Page 53 of A Bookish Story

We go down the memory lane of other things in life that are not writing or story related. Ryan tells me about his baseball card collection and how his first splurge after his advance was on a Jackie Robinson card.

I gape. Even I know who that is. “So that’s where your advance went.”

Ryan looks sheepish. “No. I got a great deal.”

It’s refreshing to see this side of Ryan. We don’t talk about the book.

Dinner is a feast. The scents of Bolognese sauce, butter, and garlic waft in the air around us, our entrees artfully arranged and good enough to be photographed for a lifestyle site. Our meal is decadently delicious. We toast to our mutual success, and we eat, with plenty of bread for me. In fact, I ask for another basket. We discuss Ryan’s latest novel, which has dual timelines and sounds fascinating.

I don’t want to tell him, but the use of time in a novel is my jam, and the book I’ve finished is a time traveling romance. The Time Traveler’s Wife was a huge inspiration to me as a teenager, but I’ve taken the idea in a different direction. I’ve invented a world in which time travel is the norm and two star-crossed lovers always seem to be in different timelines.

This is the novel Holly has heard about over the years and I wonder how I’ll ever explain my change of direction. My work has always leaned toward fantasy and Soulmates is a straight up small-town contemporary romance.

I’m in the middle of buttering another piece of bread when I see something I never thought I’d see in a million years. It’s enough to suck all the air out of me. A few booths away from us sits Eddie and he’s not alone. He’s with my mother. This wouldn’t be so odd by itself, but when he reaches for her hand and kisses it I feel like I’m floating outside my body in some other parallel universe in which these two secretly like each other.

“Oh my God,” I say, dropping the butter knife.

“What is it? Are you choking?” He’s leaning forward, as if ready to jump across the table and Heimlich me.

When I left the house earlier, those two were both having a chat with Abuelita, reminiscing old times. Lots of talk of my father, of course, and what a great man he was.

Now this. This! What is this fresh hell?

I cough and wave Ryan away. “No, no. I’m okay. Fine.”

Except I’m not. I can’t imagine why Eddie kissed my mother’s hand. Wait. Hold on. Maybe I imagined it. It’s true that sometimes my writer’s brain can get carried away, but not like this. I’ve never hallucinated before. On the other hand, maybe there’s a viable explanation. Eddie was simply checking her hand. Like, maybe she cut or bruised it accidentally and he was just making sure it was okay. With his lips.

Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick. I don’t want them to see me, and everything in me is pushing me to run out of here, but I can’t do this to Ryan. This is a celebration and not a time for me to deal with my chaotic family. This latest development qualifies under the heading of highly irrational. My mother hates Eddie and he only tolerates her because of me.

“I have to powder my nose,” I say like a 1960s ingenue. “Be right back.”

The only thing to do, once I close the bathroom stall, is text Sofia. She will know what to do.

Help! I’m at Osteria and I just saw Eddie and my mother together.

Sofia:

Why do you need help?

Me:

I mean they are together TOGETHER.

Sofia:

And…? I don’t get it.

I really need to spell this out for her.

Me:

He kissed her hand!

A long pause as the bubbles form, meaning she’s composing her response.

Sofia:

Are you sure? Because that IS weird.