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“Well—” I start to respond, but my sister yelling at the top of her lungs stops my progress.
“Grant and Seth Brown!” Sammy shouts. “Get away from that stove right now. I told you it’s hot!” I suck my lips into my mouth and wait as she gives my nephews hell. “I don’t care! If you burn your fingerprints off on an open flame, Spider-Man’s web building isn’t going to matter all that much, I promise!”
I chuckle to myself, but Sammy doesn’t even pause before switching gears right back to me. Ah, the life of a mother.
“How about you? How’s the tour going?”
Well, hell. I am the last thing we should talk about right now. “Uh…it’s fine.”
“Fine?” she questions. “Just fine? Brookie, what’s going on? You’re on a tour for a Netflix show about your books, and you don’t even sound thrilled. And trust me, I know it’s not because you’re getting negative attention. I was at your first stop and witnessed all those people waiting to see you. And I’ve been tracing your moves. Every article and social media post I’ve read and every interview I’ve managed to find on YouTube has been nothing but insanely positive.”
“I am thrilled,” I tell her, but I don’t sound convincing. “It’s just some things are…complicated. And hard to explain.”
“Well, good news, sis, because those are my favorite things. Lay it on me.”
I groan. “I don’t know if I can, Sam.”
“Sure, you can. Remember who my sons are. Nothing scares me.”
“Okay. Well…” I scratch at the comforter anxiously and then move my hand to the top of Benji’s soft head to give it a rub. “I’ve been having a really good time. Like, maybe the best time ever. Until today.”
“What changed?”
“I… Oh God, this is embarrassing.” I pause, grinding my teeth in consideration. Am I really going to open this can of worms? Spill this pan of beans? Brew this kind of tea?
“Come on, Brookie. I highly doubt anything can be as embarrassing as the time I shit my pants during the homecoming dance and had to leave my soiled underwear in the high school bathroom trash can. If I can live through that, you can live through telling me this.”
Ughhh. I hate that she’s right. Sharting your panties at a high school dance pretty much trumps anything else you can have happen to you.
“Fine.” I sigh and drop my voice lower just to be sure the man driving this motor home can’t hear me. “I…well… I have a huge crush on my editor Chase.”
“Valid,” she says without pause. “I’ve seen him. He is quite dreamy.”
“Thank you for that.” I blush, dropping my head into my hands. No one knows how to cut through the bullshit and make me smile like my sister.
Well, no one but her and, usually, Chase.
“Okay, so you’ve got a crush on your editor. People get crushes all the time, babe,” she remarks. “So, what’s the problem?”
The problem? Oh man. The weight of this feels like a million and one problems.
“Well…” I pause, take a deep breath, and try to find a way to explain this insane situation of mine. “We’ve been having a great time. Actually, once I got past the urge to faint every time I spoke to him, and we got used to being in each other’s space, we’ve been having a really great time. I…think we even came close to kissing at one point the other night? We bumped into each other as I was going back to the bedroom and he was coming out of the bathroom, and we just kind of…froze. Like, right there in each other’s arms, heavy breathing and all that. My boobs almost swelled their way into his throat. We only separated when we heard a loud noise outside the motor home, and even then, it felt like pulling magnets apart.”
“Oooh, this is getting juicy-juice! I like it!”
“Don’t get too excited,” I huff. “Something has shifted, and today, he’s barely said a word to me. I did my appearance in NOLA, and now we’re driving to San Antonio. Well, he’s driving, and I’m locked inside the bedroom trying not to turn into a lunatic, because I swear, he can’t even look at me now. I don’t know what I did or what happened or… I don’t know. But I’m freaking out all over again, and to be honest, I’m sad. Like we had a fight or broke up or something. Which is completely batshit crazy pants because we were never anything, Sam!” I slap a palm to my face. “I don’t have rhyme or reason to be any of these things.”
“Oh horseshit, Brookie,” she retorts. “Sure you do. Maybe you weren’t an official couple, but you’re allowed to mourn what you thought you had going on. Still, if he can’t see how great you are, then fuck him. There will be plenty of fish knocking on your very successful door from now until the cows come home.”
