I nodded. “You don’t think I’m gonna make it in the movie business…or any other business apart from yours.”
“We both know it doesn’t matter what I think, baby. Only what you think matters.”
I gazed at him, pursing my lips. I’d been working day and night to support myself after I quit being an architect, while trying to pursue a career as an author. Not once had I asked for money even when things got rough, and God knew how many times I’d been broke since.
Even when he offered, I’d never caved.
Now, the only reason I asked him for help and not anyone else was that I thought he believed in me. I thought he understood quitting a stable, lucrative job to pursue my dreams was courage, not recklessness or insanity. It turned out he was only indulging his spoiled baby girl’s whims until she came back to her senses.
I leaned forward and asked the driver to stop the car.
“Maggie, don’t—”
My arms wrapped around his shoulders. “It’s good to see you, Dad.”
“Maggie,” he called after me as I shut the door behind me. “The money will be in your account by the end of the day.” His voice trailed behind me.
“No thanks. I’m a bad investment.” I stalked away, my fists shoved in the pockets of my jacket, tears burning my eyes.
My phone buzzed with an email alert. I got it out, swiped and glanced at the subject line: Results of our short story competition - Congratulations!
My eyebrows hooked as I opened the email.
Dear Maggie,
I'm delighted to tell you that your short story, Shreds, was in the top five in this quarter's competition - congratulations!
We'd like to publish your piece in the next anthology, which we're hoping to bring out in mid-November. If you're happy to be a part of the collection, just get back to us and let us know before Wednesday 25th October so that we can announce the winning entries, then we'll send you a check with your $1,000 prize.
Congratulations once again!
Stephen
I froze for a moment, and then I lifted my head to the bright sky, the tears now falling.
This was neither the first time I’d won a writing contest, nor did I care much about writing now, but winning at this particular moment meant the world to me. It was all the validation I needed after my most important supporter told me I was doing nothing but wasting my life.
Wiping my face, I nodded to myself. I would make my movie. At any cost.
I just had to figure out how to come up with nine more thousand dollars. Writing a few more pieces here and there wasn’t going to cut it. It barely paid for groceries. Maybe I should have let Dad get me that Lexus for my birthday. It would have come in handy now.
The phone buzzed again, this time with a text message alert. I scowled at the name on the screen. Mike.
Morning, Kiddo. Back from Berlin. Scheduled 4 photo shoots till 3. Call me when u r up. TC.
Sniffling, I tapped the dial icon and placed the phone on my ear, expecting voicemail.
“Carolina, how’re you doing?” Mike answered, his voice cheerful. “Why are you up so early?”
My heart thudded. The way his Italian accent popped as his rugged voice said my middle name warmed my cheeks. “Um… I haven’t slept yet.” I ran a finger across my eyebrow. “What’re you doing answering your phone? I thought they were getting you dolled up for pictures.”
He laughed. “They will…in thirty minutes.”
“Okay. How was Berlin?”
“Was all right. Shoot. Promote. Fest. Same old stuff. Anyway, what’s up with you, Kiddo?”
I hated it when he called me that. “I’m not a fucking Kiddo.”
