Not in LA, but outside of that, I don’t see how it matters.
Ryland
Come on, babe. Don’t be like that. We used to be friends.
My body stiffens when I read thebabe. I hate the way he can be so dismissive of me but turn it around to make me feel like I’m the one being ridiculous or overreacting.
Me
What jacket? I’ll ask my mom to look for it. My dad can give it to you if she finds it.
Ryland
The navy one with the pink pinstripes. Seriously, Indigo, where are you?
Me
I’ll let you know if my mom finds it.
Ryland
You’re really not going to tell me?
Me
Bye, Ryland.
When he doesn’t keep pushing, I breathe a sigh of relief, but my flow has been well and truly interrupted. Despite my best efforts for the next half an hour, I don’t get much written and decide to close my writing program.
At least I can get some administrative things done.
Opening my emails, I find a follow-up from Elise regarding the publisher’s request that I reveal my identity and agree to a book tour for this next release. She has my best interests at heart, and part of me wishes I was brave enough to own my pen name and my books, but I can’t help worry about the attention it will bring. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
I know what Lola thinks. She thinks I should go for it. I just wish I had someone else to talk to. It’s tempting to bring Bash in on my secret, but the risk of him finding that old fanfic about him is too mortifying.
Maybe, eventually, I’ll find the courage to reveal everything to him, but we only recently reconnected. It’s too soon. Plus, he’s focused on the postseason, and I don’t want to be a distraction.
So I take the easy out and promise Elise I’m considering it, but that I need more time before giving her a decision. I can’t put it off forever. If I give them the go-ahead, they’ll want to develop a whole marketing strategy around it, and they’ll need time to book signings with bookstores around the country.
It’s a lot to consider.
When I’ve gone through all of my emails and knocked out some other administrative tasks I’ve been putting off, I give my mom a call. She’s in LA while my dad is on location in some South American country, so if I’m going to have anyone check for Ryland’s jacket, it has to be her.
She answers on the fourth ring. “Hey, honey.”
“Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“Great. It’s looking like I’ll be booking that part I told you about last time.” She sounds excited. Her voice is brighter than it’s been in months, and I’m genuinely glad for it. My mom may not have been the most present parent, but I love her and want her to be happy.
“That’s awesome, Mom.”
“Thanks, honey. How are you? How’s Minnesota?” There’s rustling in the background, and I know she must be in the middle of doing something. She always is. It’s one of the reasons our conversations are always so brief.
“It’s good. Really good, actually.” Thinking about everything that’s happened has me smiling, and my mom must hear it, because she perks up even more.
“Oh, yeah? You sound happy. Is there a boy?”
I roll my eyes, even though I’m still smiling. Even during a divorce with my dad, she still equates happiness with men. “Mom.”
