Finally, the tears and the pain in my chest die down long enough for me to think. He said that I’m talented and that I should do my own thing. Doesn’t he think that I’ve been trying? It’s what I’ve been trying to do for years.
And yet, these last days while I’ve been with him, I’ve still learned so much and had ideas for how to make my book better. I really think that the changes I make to it will finally turn the book into the thing that I’ve wanted it to be for so long.
Fine. He wants me to do my own thing? I’ll do my own thing. Anger rises to replace the sadness. I’m not someone that just gets pushed aside because someone else thinks that it’s the right time for it. So, I’ll prove him right. If he wants to shut me out, let him. I’ll be over here finishing this fucking book.
But first, this requires comfort food, comfort clothes, and everything else that essentially being dumped requires. That thought sends a pang through me. This feels like being dumped, but we were never really together, were we?
It was just a temporary arrangement, never meant to last longer than a few weeks. But if that’s true, then why does it feel so awful?
I toss my suitcase on my bed and change into the comfiest clothes that I have before grabbing my laptop. One pizza and ice cream order later, I’m curled up on my couch with my laptop and I’m starting a romantic comedy marathon on the TV. Perfect background noise to stop, watch, and cry along with while I edit this book.
As far as those edits, I know exactly what I need to do. It’s a targeted attack. The emotions need to be just a bit higher, and the story needs to come full circle just a bit more.
I do love this story. I always have. At some point I’m going to have to let it go and try something new, but this is the last thing I want to do for it. If, after this, it’s still not enough, then I’ll start a new book. But I’m that writer, the one who has a hard time releasing projects that she loves because I’m always convinced that I can make it better.
The hours slip by so fast while I’m inside the book that I’m shocked when I look up and it’s almost nine o’clock. It feels like I’ve released every emotion and I’m completely empty now. But there’s also a deep satisfaction that I can’t even put a name to, because the book is finished. I know it is. And it’s good.
I don’t even know what makes me do it, but I open an email and attach the file, sending it to Malik before I can talk myself out of it. He’s never read this book. We talked about it, and he read the chapters that I wrote for him. But we were too busy fucking for him to get around to reading this, though he said that he wanted to.
Now that it’s done, I’m exhausted. And still sad.
I shut the laptop and resolve that I’m going to get a good night’s sleep, wake up, and forget all about the fling that I had with Malik Ellis.
Even as I’m fading into sleep, I know that I’m lying.
I’ll never be able to forget him.
9
Malik
God, I’m an idiot.
That’s the thought that’s been swirling around my head all day. And it’s true. I didn’t want to hold Erin back by forcing her to write for me, but I hurt her, and I didn’t want that. Because I want her.
I want to be with her, but I don’t know how to express something that’s that deep or real when it’s barely been any time at all. It feels too fast, though that’s what happened to my dad with my mom. He always said that it was love at first sight with her, and that he knew that he was going to marry her within days.
Examining my feelings about Erin, I feel it. It should be impossible, but there’s a bone-deep knowledge that she is it for me.
Too bad I’ve already fucked it up, even though it was the right thing to do.
It’s late in the evening, but I pull out my phone and dial the number for my dad’s facility. I need to hear his voice, even though he probably won’t even know that it’s me.
One of the nurses answers. “Hello?”
“Hi,” I say, clearing my throat. “This is Malik Ellis.”
“Hey, Mr. Ellis, good to hear from you. How can I help you?”
I sigh. “I know it’s late, but if my father’s awake, I was wondering if I could speak to him?”
“I can see if he’s awake.”
“How’s he doing?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line that makes my heart skip a beat. “He’s all right,” the nurse says. “Good days and bad days. But on the whole he seems comfortable and happy.”
“Good.” I try to keep the emotion from cracking through my voice. It’s not easy.
Waiting for her to find out if he’s awake feels like the longest three minutes of my life. I want to talk to him, but at the same time I’m honestly not sure if I’m hoping that he’ll be awake or hoping that he won’t be.
“He is awake,” the nurse says. “And I think you’ll be happy.”
“Why?”
I hear the smile in her voice. “He’s mostly lucid today.”
A breath rushes out of me. It’s rare that he’s lucid at all, let alone when I call to speak to him.
“Malik?”
Leaning forward, I brush a hand over my face and breathe. “Hey, Dad.”
He chuckles, and that sound throws me back. “Good to hear from you. I guess I hear from you more often than I remember, huh?”
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
My dad sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Dad.”
“Still.” He pauses. Another chuckle. “But I do know one thing and that’s that you don’t call at this hour. I’m sure that you had a reason?”
Shaking my head, I can’t help but smile. My dad has always been perceptive. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay, that’s great. What’s the real reason?”
I laugh. “I met someone. And…it’s like you and mom. Her name is Erin.”
“Then why don’t you sound happier?”
“I…” Swallowing, I try to form the words. “I fucked it up. It was for a good reason, and it’s better for her this way. But I still want to be with her.”
“Then be with her.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” Dad asks. “Is there a reason you can’t be together?”
I’m shaking my head even though he can’t see me. “She’s a writer too. A good one. I don’t want her standing in my shadow.”
“So don’t block her sunlight.”
“Dad—”
“No, son,” he says. “I know my brain isn’t what it used to be. And I may not be able to give you this advice again. If she is what you say, then you can’t let her go. Be with her and keep her in front of you so that she’s never in your shadow.
“I don’t really know how far that metaphor goes,” he says with a laugh, “but you know what I’m saying. If you can find the kind of love that I had with your mother, then no career—yours or hers—should stand in the way of that.”