Page 19
JOAN: I hope you’re getting laid. If not, I just need a yeah or nay on this Portland book festival thing. You did it last year, and I’m not sure why they’re not talking to your PR people. But I said you would do it. Don’t make me into an asshole.
DAD: Honey. Are you coming down for the anniversary thing? It’s no big deal. Your brothers aren’t coming. You don’t have to. Call me when you can. Love you.
ALAN: Thinking about flying in for Dad’s anniversary thing. Wanted to know if you’re going.
I read them all, and none of them are from him. I’m crestfallen. I know it’s three in the morning, but he had all day. I know we said we wouldn’t talk, but I gave him my number. Not even a ‘thanks for the good time.’ Nothing. I feel crappy now. I’ll answer everyone in the morning. I know he was in Vermont for the night and then back to LA in the morning. But I don’t know where he is after that. It’s just prickles my ego and heart a little.
But to be perfectly honest with myself, it’s not like we’re dating. Or even know each other. I flip open my laptop again and dive into chapter seven. The one where I’ve decided something cute and flirty will happen. He’ll respond to her.
* * *
I need a new phone number.
* * *
I’m leaving SC tomorrow night and headed out to Atlanta for another three days of readings and appearances. This one I’m looking forward to. I like it when the appearances are for fun things. The money for my gig today is unreal, which is why I suffer through the corporate bookings. Still, I can’t wait to get to some of my favorite bookstores and mentoring sessions. And I can’t fucking wait to be on an airplane, where I can’t check my phone or be hurt that he’s not thinking of me nearly as much as I’m thinking of him. This sucks. I meet like the one freaking man on the planet who honestly doesn’t give a shit how much I work and truly likes me, and he’s so good at compartmentalizing me that I am left out here fucking hanging. Shit.
Maybe there’s some tech geek at my keynote Q&A today who will take my mind off fucking Alex Bishop. I haven’t even listened to the podcast this week. Asshole, robbing me of my favorite podcast. Time to get my shit together. I’m not this girl. Never have been, never will be. Thanks for the memories, Alex. Forward.
12
Alex
“OH MY GOD. Stop it. I hate you, man,” Mikey screams at me as we leave the office.
“What? I did my job.”
“You are the mopiest, saddest, most whipped muthafucker that evah lived.”
“Shut the hell up, Mikey.” I move away from him towards my car. He blocks my door. “Seriously, dude. What?”
“Whoever this magical unicorn pussy was—”
“I told you, Tess McGuire.”
“I don’t believe you for a freaking second. Whoever this piece of ass was, call her.”
I roll my eyes and then glare at him. I say, “We made a pact—”
“Blah, blah, blah. I know! To talk after the election.”
“And it’s not like she’s called me.” She hasn’t tried to make contact. It’s been three days, and there’s not been a text. Just her purple note telling me it’s ok to change my mind about her. But I’m out of my mind for her.
Mikey’s face softens, and his voice is no longer screamy and high pitched. “Alex, I’ve known you for a long time. My husband has known you longer. Neither of us has ever seen you strung out like this.”
“I don’t have time to get hung up. And it’s not how I’m wired.” I don’t let women rule any part of my emotional life. At work, sure, but in my life, I need to maintain control and a sense of myself.
“It doesn’t need to be complicated. You said this woman—”
“Tess McGuire.”
“Look, it’s not her. Can’t be. Not the real Tess McGuire. I have sources. Point is, she’s busy too, right?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the harm in exploring this infatuation you got cooking? Ari and I will be around, we’ll be watching, and we got your back. Trust your gut.”
I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. And then a surge of excitement overtakes me. Also, it occurs to me I never gave her my number. I have all the power right now, and what if I’ve upset her by not contacting her. I’ve been hiding behind the pact. What if she wants to hear from me as much as I want to talk to her? Shit. I’m going to sleep on it. But every time I think of her, or the possibility of her, my toes curl, and my heart lightens. I need to trust myself, but I need a minute to think.
