Page 79 of A Bookish Story

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “Take a break and come back.”

He’s a rather dramatic writer. I can’t imagine what revisions must be like.

It’s almost dinner time when I get home and I know I’m going to eat dinner with Eddie and my mother. It’s normally not an issue and we’ve been managing since she arrived. But in light of recent developments, I expect a lot of awkward pauses in conversation. When I walk inside, the succulent smells of arroz con pollo fill Abuelita’s kitchen. She’s also fried plantains, one of my favorites, which she only makes every few months. I’m beginning to wonder if they’re all trying to butter me up. I suppose it makes sense for Abuelita to want to keep us all close and in the family. Eddie would legally be my stepfather, which while strange, fits right into the family dynamic. And she wouldn’t worry about Eddie being alone after she’s gone.

“Mmm,” my mother says. “No one makes rice and chicken like you do, Mami.”

“Muy delicioso.” Eddie nods.

“You should eat more, Geneva,” Abuelita says. “You’re too skinny.”

“Yes, I will,” my mother says, shocking all of us, I’m sure, but mostly me.

For the next few interminable minutes, we all talk about food as if we’ve never had it before. As if we’ve just discovered Abuelita can cook. The salt is particularly salty and the rice is so fluffy. It’s ridiculous.

“It looks like I’m going to get a contract for a new book,” I announce, mostly to change the subject from food.

“Of course you are,” Mami says. “You’re a New York Times bestselling author. It’s not time to stop writing now!”

“Yes, but I didn’t write that book,” I say and then conversation stops. Just grinds to halt as Eddie stares at me bug-eyed.

I throw a hand over my mouth. The secret I fought so hard to keep is out. It slipped out. I have just violated my NDA.

“What do you mean you didn’t write the book?” Mami says, glancing from Eddie to me, back to Eddie again. “You always write the book. If you didn’t, who did?”

Eddie stares straight ahead and Abuelita hasn’t even looked up from her plate.

It’s too late now, so I just go for it.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you, but I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. And now you all are sworn to secrecy unless you want me to be sued.”

I explain I’ve violated my non-disclosure agreement and if they love me, they will pretend they didn’t hear any of this. All these years they all knew I was a ghostwriter but not for who or which books I wrote. It didn’t matter to them as long as I was happy and getting paid to do the work I loved.

Eddie and Abuelita seem to accept my slip just fine, nodding their agreement. But my mother’s forehead is crinkly and for the first time I notice she’s no longer using Botox. Maybe Eddie is right and she has changed.

Mami sets down her fork and crosses her arms. “So, this man has used you.”

“No, no.” Eddie waves his hands dismissively. “This is a good thing.”

“I don’t see how,” my mother says. “He’s using her face and body like she’s an employed actor or something.”

“That’s right, I’m acting,” I say with a tiny smirk. “It’s something you’re familiar with.”

I half wonder if she’s jealous it’s a role she can’t play. Any moment now I expect her to remind everyone I’m taking after her. It was her influence that led me to this moment in time. Her genes that made me who I am.

But instead, her lower lip is trembling as if she’s going to cry.

“Acting is something you never expressed any interest in,” Mami says.

“Maybe she’s proud of you, Geneva,” Eddie says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And wants to be more like you.”

That’s a reach but I appreciate Eddie trying to smooth this over.

“That’s the last thing I want!” Mami says, standing, and dramatically throwing her napkin on the table.

She then turns in the direction of the hallway and stalks off toward the bedrooms.

Eddie and I stare at each other.