Page 114 of Fate Fiction

Don’t worry, I'm watching episode nine.

You’re brooding on a horse at present.

Maybe: Evan:

It’s what I do best.

Can we FaceTime later?

I looked down at my shirt that was currently also serving as a napkin. Dots of greasy fingerprints decorated the fabric. What did it matter? Evan didn’t care. He had seen my asshole and my tears, he’d live if he saw my grease stained oversized “Harvard Square Book Fair” t-shirt.

My how times had changed.

Sure.

But you’re not allowed to judge my reactions.

Maybe: Evan:

Have you considered that’s precisely why I want to see your face?

Am I allowed to finish the episode in peace?

Maybe: Evan:

If you insist.

Call me when you’re done.

I smiled at my phone and tossed it onto the cushion next to me, trying to focus on the fictional character Evan McLeod was playing and not the real Evan McLeod living in my phone.

The episode ended on a cliffhanger, as most of them did. The final scene of peril to keep the audience begging for more. As the credits rolled, I clicked on the last FaceTime I’d had with “Maybe: Evan” and stared at myself on my phone screen as a new call began.

Evan’s face appeared and a massive grin spread across his face at the sight of me. He was also lounging on the couch, the only thing I could see were the pillows and cushions behind him. His hair spilled out around him. “You actually finished it?”

I faux crossed my heart, “scout’s honor. I just watched Lady Premble get taken to Edgemore and Sir Erwyn ride off into the woods dramatically. There was a lot of that happening this season, huh?”

“A lot of that happens every season,” he wryly chuckled. “What do you have there?” He nodded towards the bowl laying on the side table behind me.

I picked it up and rattled the crumbs, “salt and vinegar chips. Or the ghosts of them.”

Evan picked up a bag of the same chips that had been apparently laying on the couch next to him. “Also ghosts now. My post show diet has been totally fucked. Now that I don’t have to starve and dehydrate myself to show my abs on camera I’ve been eating like a frat boy.”

“You housed a family-sized platter of nachos last time we were together, does that not count?”

He laughed, “no, it does not. I’m protecting my dignity by not showing you all the takeout containers in my trash bin.” He paused for a second. “Do you have anything going on this weekend?”

Odd question, and odd timing.

“Editing, again. Maybe I’ll leave my house if I can decipher the cryptic comments my editor made for me.”

No one prepared me for the unique experience of having your written work torn to shreds while simultaneously being bolstered as a piece of art. I’d been no stranger to criticism. Some of the comments people had left on my fanfics cut so deep I was convinced I needed stitches. Growing up as the big-boned, glasses-wearing, socially awkward with niche interests child of a Westchester housewife had also granted me the privilege of learning exactly what my flaws were at a young age.

My editor was different. While her comments on certain lines or chunks of text could make me feel like I was soaring into the heavens, other comments could yank me back onto the ground just as fast. I’d been questioned about my character’s motivations so many times I wondered if she was actually motivated to do anything at all.

“Ah yes, the big, unmarketable book that you said was complete shit,” Evan teased.

“I think I only said that it sucked. And based on how many comments my editor has I’m starting to think it genuinely does.”