“That’s amazing,” I say. “Thank you.”
Malik reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Make sure my editor is on that list as well, please.”
“Of course.”
We sign the agency contracts, and I feel settled. This is so much better and easier than it ever was with Michael. I can already tell that I won’t have to work to ‘prove’ myself with this woman. I’ve known her for less than a day and she’s already a better partner.
“Thank you, Ms. Glass,” I say. “Truly.”
She laughs. “With the work you’ve already shown me? I should be thanking you. I'm not sure I could manage what you have already at your age, Erin."
I flush with pride.
She adds, "And it’s an honor to have Malik Ellis on my client list. I imagine that I’ll have some other agents gunning for me now.”
“If there are, send them to me,” Malik says with a laugh. “We’ll make sure they’re not out to get you. Especially Michael Collins.”
Michael had not gone down quietly. He'd tried to smear Malik's reputation by calling him a pedophile, selling photos of me and him together for gossip rags. But in the end no one bit. Maybe because Malik and I didn't give a shit, we didn't react when paparazzi asked us embarrassing questions or snapped more photos.
We are in love. Let rumors be rumors. Plus, with his provable pattern of drinking, people began to think of Michael as a chaotic drunk. His own reputation tanked.
Malik stands. “If there’s nothing else, we have another appointment.”
“No, that takes care of it,” Rose says. She stands and shakes both of our hands. “I’ll be in touch about re-signing the contracts once your editor sends them over, and I’ll follow up with you, Erin, about the sub-list. If you have anyone you’d particularly like me to send the book to besides Malik’s editor, let me know.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Once we’re on the sidewalk outside, I take a deep breath. “Wow, that was nice.”
“Right?” Malik laughs. “I should have switched years ago. I guess I was just comfortable. And I wasn’t looking for that kind of behavior.”
I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss him. “What did you mean by another appointment? Did you just say that so we didn’t have to stay there and make small talk?”
“Actually, no.” He raises a hand in the air and hails a cab. “I have somewhere that I’d like to take you.”
“Where?”
He holds the door to the cab open for me. “It’s a surprise.”
That’s fine with me. I never thought I’d be this girl, the impulsive girl who’s so in love that she’ll do anything and go anywhere and be silly and rave about how in love she is. But now that I am that girl, I love being her.
Malik slips his arm around me in the back of the cab, and even that’s enough to wish that we were back at the apartment so he could carry me upstairs and order me around the way that only he can do. But that will come later.
I hope the craving that I have for him never wears off. Because right now? I absolutely cannot get enough.
The cab takes us over the 59th Street Bridge into Queens. “Sure you can’t tell me where we’re going?”
He squeezes my hand. “We’re almost there.”
The cab makes its way through the streets of Long Island City, and out into the more suburban area. Before long, we pull up at a beautiful building. There are a few stories, but it’s clearly nice and well cared for. On the side of the building is a small sign. Arrowhead Long-Term Care Facility.
Why we’re here drops into my mind. “We’re here to see your dad?”
“I want you to meet him,” Malik says quietly.
We get out of the cab and Malik pays the driver before he takes my hand again. In the frenzy of everything that’s happened over the last few days, we haven’t talked about his father the way he told me that he wanted to.
“My dad was a writer, too. Not published, but it was his passion. He loved it so much, I could always find him writing a new story. And he was good.”
I wait for him to continue, because clearly that’s not the end of the story.
“A few years ago, he started to struggle. But it wasn’t until last year that we found out that he has dementia.”
I squeeze his hand, and we start walking toward the door.
“He went downhill pretty fast after that. He lives here because he needs full-time care. And it’s…expensive. It’s one reason I desperately needed to be done on time. The delivery payment on the book won’t just take care of my own bills, I’ll be able to pay this place a couple years in advance, so I won’t have to worry about it.”
“That’s so kind of you.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not, really. But it's all I can do."
We sign in, and a nurse leads us down a hallway toward the room. He whispers, "I don't see him enough."
“It’s not a failure to not want to see someone that you love in pain,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says with a half-smile. “When I couldn’t write…I thought that maybe it was happening to me. I’m younger than my dad, obviously, but it was all I could think about. That maybe I was losing my mind and that I would never be able to write a book again.”
“Who’s out there?” a loud voice asks.
Malik ducks his head into the room and smiles at the nurse. “Hey, Dad. It’s me, Malik.”
“Malik. Well, I don’t know anyone named Malik, but that’s a nice name. Since you’re here, if you could get these nurses to give me some food that doesn’t taste like metal shavings, I’ll be your best friend.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Malik reaches for my hand and pulls me in the door. “I want you to meet Erin.”
“Erin.” Malik’s dad goes still. For a second it looks like there’s a sharp lucidity in his eyes. But then it fades. “It’s nice to meet you. Have we met somewhere before?”
“I don’t think that we’ve had the pleasure.”
His dad gestures to one of the empty chairs. “Well, take a seat. I don’t get visitors that often. Or at least I don’t think that I do. My memory isn’t the best these days.”
I feel Malik tense. Of course, that’s going to hit home. It must be horrible to visit and not have your own father recognize you.
“Last time we talked, you told me about the chickens,” Malik says. “How’s that going?”
“Still manage to get out every night and Evelyn still makes me catch them.” He looks at me. “Evelyn is my wife.”
“I’m sure she’s lovely,” I say. “Even if she makes you catch chickens.”
His face lights up. “She’s incredible. Best thing that ever happened to me.” Suddenly, he stops and looks at Malik. “You know, you remind me of her in a weird way. You kind of look like her. Hope that doesn’t sound weird, comparing you to my wife.”
“Not at all,” Malik says. “That’s a huge compliment.”
I squeeze his hand. This must be so hard. Now I understand why he was so defensive when I first asked about the picture. This was something deep and vulnerable. And it was brave. And kind.