Was the muse thing really nonsense?
Truth be told, I didn’t even know what a muse was to me anymore. It used to be synonymous with Brooklyn, a gift that turned into a theft of that same gift. Then it became an excuse, then a fruitless search, and also a reason to keep Sunny close to me. And now it was...
Irrelevant.
Jack was right—I was finding my way back to making music, and while I knew it was because I had Sunny, it was more like Sunny made it easier to be creative, to listen to the parts of my mind that I’d ignored for years. She made me more curious, a little more fearless. Like I could find hundreds and thousands of muses in the world if only I looked hard enough.
It was time to give up the muse search. It wasn’t fair to people like Jack, and it wasn’t fair to me, and it wasn’t fair to Sunny. I would tell her that I was done looking for a muse, and that she didn’t have to be my muse either, and that I’d realized it was silly to put the entire burden of my creative life on one person.
Hope squeezed my guts.
If I told her that the whole muse thing was over and done, then maybe...
Maybe she would feel less pressure, zero expectations. Maybe she’d agree that what we already had was perfect, and everything could stay exactly how it was right now, and nothing had to change, ever, ever.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sunny
Isat at the kitchen counter with my cold scrambled eggs swimming in hot sauce, Mr.Tumnus curled up in my lap, as I sniffled my way through the ending ofThe Wedding Singer. The part on the plane always made me cry like a little bitch.
Ruth and I had a video chat date tonight, but she’d had to cut it short to do some perfect little American dream family activity with Charlie; his wife, Jenna; and little Gretta. So for the last few hours, I’d sat here, watching movies on my phone in the dark. Mr.Tumnus eventually came around when he heard me cracking eggs for dinner.
I hadn’t heard from Isaac. Or Jack. Which could only mean one thing: the date was a success. Yay...
This was good. I was doing what I promised Isaac I would do.
As the credits began to roll, Mr. Tumnus jumped down, abandoning me. I threw away my leftovers and washed my plate. I had work to do anyway. Maybe instead of watching movies all night, I should have actually written mine. Of all the careers I’d lived—sex work, makeup artistry, and evendirecting—writing was where I felt the most in my skin. It took everything I loved about movie magic, and gave me the most control from the get-go. But right now, it felt too daunting. My mind was too cloudy.
After letting out a totally unearned yawn, I left the kitchen to trudge upstairs and crack open my dear old laptop. I was actually almost halfway done, and I’d gotten there at a decent clip, but I could already see the ending looming and how it refused to take shape in my imagination.
The front door swung open and I froze at the base of the steps as Jack and Isaac came in from the cold.
MissCrumpets was fast asleep in Jack’s arms, and confusingly, one of her legs was shaved.
“How was the date?” I asked as brightly as I could.
“Expensive,” Jack bemoaned.
“Oh really? Isaac, you didn’t offer to go Dutch?”
Isaac shook his head. “I paid for the dinner we didn’t eat, but Jack footed the bill at the emergency vet’s office.”
“Holy shitsticks!” I stepped closer to Jack to get a better look at poor MissCrumpets. “Is she okay? What happened?”
“She ate a grape,” Jack said.
“Or a blueberry,” Isaac added.
“We didn’t know which,” Jack continued. “So we had to act fast. The bitch loves blueberries, but grapes are—”
“Toxic to dogs,” I said, remembering a pamphlet of pet-safe foods I’d seen at the vet.
“Exactly,” Jack said as though he were surprised by my knowledge of foods that are toxic to dogs. “There are so many things dogs can’t have that you don’t even realize. I have to be constantly vigilant. And don’t even get me started on houseplants!”
“Yes!” I said. “Mr.Tumnus has opened my eyes to the evils of poinsettias too.”
There was a fire in Jack’s eyes as he said, “And lilies can fuck all the way right off.”
