Page 6 of I Love You, It’s Ruining My Life

“I’ll think about it,” I said, though I knew the chances of me writing a song were lower than low. I'd always written about personal things, and if I were to pull from my life right now… the subject matter wasn’t exactly pop/rock material. My therapist had been amazing in helping me process my grief: both the recent loss of Julia and the more distant loss of the band that had shaped so much of my life. I'd mourned my career as much as I'd mourned my wife. ”But don’t take our thinking about it as confirmation we said yes. For the record, I did not.”

“Fine,” Jack said, rolling his eyes, reminding me of Cassidy when she was a toddler. Not quite the comparison I wanted to give to my thirty-two-year-old brother.

“Maybe we’ll figure it out,” Noah smiled, and I could sense the underlying “I miss you” in both my brothers’ words. Another reminder we weren’t just musicians, we were family — and we barely acted like friends on a good day.

I missed how inseparable we used to be. The way Jack and I would run our room to Noah’s whenever we had an idea. Back then, creativity flowed through our house like water, and we were a family first and musicians second. I saw how much Jack had already committed himself to the idea, and it made me want to throw up. Everything was still so broken; it had been for longer than RaineFall had been together.

“Just promise if we say no, you won’t block us out,” I finally said, breaking out of the tense silence. Jack looked surprised, but considering he was refusing to say more than two sentences about his divorce, I doubted he’d say much if we hurt his feelings — whether it was on purpose or not. Leading to an endless cycle of passive aggression and guilt trips until he inevitably exploded.

“I promise,” my twin said, and I wanted to believe him. I really did. But I was more afraid of losing them all over again. And this plan of his, it seemed like the fastest way to do it.

Chapter five

Nalini

Sometimes I wondered if I should’ve been a librarian instead of a teacher. Even without the job, I was likely to be found here on any given day, browsing the shelves and reading whatever I could get my hands on. I couldn’t afford to buy as many books as I wanted; teacher salaries somehow got worse the longer I stayed in the job. I'd debated going back to school to get a Master’s in Library Sciences, but with how tight money currently was, it seemed like a great way to get more debt I’d never pay off.

Instead, I volunteered often, the library becoming my home away from home — to the point the head librarian and my other best friend Peri let me be in charge of ordering new books — which somehow always included the books I was most excited to read. Though as much as I wanted to only focus on that, I was at the library today for a completely different reason: the Young Writer’s Group. I hadn’t intentionally made this club; I happened to be here at the same time as one of my former students, and we ended up working through a story she was writing together. Which turned into the entire High School Creative Writing Club coming, even though I wasn’t their school club advisor. And that led to some of the kids from the elementary school showing up, and before I knew it, it was on the library schedule. Peri thought it would be good for me to have an extracurricular I was passionate about, but if I was honest, the kids did all the work themselves. They didn’t actually need me.

The teens immediately took the younger kids under their wing, turning it into not only a feedback group but a mentorship program where everyone worked hard to encourage each other and improve. They managed writing sprints, monthly readings of their work, and once even put together a charity anthology they had created themselves and sold around town. The YWG just needed an adult in the room, and every Saturday after yoga, I sat there feeling like a fraud with an empty document open in front of me.

When I was their age, I would've killed to have a group like this. Writing was yet another thing my Mom hated, and while Kam and Peri had both insisted my stories were incredible, they were both too biased. I could’ve asked my teachers for feedback, but back then I always felt asking for anything made me a giant inconvenience — even though now that I was one, I knew how flattered they would've been instead.

None of my past attempts at writing were what made me a fraud; that came from what I assumed to be the world’s worst case of writer’s block, which had lasted fifteen years and counting. Jack’s stupid song was released, and suddenly my ability to write completely disappeared. I assumed going to school for Creative Writing would help; I believed learning about the craft would help me break through my inability to write anything close to a decent sentence. Instead, I almost lost my scholarship, almost flunked out, and quickly changed my major to education. I ended up the epitome of the old cliché: those who can’t, teach. I had given up on the Nalini who was determined to be a bestselling author, and she was now dead, buried under half-filled notebooks and craft textbooks that had never been opened.

Every time I watched one of these kids fall in love with their own story, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. For the millionth time, I attempted to write a mental script to convince Peri to let me resign from the club, even though I couldn’t leave it. I loved the kids too much; I loved the community they created. But being continuously jealous of children was a level of pathetic I needed to dig myself out of. I could start with attempting to write myself, but at this point, I knew it'd never happen.

“Wait, you do the writing club?” a somewhat familiar voice asked as I looked towards the door. I blinked a few times, realizing Cassidy Raine was smiling at me, her father nowhere to be seen.

“I do,” I said, getting over my shock. I hadn’t expected to see Cassidy again, unless I had to run over to the elementary school for some sort of copy machine-related errand. “Where’s your Dad?”

“Out there. The mean librarian said he had to pay fines,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “And he didn’t know if you were going to throw coffee at him again.”

“No coffee this time,” I chuckled. “Doesn’t mean your Dad is safe though, he was smart avoiding me. But enough about him… what kind of stories do you like to write?”

“Stories about princesses who fight dragons!” the girl exclaimed with a confident nod, “Or sometimes stories about princesses who make friends with dragons.”

“What if you wrote a story about both of those things?” I asked, and her eyes grew wide with excitement. I knew the look; it was one I'd seen on my own face many times when I was younger. “We have a couple of other kids your age here, and they both love writing about dragons. I think you’ll get along with Liam and Ava really well.”

I hadn’t realized Cassidy had been worried until she immediately gave a giant sigh of relief. Even with my total RaineFall blackout, I'd heard about her mother’s passing — and if I were a better person, I would have offered Kameron my condolences instead of throwing coffee in his face. That and moving somewhere new had to be hard, and I wondered if she'd made any friends yet. Though if she hadn’t, she was about to — the moment Ava came in and saw another girl her age, she declared they were going to be best friends. And when Cassidy mentioned dragons, the two immediately started a friendly debate about which color was the best. Any worry I had about the new little girl evaporated, especially as Liam came in and immediately joined the conversation.

It didn’t take long before the meeting officially started, which meant slightly less talking and slightly more writing. Or… it typically did. The vibes were strange, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why until I glanced at the window and realized Kameron was standing right outside, staring in. Worried lines between his eyebrows seemed to grow as he kept an entirely too watchful eye on his daughter. Between the uncomfortable positioning shifts and Cassidy’s constant glares in his direction, I internally groaned. I wanted to be immature and give him the silent treatment, but no. His actions meant I had to put on my mature adult hat and shoo him away before he ruined the meeting for everyone.

“You’re hovering too much,” I hissed, watching him jump as I closed the door behind me. The last thing Cassidy needed was everyone hearing why her Dad was being like this. Luckily, I could protect her reputation and be annoyed at Kameron at the same time. I wanted Briar Hill to be big enough for both of us, but if he kept showing up at the places that were important to me, I was going to rent him a moving truck myself. “She’s fine. You don’t need to watch her.”

“I know,” he stammered, blushing with embarrassment, “I just… I wanted to see if she was making friends.” Kameron’s words were laced with anxiety that, despite my better judgment, made me feel bad for him. “She was having some trouble before we moved.” This level of protective hovering was the kind of thing I would've expected from my Kameron, fifteen years ago. Caring more about others than himself, knowing he was going to look stupid, but doing it anyway just to make sure his daughter was safe. It made me miss what our friendship used to be, for about two seconds before I banished the traitorous thought to the back of my mind where it belonged.

“Cassidy’s in the middle of a heated debate on whether you need a saddle to ride a dragon,” I assured him, “A debate that keeps getting interrupted by you embarrassing her by staring through the window. You’re doing more harm than good. She’s fine. If she wasn’t, I’d come get you. Just because I hate you doesn’t mean I’m going to take it out on your kid. Cassidy didn’t do anything.”

Kameron winced. I wasn’t sure if I liked him recognizing how badly he’d hurt me — though without the apology, his recognition was meaningless. I knew it wasn’t coming, and I was petty enough to hold it against him.

“Go read a book or something,” I insisted, shooing him away before I was too annoyed to function. “I’m tired of seeing your stupid face through the window.”

“Any of your books in this library?” Kameron asked, sounding like he was trying to extend an olive branch while he managed to stake me through the heart instead. “I’ve been meaning to read them.”

I took back every somewhat nice thought I had about him during this conversation, because Kameron truly had some nerve to ask that question. Did he really think I would’ve stayed here if I'd followed my dreams? Or that I’d be teaching? Did he really think he and his brothers hadn’t completely ruined my life?

“No!” I shouted, far angrier than the question deserved. I noticed a few people turn their heads to look at us, while Peri got up from the desk – likely to kick Kameron out of the building just for existing. “Stop looking. You won’t find any.”