Story of My Life (Story Lake #1)

45. Lengthy wallow over

45

LENGTHY WALLOW OVER

HAZEL

IntrepidReporterGuy:

The romance between Hazel Hart and Cam Bishop has officially fizzled. Rumor has it, it was Cam’s desire to become a roadie for the punk cover band Me First and the Gimme Gimmes that ended the budding relationship.

My mattress shifted, and for one bright, stupid second, I imagined it was Cam, prying off his work boots and shedding his clothes before crawling between the sheets and pulling me to him.

The pillow was snatched off my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut, rejecting the reality of the sun-dappled room and my agent’s annoyingly perky face.

“Go away,” I said, rolling over and taking the blankets with me. A sad burrito.

“What are you going to do? Stay in bed, wallow, and never write again?” Zoey demanded, hitting me with the pillow.

“Sounds good to me.” I snatched the pillow from her and smashed my face into it. It smelled like Cam. I hated that I liked it.

My so-called friend got a grip on my bun and pulled my head out of the bed linens.

“Ow!” I whined.

“Huh-uh. Nope. No. You had your lengthy wallow over Jim. We’re trying something different this time around.”

This time around. I couldn’t think of any words more depressing in the moment…besides “Sorry, we’re out of wine.”

I grunted something uncomplimentary about Zoey’s mother.

She gave me a slap on my blanket-clad ass. “I let you rot in the depression phase last time. That was a mistake. This time I gave you a good forty-eight hours. Now we’re moving on.”

“Moving on to what? I don’t have the energy to move on.”

“We’re going straight to the ‘hold my beer’ stage,” she announced.

“Ugh. Why can’t it be wine?”

“At this point, I don’t care if it’s prune juice as long as you’re giving it to someone to hold for you. Cam isn’t the only man out there. Hell, he’s not even the only hot Bishop. Pull yourself together.”

“I’m too tired. I have a headache. My stomach’s upset. I think I have mono…or internal poison ivy.” I delivered my litany of excuses directly to my pillow.

Hands circled my ankles a second before I was rudely dragged out of my cocoon of depression.

I scrambled to find a grip on something, anything, but found myself dragged to the floor, clutching my duvet.

“It’s worse than I thought,” came a crisply British accent.

I slithered onto my side and found Sunita, boutique owner and judgmental trespasser, cringing at my ancient pajama bottoms and Cam’s T-shirt. A regular person would have had the good sense to be embarrassed. But I was so far down the shame spiral that I didn’t care who witnessed me in all of my pathetic glory.

“Hi, Sunita,” I said wearily.

“Hi, Hazel. Cam sucks.”

“Yeah.”

I ignored the glance Zoey and Sunita shared.

“‘Put yourself out there.’ ‘Be authentic.’ That’s what everyone says, isn’t it? Well, it’s bullshit. They’re just waiting to stomp on your face. I belong on the sidelines, lurking. I’m a lurker. That’s my lot in life,” I complained. “I watch other people have lives, and then I write about it.”

“This will be fun,” Sunita joked.

“Wait.” My eyelids opened like they were spring-loaded. “Did you say forty-eight hours? Does that mean it’s not Sunday?”

“Congratulations. Your math is correct for once,” Zoey said, wrestling me into a seated position.

“It’s Monday,” Sunita said helpfully.

“Monday? As in Monday ? As in workday Monday?” As in Cam showing up here and darkening my doorstep only to find me crushed like a bug from the breakup. I didn’t say that last part out loud, but the squeaky panic in my voice made it unnecessary.

“There she is,” Zoey said cheerfully.

“Oh, God. Are they here already?” I vaulted to my feet and shucked the T-shirt over my head, hurling it into the corner of the room like it was full of scorpions.

“Gage and Levi are in the driveway ‘coordinating,’ which I think is code for letting me check to make sure you’re not going to murder them if they come inside. Also, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you are not wearing a bra.”

I clapped my hands to my breasts. “Shit! Sorry, Sunita.”

Sunita shrugged. “In my line of work, I’ve seen a lot of boobs. I’m a professional.”

“Where’s…Cam?” I congratulated myself on not raising both middle fingers or curling into a ball at having to utter his name.

“According to Gage, he’s visiting another jobsite today,” Zoey said.

My hands tightened on my boobs. A likely story.

“If my ex-whatever-he-was isn’t here, why are you dragging me out of bed? And why is Sunita here? No offense.”

“None taken,” Sunita said.

“We’re here to create the illusion of a gorgeous, functioning adult who is unbothered by Campbell Bishop and his fuckery,” Zoey explained.

“That sounds like a lot of work,” I said.

“Not to freak anyone out or anything, but there’s a raccoon in your hall and it looks annoyed.” Sunita pointed toward the door.

“Goddammit, Bertha,” Zoey yelled.

“She’s fine. I’m probably more feral than she is at this point,” I explained.

“Well, just to be on the safe side…” Sunita said, closing the bedroom door before crossing to the bed. She upended the shopping bag on the mattress. “See, we like to think that men don’t gossip. That they communicate primarily in a series of grunts. But they do talk. And do you want Gage and Levi reporting back to Cam that they had to work around you being a depressed sack of potatoes? Now, I’m thinking we go with the see-through black lace for a sexy edge.”

“Perfect!” Zoey decided. “I’ll plug in her straightener and find the eyeliner.”

In fifteen minutes, my amateur glam team had me looking like I was ready for a boudoir photo shoot. They propped me up at my desk with my beloved morning Wild Cherry Pepsi, and when we heard the front door open and close, Zoey and Sunita burst into studio audience laughter.

“Ha. Ha. What are we laughing at?” I demanded.

“Just go with it. You’re so unbothered you’re cracking us up with your wit.” Zoey chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m a regular laugh riot,” I said mopily.

That set them off again just in time for tentative footsteps to pause in the hall.

“Oh, Hazel, you kill me,” Sunita said, theatrically dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

Zoey made a show of composing herself, before acknowledging the two nervous-looking Bishops in the doorway. “Gentlemen, so nice to see you. Hazel was just entertaining us with her weekend escapades.”

“Uh, hey,” Gage said.

Levi nodded at me. They both looked like they were ready to bolt at the first hint of danger.

“Hi, guys,” I said, sounding like I was choking on a peanut butter sandwich. Why did there have to be such a strong family resemblance? Also, why did it have to be Cam who I’d gotten sloppy over? Why couldn’t I have mooned over Gage, the good guy, or Levi, the strong silent type?

“Thanks so much for giving us a few minutes, guys. Hazel was just wrapping up a podcast interview,” Zoey lied brightly.

“Yes. A British podcast. Time zones are the reason why it’s so early. That’s why Sunita’s here,” I babbled.

“To help you with the time zones?” Gage asked.

“Yes. I mean, no,” I corrected. “That’s what Google’s for. Ha. Sunita’s here to…make sure I didn’t accidentally slip into a British accent and offend the hosts.”

I wanted to punch myself in the face to stop words from coming out of my mouth. Thankfully, Zoey kicked me under the desk instead.

“Ow—ls. Owls are…made of feathers,” I announced, trying—and failing—to cover as I rubbed my abused shin.

Sunita and Zoey looked at me like I’d lost my damn mind. “Uh, yes. Yes, they are,” Gage said uncertainly. He pointed at the ceiling. “If it’s okay with you, we’ll get started upstairs?”

“Yep. Sure. Absolutely. Coolio.” I flashed finger guns at them. “Pew. Pew.”

Nodding, the men backed away without taking their eyes off me like I was some kind of unpredictable wild animal.

“Watch out for Bertha,” I called after them.

“Thought we took care of the hole in the foundation where she was getting in,” Gage said.

“Obviously we thought wrong,” Levi reported, pointing at the raccoon in the hallway.

“Let’s follow her,” Gage suggested.

“Put those things away,” Zoey hissed, slapping my finger guns when the men disappeared after my furry roommate.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Sunita said, as I dropped my head to the desk.

“I feel like we’re Weekend at Bernie -ing her,” Zoey muttered.

“She just needs more practice,” Sunita insisted brightly.

I groaned. “Owls are made of feathers?”

“A lot of practice,” Sunita added.

“Drink your Pepsi,” Zoey said, patting my shoulder.

“You need to write,” Zoey announced firmly after following me and my procrastination spree around for an hour.

I was so appalled by the suggestion that I dropped the dust rag I’d been using to give my sitting room baseboards a thorough cleaning. “I can’t write. The big stupid idiot was my inspiration.”

“Oh, so you never wrote a book before the big stupid idiot?” she asked innocently.

“You know I don’t write well during emotional upheaval. Besides, what’s the point? My publisher dumped me.” Just like Cam.

I suddenly didn’t even want to procrasti-dust anymore. I wanted to lie down on the couch and pretend the world didn’t exist.

“You take one step toward that couch, and I swear to God, I will invite Garland over for an exclusive interview.”

I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. You are Hazel Freaking Hart. You are the heroine of your own life.”

“I don’t feel very heroiney.”

“That’s because this isn’t the end of your story. This is the dark night of the soul. You know, the part in the book where everything falls apart and?—”

“I know what the dark night of the soul is. I got dumped, not…forgety.” Standing suddenly seemed like too much effort, so I slid down the wall and slumped on the floor.

“Then you know that this is the point where you have to decide if you’re going to rise to the challenge and kick some ass or if you’re going to just roll over and play dead.”

“I don’t like rising to challenges. I like coasting downhill.”

“Hazel.” Her voice held a warning note.

“Zoey,” I mimicked.

“You’re going to make me do it.”

I sighed. “Do what?”

“The very bad thing that makes us both feel very bad.”

“Do you honestly think you could make me feel worse right now? I get dumped by the guy I tried not to lo—ike. I get dropped by my publisher, and after my dwindling sales and recent history of being completely incapable of finishing a book, I move to a new town for a fresh start and end up knee-deep in what will soon be literal shit. Oh, and the first time I see my ex-husband since the divorce, I’m a dehydrated, emotional raisin of a human being.” I threw my arms in the air. “So go ahead and do your worst, Zoey.”

“I am here because of you,” she said, pacing in front of me like a furious school principal. “I lost a job I loved because I stayed loyal to you. I followed you to rural Pennsylvania because I believed in you. Now you hit one dark night of the soul and instead of seeking vengeance against everyone who’s wronged you, you’re ready to throw yourself another pity party. Now does that sound like a heroine whose story you’d be interested in? Or does it sound like the kind of heroine readers would DNF?”

I involuntarily walked through both scenarios fictionally, imagining my heroine devastated and desolate, sharing candy bars in bed with a raccoon for the rest of her life. Then I pictured her pulling on her big girl pants and bravely carrying on with her life, even if she was only faking it with no hope of making it. A wishy-washy heroine with no backbone was a target for one-star reviews.

“Well?” Zoey prompted.

“I’m taking my time and considering my options,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Well, I don’t have that luxury, Hazel! I need clients. I need books to sell. I’m living in a hotel. I haven’t had sex in three months. My entire future hinges on whether you can pull your head out of your ass. And you act like you can’t even be bothered to care!”

I blew a raspberry and hugged my knees to my chest.

“Did it work?” she asked, panting from her rant.

“Well, I definitely feel worse.”

She slid down the wall next to me. “If you finish the book, I will sell it. We’re in this together.”

I nodded, staring at the decades of scars on the floor. They were still beautiful, even though they weren’t new or pristine. It was possible that the character made them more interesting than a glossy, perfect finish.

“I really liked him, Zo. Like liked him liked him.”

She tipped her head onto my shoulder. “I know. I did too. I mean, not like loved him like him like you did. But I’m fully planning on buying a shovel just so I can hit him in the face with it next time I see him.”

A throat cleared, and we jolted. We looked up to see Gage and Levi standing in the doorway, armed with a claw hammer and a gigantic wrench.

“We heard yelling,” Gage said. “Thought maybe Bertha made it down here after we chased her off your bed.”

“Damn it, Bertha,” I muttered.

“No raccoons here,” Zoey said, shooting me the side-eye. “We were just?—”

“Acting out some dialogue I wrote,” I announced. “It’s a fight scene.”

Gage lowered his hammer. “Oh. Uh. Good. We’ll just, uh…go back upstairs.”

“Great,” Zoey said with feigned enthusiasm.

Levi paused in the doorway and looked at Zoey. “Just so you know, I wouldn’t arrest you for it.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks, Levi.”

He nodded then disappeared.

“Well, at least one Bishop has a brain behind his handsome face.” She brightened. “Hey, you know what would really get Cam’s goat? Dating one of his brothers.”

“No more dating. I’m going to get a cat.”

“What will your raccoon say about that?”

“Come on,” I said, climbing to my feet and offering her my hand.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re helping me pack my laptop and driving me to the lodge. I can’t write here. Not worrying he might show up at any minute.”

“That’s the spirit! I already stocked up on soda, cheese curls, and ice cream,” Zoey said.