Why should people in perfect little towns, with perfect little neighbors, and perfect little lives get all the Christmas wishes?
I want mine too—Carson Wellington and writing.
I need my girl. I rather be safe than sorry.
Me: Can you pray for me?
I wait for the bubbles to show Daiya's answering, and I see nothing. Then, like divine intervention, Carson's words give me the last kick in the ass I need. If this is God sharpening my gifts, it worked. I may have run from Los Angeles, but I finished a complete script, I found love, and I spent a life-changing month in New York City. And I'm ready to return to Hollywood as Quanesha Montgomery.
I owe myself that, and if they don't like it… Fuck’em!
I stand up, not needing an internal debate. This showdown is happening, and I need all the sass, strategy, and power of persuasion I can muster because I owe Carson, and myself, the truth. I need Carson to know I regret running from my feeling, but I don’t regret a second of our time together. I walk to Carson’s office, grateful when I see Merrilyn.
“Merry Christmas. Is he in there?”
"Yes. We're working a half-day. You can head in but be warned, he's not himself."
"Yeah, it seems to be going around." I walk over and knock.
“I’m unavailable,” he barks.
What if he doesn’t listen? My heart whispers. Bish, make him!
I walk inside.
“I said—”
"I wrote my first story at seven years old. It was on a napkin at the restaurant while waiting for Mamma to finish her shift. I told my Mamma that I'd be a writer one day, and my dad said, 'You can't feed your family with words on a napkin. Clean the rest of those tables.' I cried for days." My eyes water at the memory. "Then my Mamma dried my face and told me, 'Quanie you get to choose, live your dream or live your regrets.’”
I sit in the chair in front of his desk. "Daddy meant no harm. I was always the loud one, the weird one, the one no one understood. Little Quanesha decided I'll show him.
"I busted my ass. I finished high school at sixteen, entered college at seventeen purely off of my dream. A dream of one day being a writer. That I wouldn't bust tables for a living. Not because it isn't an honorable job, but ending there means I've failed at pursuing my dreams."
I look around his office. “Carson, the reason it’s hard for you to understand this duality in me is because you sit in the middle of your dream every single day. You got to see your father build this… this masterpiece with Times Square outside your doors. You are your father’s dream. You are what he dreamed of for the future of The Wellington. Now I want my dream too.”
I stare into his eyes. "And you helped me see it."
“See what?”
"That I still love writing. It's hard and life-giving. It's like air, and I was suffocating in L.A. because I exchanged my dream for a job."
He looks over at my luggage, and his jaw hardens. “But you’re going back.”
“Yes, Carson, I’m going back. I have to.”
"No, you don't." He yanks open a drawer and toss a binder on the desk. His hand scribbles across the page. Then he rips it out. "Here. Now, stay."
It’s a check for one hundred thousand dollars. My hands shake, blurring the words.
“Carson, I love you. You’re a visionary and kind. You take care of the people around you. You’re dependable and an amazing lover. You believed in me when I doubted myself.”
I stare at the check. For once, this isn’t about money. Taking this check would feel like I’m bailing on the job I started in California. I have to see this one through.
“But if you love me, you have to accept that I’m doing this for me. To embrace my voice and my personhood, I have to go back.” I sit the check on the desk. “I have to face this and my boss. I have to sit in that room and ask for what I want and be prepared to walk away if he says no.”
“Then this is goodbye for us.” The finality in his voice crushes my hope. I guess I expected him to cheer or some shit.
“Merry Christmas, Carson. Thank you for letting me toss my cookie around in my very own Hallmark Christmas. The adult version, of course.”
“Of course.” Carson smiles, but I know this isn’t what he wants. And neither do I, but I have a date with my dream, and I can’t be late.
I stand, demanding my feet to move.
Staying means I could have Carson, but I can't guarantee I won't resent him in the future. That I won't stare at every television show and every movie wondering what if? That I won't hate myself for picking a man over my dream again.
“I’ll leave you to your work. I love you.”
“Travel safely, and Quanesha, I hope you get what you want. You deserve it.”
I smile back, numb.
Traveling the distance of the hallway, climbing in the SUV, flying back to Los Angeles, I feel the need for a stiff-ass drink. I won't because I don't regret my time with Carson or my time in New York, and I finally didn't slink off like a coward.
But I have a bone to pick with whoever's in charge of the wish department because heartbreak at Christmas is for the fucking birds.
Chapter 12
“I fucked up.”
“I’m glad you noticed it.” I look over at Merrilyn.
“I don’t need your input with this one.”
“Well, since I’m officially off the clock, I’ll give it to you as someone who cares for you like a son. You are so driven that you lean on the selfish side.”
“Selfish? Me?”
“Yes. Your world is this meticulous sequence of actions, and you’re used to everyone falling in line. And they do to prevent the consequence of getting out of line.”
“Which is what?”
“Dismissal.”
“You’re speaking of a tyrant.”
"No, I'm speaking of a man who juggles a million fine details, and when a boulder falls on your head, you spaz.”
“I don’t spaz.”
“You do. You spaz, and you shut people out." She drops a stack of invoices on top of the blueprints on my desk. "So, let me give you the headline because I need to go home and check on my dinner. You love Quanesha. We all know it. And everything you love about her is the reason she won't fit into the million things you're juggling. She's not one of your rotation women, and that's why you love her. Merry Christmas, and I'll see you tomorrow."
I exhale, happy to see her leave.
"Oh, and… You're about to lose Quanesha, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself."
"How? Her life is in L.A., and my life is here."
“Love is never convenient. You find a way. That’s how. And what’s the point of being a billionaire if you can’t do billionaire shit?”
I burst out laughing.
“That sounded like her.” Merrilyn chuckles. “I see why she enjoys tossing them in here and there. I’ve never been much of a swearer. It was frowned upon in my day. But I like the way it makes your eyes bulge.”
I laugh harder. She did sound like Quanesha, and deep down, I know she's right. That proper Merrilyn is quoting my firecracker of a woman is unprecedented.