FROM SHEP
To my kindhearted daughter and favorite author,
Congratulations on publishing your very first novel. I’ve read it cover to cover four times already, and I think I might go for a fifth.
Your drive, determination, and discipline are mind-boggling. I am astounded at how much you have accomplished in just a few short years.
Lisa mailed me a shirt that says, “Proud dad of a badass author.” I hate that I can’t show it to you, but I wear it when I’m on the road. The night she and I met, the first thing I told her was what an amazing daughter I had. I showed her every picture I had. I told her that you had been given my favorite name. Autumn: the beautiful mix of vibrant colors, warm days, and calm skies. I told her about you writing a book underanother name that meant even more to me. Willow, like our willow tree.
I tried to surprise her with a copy of the book, but she did the same thing for me. Now we both have two copies.
I can’t wait for you to meet Lisa. I want to take you two to dinner so you can meet the next time you’re in town. My treat. But when you become rich and famous and sell billions of novels, you’re picking up the tab.
Just kidding. Dinner will always be on me because that’s what dads do.
I’m so proud of you. I hope you’re proud of yourself.
Love,
Dad
34
RYAN
THE INTERROGATION AUDIT
BroInABooth42:Dude looks so much better without a piece of pink hair in every fucking picture
BooksAndBiceps:What happened with Willow Winslet? Are you guys together? The twelve weeks are up! We need an update!
HoosierDaddy:It was just a publicity stunt. Can we get back to the normal stuff now?
MilesZhouOfficial:Broski! You never told me you were back in the ol’ Northeast! I’m firing up the Croc-Mobile.
Irolled my eyes at the comment section and tossed my phone onto the aging armchair that sat in the corner of the green room.
Why was it called a green room if it wasn’t green? This one looked like a beige motel room with corporate art and hospital furniture.
I grabbed a cheese cube from the fruit and veggie tray that had been set out for me and popped it in my mouth as I sank onto the couch and closed my eyes.
That appearance was a shit show.
A daytime talk show wanted to do a segment on practical dating tips, but all the host wanted to do was make double entendres and ask questions about Willow.
It had been five days since Willow left me at an airport terminal with my heart in my hands. Five days since I saw her. Five days since I heard her voice. Five days since I saw that look in her eye and knew there was no convincing her out of it.
That was the thing about Willow.
She didn’t yell and scream and shout accusations when she was angry. She was cold. And that was the worst thing of all.
I could handle angry. I could handle rage. I couldn’t handle indifference.
The realization that she had bought me a plane ticket before we even left the rental house in Manhattan was the nail in my coffin.
She went through the stages of grief and moved on while I slept beside her, thinking I still had a chance.
If I could have gone back in time, walked out of that salon, and gone straight to her, I would have.
