slender figure. Like Eddie, she’s old-school and must be photo op ready at any moment.

“Buenos dias. Guess what? I haven’t been able to fit into this dress for a while. The best thing about divorce is the diet,” she says, then takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Eddie, would you pour me a café, por favor?”

I bite my tongue before I tell her to get it herself. She’s not the queen. Naturally, Eddie pours her a cup and brings it to her the way he already knows she likes it. Black, like her soul. She curls her fingers around the warm cup, her manicure utter perfection.

“What are you doing today, mi amor?” she asks me, taking a dainty sip of her coffee.

“Writing,” I say. “All day. I’m on a roll.”

“Fantastic. Another little book? Eddie isn’t it wonderful our Luci is a New York Times bestselling author?”

“I’m not sure whether we—I mean I, made the list yet.”

“Yes, you did,” she says, stirring her coffee. “I subscribe to the Times, and I saw it myself last week. Soulmates, by Elizabeth Brogan, that’s your book right?”

“Oh my God. Really? He’s…I’m on the list? Again?” My voice is a squeak.

It’s been a week since the episode aired and between the excitement building around it the book made the list again.

“What number placement?” I ask. “Was it number one?”

I don’t think we could dare to hope.

“Is that important? I don’t remember,” she answers. “Isn’t that nice, Eddie?” She gives him a pointed look from under her long (and obviously fake) lashes.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s very nice.”

It would help if Eddie or at least my mother understood what an achievement this means in any author’s life. She seems unfazed, as though I won first place in a local writing contest, while I’m about to scream in delight.

“I have to make a phone call.” I rush right out the kitchen back door toward the shed to call Ryan in privacy. “Um, I have to tell all my friends.”

I can’t believe he didn’t bother to tell me. But as I’m changing and slipping on a pair of sandals, I decide I need to congratulate Ryan in person. This is a huge accomplishment for any author but especially one with what is, albeit technically, a debut. He must be thrilled and I can’t even imagine what I’ll find when I drive over to his home. This will be a celebration of sorts, so after I shower and dress, I stop by Michaela’s Bakery, but it’s Sunday so they’re closed.

I don’t need anything fancy and I’m not even sure flowers are appropriate. I drive all over town looking for the right gift, spending hours musing over sentimental cards, candy, and flowers. At Trader Joe’s, I decide a plant is more appropriate. A happy plant, of course, so I choose basil because it smells good and can do double duty as food. And ballons, naturally. I have to go somewhere else for those and finally, thirty minutes later, I shove the “Congratulations” mylar balloons low into the back seat of my sedan. Each time they pop up, obstructing my rear view, I reach to push them back down.

I ring the doorbell twice since he won’t be expecting me. I start to wonder if Ryan is home even though I see his rental parked, when he opens the door, a big smile on his face.

He holds his arms out in a greeting I’ve never seen from him. “Hello! It’s you.”

He never greets me like this and I’m a bit unnerved. First, I hand him the basil plant, which he accepts.

“Congratulations! I just heard the news.”

“Yes! Come in!” He sweeps his arm wide in a flourish. “Welcome!”

He almost looks…happy. Or high. Guess making a list, a crowning achievement for authors, has a way of doing this to a person.

“Are you okay?” I narrow my eyes.

“I’m great! Why wouldn’t I be? It’s official. And I’m sure this plant…” He gestures.

“It’s basil. An herb, so you can cook with it, too.”

He gives the plant a sideways look. “Right and those…um…”

“Balloons,” I say, feeling stupid now. A grown man doesn’t need balloons. He’s not twelve.

“Are all to congratulate me on making the list.”