“You’re not published yet,” I say. “Once it’s out there, it’s for everyone else.”
“True. Although who knows if I’ll ever cross that bridge.”
“You will,” I say, somehow sure of it, and am rewarded with another of his smiles.Breathe,I remind myself. “So being your true self isn’t your greatest need?”
He sighs. “Is it anyone’s? Most of us live in service of others. Your podcast is evidence of that—how many of your guests talk about the pressure of familial duty versus their own desires?”
“How many podcast episodes have we had?” Because basically every single guest I’ve interviewed has touched on this to some extent.
“Three hundred and thirty-seven,” he says immediately. “And, spoiler, the theme runs through every single one.”
My head snaps back at the exact figure. “How do you know that?”
“I told you I’ve listened to your podcast.”
“You didn’t tell me you’ve listened to every episode.” In a million years, I wouldn’t have guessed…Thank goodness Maral’s not here to hear this and gleefully hold me to my camping promise.
“It’s very relatable,” he says simply, sipping his beer.
I’m trying to make sense of this. Trying to slow my mind enough to snatch one of its million thoughts and questions.
My confusion must be evident because he asks, “What?”
“I just…” I trail off. “I’m trying to figure you out.”
He’s still for a beat. “I’m a mystery wrapped in an enigma.”
“You are, though.” I lean forward, elbows on the sticky table. “When we first met, I could swear you had zero respect for what I do. Not just because you seemed totally disinterested in my bookproposal, but it was like you had a wall up against me in all our interactions.”
He stares at me, unblinking. “I can promise you that was not disinterest.”
A shiver courses through me. I think back, trying to identify whether I could have misread his behavior that completely. Whether that was just Ryan being Ryan—serious, reserved, pensive.
He releases a breath. “It’s true that I hadn’t listened to more than a couple episodes ofSo Proud of Youbefore our first meeting. But they were so good, and then I met you—” His eyes do that thing again—blazing momentarily before he regains his composure. He pulls his pint glass close to his chest. “I kept listening because it compelled me. I read your manuscript for the same reason.”
My heart skips a beat, then several more. “You didn’t think I was a trite internet personality.”
His eyelids drift shut for just a moment before his gaze finds mine again. “Ana, my opinion of you could not be further from that. You are…a force. In the best possible way. Which is why I thought you should include more of yourself in the book.”
The floor seems to open up beneath me, my fingertips gripping at the edge of a cliff. “Your media hits made it seem like you were phoning it in.”
He grimaces. “I wasn’t. Your message is important, and it’s one that deserves to be spread far and wide. That’s what I was trying to do—reach outlets that may not otherwise have covered your book. LikeTalon—I thought, with its circulation being what it is, that tapping Daniel would help broaden your book’s reach. We were friendly in college and he’d written glowing pieces about a couple of authors I’d pitched him before, and I was sure he’d be as taken withSo Proud of Youas I am. It seemed like a slam dunk. I had no idea he’d spin his piece that way…I felt absolutely sick when I read what he wrote.” He shakes his head. “Needless to say, I haven’tbeen in touch with him since—well, other than the scathing email I sent telling him exactly what I thought of him after hisarticlewas published.” He meets my eyes. “I’m sorry about how that went down. And that a lot of the other hits missed their mark. I wish I could control how every outlet covered your book, but that’s free media for you. It was shit luck, but I swear I just wanted to get your book in front of more readers.”
The air has left my body. And not just because I didn’t think Ryan could talk that much all at once. I make a conscious effort to inhale. “And then I went and had you fired,” I say faintly.
His brow draws down. “Well,firedis not the word I’d choose. I still have my job.”
“But I had you taken off my book.” I cringe inwardly and maybe a little outwardly.
“You had every right,” he says.
I sigh. “If it helps, your hits were not the only misses. The bad reviews didn’t exactly stop after you stepped off the campaign.”
“I know it can hurt to read bad reviews,” he says. And I’m surprised at how comforting it is to hear those words said aloud. “Like you said, once it’s out there, it’s everyone else’s, and everyone’s a critic, especially these days.” He sips his beer. “But look at the response you had tonight—you couldn’t take a step in that conference center without being stopped by someone raving about how you changed their life. That’s got to feel good. Screw the bad press. Only four days in the market and your book is already a success story.”
Tonight did feel good. Right now feels pretty good too.
I raise my glass and he clinks his against it. “I guess I don’t have to fall back on being a doctor just yet.”
