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‘I suppose not.’

‘If you look hard enough, you can find unhappy people everywhere,’ I say. ‘It’s very inspirational.’

He laughs. ‘So what else is part of the curing-writer’s-block plan?’ he says.

‘Getting up early and getting in the ocean and digital detox,’ I say, ticking them off on my fingers. ‘And a reading list and a research project—’

I am silently congratulating myself for thinking of so many things, for sounding like I know what I’m talking about, when he interrupts me.

‘A reading list?’

‘I am assuming you still read, right?’ If he’s completely stopped reading the problem might be bigger than I can manage.

‘I still read,’ he says.

‘Good. We’re not in as much trouble as I thought.’

‘What kind of research project?’

‘You pick a topic and you research it for the next few weeks.’

‘What kind of topic?’

‘Anything you like. An event, a period in history, a famous figure, a song, a plant.’

‘Okay. And that’s it?’

‘That’s it. Oh, and you need to spend ten minutes a day writing.’

‘Writing what?’

I can hear the resistance in his voice. He’ll do anything but actually write.

‘Anything. Just put words on the page. Free writing, pen and paper, no thinking.’

‘I’ve tried that before.’

‘And what happened?’

‘I stopped after a few days.’

‘Well. That won’t happen this time,’ I say.

He puts his hands in his pockets and looks at me warily. ‘Are you being serious about this?’ he says.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Of course I am.’

‘It’s not going to work,’ he says. ‘I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’

‘It’ll work,’ I say breezily. But the truth is, whether it works or not is entirely in his hands and we both know that.

12

REX IS STARING at me. I’ve never been stared at by a cat like this cat is staring at me. My cats growing up were soft and cuddly fluffballs who spent most of their time sleeping on beds and had no animosity behind their eyes. There was really very little going on at all behind their eyes. They existed to be pampered. Rex’s eyes, in contrast, are always watching and I have the uncanny feeling of him thinking. Deep thoughts. Dark thoughts. Right now, he’s watching me move around the kitchen. I’m meal-prepping for Aggie, which is a sentence so ridiculous that I really hope Xavier doesn’t come home from wherever he is until I am finished.

I cut up several small pieces of chicken and offer them to Rex. He licks his lips. He obviously wants some because he’s watching me cook it intently, but when I hold it out to him, he doesn’t take it. Just gives me the intense stare, as if he’s saying nice try. Maybe he can tell it’s food for a dog and he doesn’t want to lower himself to eating dog food.

‘This is delicious organic, free-range chicken. It’s better than what I buy for myself,’ I say to him.