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“About what?” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.
Lori shrugs. “Oh, maybe we will want your take on particular rumors, or events that happened that many believe were covered up.”
My frown deepens and I feel like I’m sinking deeper into my chair, as if I’m being buried alive in a dark hole that I cannot get out of. “It’s not like we’re the mafia,” I mutter.
My dad has definitely been in some tricky positions—tax evasion, money laundering, sex scandals. The tax evasion and affairs are definitely true. Dad would never launder money. At least, I don’t think he ever has. I have nothing to add to those conspiracies, however I already feel bad about writing about the time I walked in on the secretary giving my dad a blow job, or about the time Mom caught Dad and his lover doing it in the family limo.
Unsurprisingly, Mom didn’t care. As I recall, she reached over, grabbed the bottle of champagne, and slammed the door shut on them. I don’t know if they had an agreement when they married. Maybe Mom agreed to an open marriage, although I’ve never seen her cheat on Dad with any pool boys. Maybe Mom allowed Dad to cheat so long as he never divorced her—so she can continue being provided for. Maybe Mom never loved Dad and cared only for the money, fame, and the alcohol he provided her.
Whatever it was, it definitely messed me up as a kid knowing there was no love in our family. Even now, it’s difficult for me to recall the last time they kissed. And these are the things I’m going to be writing about. I can feel my insides twisting into a noose. There’s no way I can return to my parents after this. I will definitely be disowned for the rest of my life, and my parents will become the laughing stock of New York high society.
Lori’s laughter over video chat jerks me back to the present and I force a smile, which looks more like a grimace. “Oh, I know you’re not the mafia, Lucas, but it would be nice to get your side of things. We want to make the book… spicy. If you get my meaning?”
Oh, I get it alright.
“Okay,” I say, my hands fisting in my lap.
As soon as the video chat ends, I release the long sigh I have been holding and lean back in my seat. My eyes flutter closed and I try to recall how I even got myself in this position. Oh, yes, that’s right, I freaked out over the last rejection letter and decided to call Lori up to tell her the great news. I even signed the contract and attached it in email. There’s no way out of this now. I’ve made my bed, now I have to lie in it.
I always imagined getting published would feel differently—that I would feel excited, being shouting at the top of my lungs to the entire world that finally I did it. Instead, all I want to do is crawl into bed, throw the blankets over me, and hide myself away for the next twenty years.
A knock sounds at the door and I turn, finding Rachel pushing the door open and poking her head inside. “Hey,” she says, smiling at me.
Her smile is infectious and I find myself returning it as she steps inside. She’s in her pajamas—a simple long shirt with her fluffy bunny slippers. If I wasn’t so tired from work I would be stalking toward her, grabbing her and throwing her on the bed. Then making sweet love to her until sunrise. Unfortunately, I can barely move from my chair, let alone carry her to the bed.
Ugh. Fuck work. One good thing from getting published is I won’t have to work at The Cafe anymore and deal with Jason trying to trick me into working longer hours. That bastard even tried to get me to work this Friday even after promising it off. I had to whip out our contract, which he tried to deny, until a law student came in and told Jason that once it’s in writing, he has to fulfill the duties.
Thank you, Mr. Law Student. Now I have two more Friday nights and Saturday mornings off and little ol′ Jason is going to have to be grumpy for the next couple weeks. I can still hear his excuse from last Friday: “But she will forget all about me if I don’t take her out this weekend!”I doubt it. If she agreed to a second date, then it’s clear she likes him. And if she’s moving on to another guy that quickly, then she’s not worth it. Although, Jason does seem pretty desperate these days. I doubt the guy has been laid in the past six months. That would drive any man, including myself, crazy.
“We were just about to order some pizza. Do you want some?” Rachel asks, her big green eyes staring at me innocently. My cock twitches in want, but my body refuses to move. Fucking Hell.
“What’s the occasion?” I can’t keep having all this fast food. I go to the gym as much as I can, but I’m no longer rowing every week like I used to. I’m worried with the amount of pizza we consume, I’ll be fat by the end of this year.
Rachel shrugs. The movements flicks her hair behind her shoulder. “Hunter is coming over to play some video games with Seth and Alex.”
That’s not a good enough excuse for pizza. I shake my head. “I think I’ll pass. I need to start writing anyway if I’m going to make my deadline.” The summaries are due by the end of January and then the first four chapters are due by the end of April. I still need to figure out what to write about. There are some stories I want to keep secret, but who knows if Lori will be able to pick them out of me. I don’t even know where to start.
“Oh?” Rachel closes the distance between us. Her hand rests on my shoulder and I lean into her touch, seeking and wanting more of it. “What is it about?”
I still. Now is probably the time to tell her, but all words escape me. Her innocent eyes gaze down at me, holding me, making me wish things were different. I want to write about us, how we came to be together, how our love holds us together, but no one wants another love story. Everyone wants drama, pain. They want a real story, and although Rachel and I are completely real, I suppose we lack the kind of drama people would be interested in.
“I’ll tell you later,” I say, my voice soft, my tongue numb. “I’m still trying to work out the timeline.”
“Can you at least give me a hint?”
The knife keeps twisting deeper into my heart as I gaze up at her, at the twinkle in her eyes, at the smile on her lips. “It’s about me.”
Rachel chuckles. “That’s not much of a hint.”
“And that’s all you get,” I tease, trying to calm off playful and unable to hide the bitterness inside me.
Rachel strokes my shoulder, the touch sending ripples down my spine. “I applied for the May Art Market.”
“Really?” I ask, straightening in my chair. “That’s great. Have you heard back from them?”
Rachel shakes her head and her smile dissipates, replaced by worry. “Not yet. I won’t hear back from them until around Spring Break.”
Spring Break. That’s when the Open Mic in Boulder is. I still haven’t applied. The fee for the application is fifty bucks. I’m still trying to decide if it’s worth it. I’m out one hundred dollars from applying for the poetry anthology. I guess fifty isn’t so bad, if I really think about it, and it would be good to have someone new hear my stuff.
