“My eggnog was and always is a huge hit.” My dad’s there too, of course, on the extension. They’re on the landline they keep precisely for the purpose of calls like this.
“Because it’s 90% rum, Jim.”
“Of course it is, that’s what eggnogis, otherwise you’re just drinking a glass of raw yolks.”
I smile. It’s good to hear from them.
“Just ignore your father, George. We just wanted to call and see how you were feeling.”
Gutted? Despondent? Like a complete idiot? Like I finally put myself out there and got smacked in the face?
I mean, obviously, I’m going to lie here.
“I’m doing oka?—”
“We saw an article on Luca’s wedding to that slick Hollywood director fellow.” Dad cuts in.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” says Mom. “That’s got to be hard.”
I almost want to laugh. I wonder if they would feel better or worse if I told them I hadn’t thought about Luca in days.
“I’m fine, guys, really, and Cory’s actually very nice.”
“Mmm-hmm,” hums Dad, unconvinced.
I love my folks. They have always been 100% supportive of me in everything.
“And I’ve been getting a lot of work done,” I continue. “I’m nearly ready to turn in the manuscript I came here to finish. And, actually, it looks like I’m going to have a chance to go in a little bit of a different direction on my next project.”
I absently pick up the wooden puzzle box sitting near me on the kitchen table. I’ve managed to leave them scattered around the cabin, and this is one of the few I’ve never cracked. I fiddle with it while we talk.
“That sounds very secretive—and very exciting!” Mom says, “I take it we’re going to have to wait for more details.”
“Not too long, but yeah. I want to iron out the specifics before I share.”
I don’t say it, but part of it is it’s new and special, and I just sort of want to keep it private for now. Of course, Anabel knowsaboutthe book. But that’s business. She’s the one makingit happen. And Owen knows. Owen’s seen every last note I scribbled in the margin. The stupid honest truth is I kind of like the idea that it’s just something between him and me right now. Fuck my life.
“Of course,” chirps my mom, “but as soon as you can, do let me know so I can order copies for my book club!”
“You’re assuming it’s a book, Margaret.”
“Itisa book, though, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s?—”
“Doesn’t matter, either way, we’re very proud of you,” says Dad.
“Oh, yes, absolutely.”
Now I’m legitimately laughing. “I appreciate that, but it is in fact a book. I promise I will share more very soon.”
“Take your time, kiddo.”
“Well, we don’t want to keep you,” Mom says. “We know you have work to do.”
I rub my thumb along one edge of the puzzle box. “I do, yeah. I should probably get back to it.”
“Of course, sweetie,” says Mom. “Oh, one more thing before I forget, Josie from book club wanted to know when the next Sebastian Steele was coming out. You know she puts every single one on pre-order. She’s your biggest fan. I told her it would probably be the spring at the earliest, but you know Josie.”
