“I’m just curious about your creative process.”
We move a little closer together as the sidewalk grows more crowded. Portable tables with vendors selling knockoff bags and NYC souvenirs line the pavement. “You can be honest,” he goes on. “Do you laugh or do you get all serious? Do you dim the lights? Get a few candles going?”
“Don’t belittle romance novels, okay? Romance is arguably the most popular and profitable genre of fiction in America. Everyone loves a love story.”
“Love stories?” Ryan asks incredulously. “No offense, Sullivan, but I’ve read your books andloveis not the first word that comes to mind when I think of the most memorable excerpts. If I had a dollar for every time you used the wordstender budto describe a freshly exposed nipple, I’d be a rich man.”
“Oh, please. You’re focusing on one aspect. And big deal, romance novels get racy at points. So what? Men used to have dirty magazines stashed away for years and the sky’s the limit on what kind of circus-level porn people can watch on the internet now. That’s exponentially worse than reading beautiful romantic stories about true love.”
“Granted, and maybe romance novels wouldn’t be so bad if everyone knew what was really going on in them. At least it’s common knowledge that guys indulge in erotic—” he searches for the right word “—collections.”
“Ha,” I say.
“But you act so innocent reading those books. People would be stunned if they knew the truth. When I stole your book in college, I was scandalized.”
“Were you? Were you scandalized, Ryan?”
“Yes, I was.”
I give him a disapproving grin and turn to look forward. “How’s your family?”
Ryan’s sly smile slowly falls away. “They’re fine. My sister, Sophie, is almost done with her doctorate in psychology, so she’s trying to figure out where she’ll start her practice.”
“That’s exciting. And how are your parents?”
“They’re all right.” He starts to walk faster as he glances across the street. “They’re divorced now.”
“Really?” I almost lose my footing and Ryan nods. “When did that happen?”
“About a month after we broke up.”
Our casual tone is instantly torched. I only met his parents a few times, but they always seemed happy. Well-matched. From the way Ryan spoke, I knew his family was close. He talked about his parents and sister all the time.
“Why did they get divorced?” I ask, the tenor in my voice dropping.
“They told us they fell out of love.” Ryan’s eyes pan back to mine for less than a second, but they seem somehow dimmer. “It didn’t really make sense at the time. They were high school sweethearts. People looked at them and thought they had it all. I thought they did. And then it was gone, like it was never there to begin with.”
“Were you angry?” I ask as we stop at a crosswalk.
“I was real angry. I was young, I had just lost my girlfriend and then my family imploded for what seemed like no good reason. I didn’t buy their excuse.”
I shift my weight from one foot to another. “Was it an excuse? You don’t think falling out of love is a valid reason for people to separate?”
“I’m sure it is, but my parents split up because my dad was having an affair for the last two years of their marriage.”
Well, damn.
The light turns green and we cross the street, moving along with the flow of traffic.
“How did you find out about your dad?” I soon ask.
“He told me the truth a few weeks later. He thought I would understand.”
“And did you?”
“No.” Ryan puts his hand in the arch of my back, ushering me forward to walk a step in front of him as the sidewalk becomes thick with foot traffic.
I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything.
