Intuition sparked in my brain. College wasn’t so long ago that I couldn’t remember how hard it had been at that age. How overwhelming everything was. “Family can be complicated.”
He gave a soft but slightly edged laugh. “Yeah, my brother’s really mad at me for leaving.” He shrugged helplessly. “And now I’m here, oversharing, and I’m kinda freaking out—”
No friends, no family around... and he just lookedso sad.
You know what helps sad people? Petting horses. And you know what helps me get my mother off my back?
I slid my phone over to him, displaying our website. “My mom and I run a sanctuary for old and retired horses. We do tours, educational visits. Kids come to pet horses who won’t snap at them...”
Skyler’s eyebrows shot up as he scrolled. “The End is Neigh?”
“Yeah, it’s morbid, but that’s Mom for you. But mypointis that I have access to very cute animals who like being petted if you wanted to pet some cute animals. Unrelated, but we’ve been needing to update the website with shots of people working with the horses. I took the photos you see there, which turned out great, but we need someone to be the go-to model. Everyone wants to give good-looking people money. And I’m not especially photogenic.”
Skyler’s perfectly symmetrical face furrowed in confusion. “Sorry, what does this have to do with me?”
“It has to do with you because you said you were sad and freaking out about being lonely, and horses help people not be sad. And honestly I need someone with a pretty face who can pose with horses.” I grinned at him. “Tell me you wouldn’t love to hang around with old horses.”
“Oh, absolutely, it’s the dream,” Skyler said in a perfect deadpan.
“How about you think it over?” I handed him my business card. “Have a sleep on it, and let me know. I’m in here all the time, but I’m also embarrassingly accessible on my phone, so. Options.”
Skyler was still staring down at the card. “So, just making sure this conversation is actually happening and that you exist and you’re here and offering me a horse-related modeling job? Because I’m working on maybe three hours of sleep and I may have started stress-hallucinating about an hour ago.”
“I mean, who’s to say if any of us really exist?” I joked. “But yes, I’m extremely serious.” I reclaimed my phone and stood up. “You’d be saving my ass from a well-meaning but slightly misguided maternal figure here.”
Skyler nodded, then as I turned to leave— “Lucas?”
“Yeah?”
He swallowed. He was still pale, but some color had returned to his cheeks, making those cheekbones pop. “Thank you. For offering me horses, and for ... checking in on me.”
“I couldn’t very well not. Your entire vibe is extremely concerning, I could sense it a mile away.”
His shoulders slumped in despair. “That’s not good.”
“Hey”—I pointed down at him playfully—“horses. But even if you decide not to, no worries. Though I wouldn’t be mad if you, like, wanted to text tomorrow to reassure me that you’re alive and that the void hasn’t swallowed you.”
And Skyler smiled—still soft but more open and unguarded this time. “If the void has cell service, I’ll let you know. Thanks.”
There was something so achingly genuine about Skyler Evans that, as I left him in the café to return to my car, it made me feel like a mama bird who had abandoned her child. Right as I fought the urge to go back and check on him one more time, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Had Skyler texted me already?
Darren:hey you, come over, I have a surprise ;)
I couldn’t help a grin, my stomach erupting with butterflies. Maybe Darren was coming to his senses after all.
July 16th- Thirty days until the convention
I woke slowly, my eyelids unsticking in sections and my body lying numb and inaccessible. Eventually, feeling returned to my extremities, beginning, unfortunately, with a cramp in my left calf. I surged to my feet and tried walking it out, cursing and whimpering under my breath.
The muscles finally eased into a nonexcruciating position, and I stood leaning against the door of the cupboard and shaking my leg angrily. I’d kicked off my shoes and jeans the night before. Or, come to think of it, the early afternoon before ...
I glanced hazily at my watch: only 2 p.m.—that was quite early for me, most days. I dug the heels of my hands into my eye sockets in an attempt to force my brain to wake up. There was work to be done. Pages that needed to be penciled cried out from the depth of my carry-on. After all, Deconstructionist Monochrome Blah Blah Something Comics didn’t draw themselves.
I was meant to have sent in these pages before fleeing the commonwealth, but I wasn’t yet used to deadlines being handed down from on-high.
Surrogate Goosehad been a passion project for so long that the idea that an international publisher like Drake House had picked up the bloody mindless drivel that was my brainchild felt like an elaborate prank. There were times, usually between two and six in the morning, when I convinced myself that I had fabricated the entire success of my comic. That I was still working my old soul-sucking dancing job to finance the self-publishing, and this was all a sad, drug-fueled dream.
As if she could sense the aquifers of my self-pity threatening to swell, Lakshmi chose that moment to send me a series of vaguely threatening emojis: an airplane, a small fire, and a question mark.
