“The recycling bin on my computer.No!I’m going to print it out and put it in the trash and then burn the trash.”
“But it’ll still be on the computer.”
“But it’ll feel cathartic.And catharsis is the most important thing in the world.After snacks.”
On cue, Hugo slid me the bowl of fruit.I picked out half a grape.(Hugo had once, in total seriousness, told me it was better if the grapes were cut in half; presumably because otherwise, like a baby, I might choke on them.) Hugo leaned on the counter, head resting in his hand, his expression thoughtful.
“What?”I finally asked.“And now is not an opportunity for a discussion about how I use my writing time.”
“I don’t know if now is the right time.”
That made me take a second, longer look at him.It took me a moment to recognize the barely tamped-down excitement in his face.
“What?”I asked.“What is it?”
“No, I want to talk about you.I want to strategize.You know the best thing you can do after a rejection is send the story out again.You should send it out today, as a matter of fact.Have you already triedHitchcock’s?”
“Hugo Fairchild, what in the world is going on?”
“I don’t want to make this about me.This is about you.Let’s focus on you.”
“I’m going to commit suicide by grape if you don’t tell me right now.”
His smile was like the sun coming up.“Phil called.Like, five minutes ago.I still can’t believe it; I think I’m in shock.”
Phil was his agent.And my parents’ agent.And he’d love to be my agent if I weren’t, as Hugo had once memorably put it,so willfully set on throwing away everything good you’ve got in your life.
“Phil called?”
“He sold it.He soldMirror Box.”
“He—”
“He sold it, Dash!At auction!I can’t even wrap my head around it, around that kind of money.”
For a single, selfish moment, all I could see was that single-sentence rejection.And then Hugo’s face came back into focus, the first shadow of doubt as he looked at me, and I forced a smile.“Hu, baby, that’s great!That’s amazing!I’m so proud of you!”Somehow, I got around the island and kissed him.“Oh my God, that’s wonderful!”
“It’s unreal,” he said with a laugh.
“What’s unreal is that we’re sitting here eating fruit!We should be celebrating.We need champagne!Do we have champagne?”
We didn’t, it turned out.So we decided to go buy some.
As we were letting ourselves out of the apartment, Hugo talked nonstop.“He’s still trying to set up a call with the editor, and I’m sure there will be edits, and they don’t give you the money all at once—God, you know that.I’m sorry, I’m babbling.But Dash, the money.”He laughed again.He sounded giddy, drunk without a drop of champagne.“Baby, this is going to change everything.You won’t have to teach.You won’t have to write.You won’t have to do anything, not anymore.”
5
Because I was a good boyfriend, and because I was a responsible, fully self-actualized adult, and because I was great at planning and time management and general housekeeping, I was doing the laundry.And, of course, because Hugo was coming back tonight from New York.From his meeting with his editor, Rachel.
My phone buzzed as I was emptying the dryer into the laundry basket.Laura’s name appeared on the screen, and I answered.
“How busy are you?”I asked.
“Very busy,” she said.“I have a very busy, very rich, very fulfilling life.”
“Great.I need you to fold some socks.”
“No.”
