Chapter Four
I’m sitting upright in bed, avoiding working on my latest copywriting assignment by looking up NSFW fan art, when I hear my computer ping.
Groaning, I say a silent prayer that it isn’t yet another text from last week’s Guinness World Record holder for shortest date.
Or Tey, once again confirming details for Sunday dinner. With He Who Shall Not Be Named.
But it’s neither. In fact, it isn’t a text at all.
Curious, I scan the one billion tabs I have open in my browser until I notice the little red notification bubble. I discover it’s a message from my Evelyn Grace Carter fanfic group with the subject “A Tale of Salty Girls.”
About three months after I finished A Tale of Salt Water & Secrets (or ATOSAS for short), I was insatiable.
I’d absorbed as much of the world of Atlantia as possible, so much so that it practically coursed through my veins and characters had begun appearing to me in my dreams. I’d read and reread all six books in the series, underlining and annotating, tabbing my favorite parts.
(Pink for swoon-worthy moments. Blue for heart-wrenching, sad quotes.
And red for passages that required one-handed reading.) I’d joined Reddit subcommunities and littered message boards with fan theories and oral histories, memorizing and cataloging every detail of the lore mentioned throughout the books and bonus chapters.
I’d even ordered custom throw pillows from Etsy with fan art of Ryke’s face plastered on them in sequins.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
I was a woman obsessed. Possessed. I needed more content to feed the fangirl inside of me.
The thought of waiting another two years to read another ATOSAS book made me want to stick my head in an air fryer.
How was I supposed to live through a miserable 730 days without knowing what Ryke was up to?
Without confirming that he was alive and well?
That was when I found my Salty Girls.
There was a fanfic community dedicated to writing Ryke into everyday scenarios as well as expanding upon the world of the book.
Want an alternate ending? The community had written many.
Hungry for a Ryke POV? You could literally read the entirety of ATOSAS written in his voice, from his perspective.
I was in heaven. I mean, these stories are basically novellas catering to the female gaze.
In one chapter, you could find conflict, romance, and sex, written by people who had read so much EGC that they had the voice down pat.
It was practically impossible to separate their writing from the author’s.
In one story, Merriah watched Ryke compete in a competitive kelp ball game against his archnemesis before visiting him in the locker room to deliver a spicy surprise.
In another, Merriah was kidnapped by a jealous sea nymph, and Ryke tore apart the ocean in order to find her before making sweet, sweet love to her in an underwater cave.
The best part? All of the stories were self-insert, so the reader could pretend to be Merriah, whether that meant going grocery shopping with Ryke or fighting off underwater aliens with his Upper Shoal.
Or, you know, dry humping and stuff.
Just girlie things.
It took me a while to work up the courage to write my own fanfiction, but after a whole lot of encouragement from the community and a desire to read stories that hadn’t yet been penned, I finally caved.
And thus my alter ego, StepOnMeRyke432, was born.
At first, my writing was pure unadulterated shit, a smear on EGC’s good name.
But with practice, I got better. I began truly nailing her voice.
My first story to go viral was a thousand-page epic in which Ryke and Merriah were spies recruited during the Cold War who had to monitor Russian forces through underwater passageways.
At first, I was apprehensive about posting it—was it too historical, lacking in fantastical thinking?
Then the comments started trickling in. First by the hundreds.
Then by the hundreds of thousands. They were overwhelmingly enthusiastic.
Everyone wanted more, and I began to pump chapters out faster.
I was elated. The internet loved me. Nobody knew that StepOnMeRyke432 spent her days writing copy for prescription eczema cream and her evenings going on lackluster dates with man-children.
But I’m between chapters right now. My readers know my posting schedule. There’s no reason for anyone to be pinging me or for the message boards to be active.
Something must be wrong.
Swallowing down the bitter taste of an oncoming panic attack, I click into the conversation and am instantly greeted by links and 911!!!! messages written in all caps.
MERderMe71: JOONIE!!!! Have u been hit by a bus?
LilMinnow69: If she has, dibs on her special edition Ryke & Merriah collectible dust jackets
SoManyQueefs: Seriously WRU!!! Ur missing EVERYTHING!!!
I giggle at the frantic DMs from my virtual friends—Angel, Roya, and Kalli, all of whom I would I give a kidney to in a heartbeat despite the fact that we’ve never met in real life.
Then I follow the URL down the rabbit hole, which is how I come face-to-face with my hero, the woman who changed my life forever, the legendary Ms. Evelyn G. Carter.
She’s giving a live-streamed interview.
But why?
I check my calendar.
According to my calculations, it isn’t the anniversary of the release date of any of the books, nor is it the birthday of any of the characters. EGC isn’t scheduled to give an interview until next June, six months from the release date of the next ATOSAS book.
My heart races.
Could she be releasing a surprise special edition cover for her fans?
Perhaps an unscheduled novella?
The possibilities are endless.
Face flushing, I put aside all of my responsibilities and crank the volume up to ten before taking out my sketch pad and preparing to take diligent notes.
“As many of you have most likely guessed, we’re gathered here for a very special Q and A,” she begins. “There are twenty-six letters in the series title. And if you divide twenty-six by six, since there are six books, you get four point three. Today’s date is April third.”
I curse, chastising myself for not paying closer attention. She’s been posting Easter eggs all over her social channels. I should have gotten the letters thing, goddammit!
“As a treat for eagle-eyed readers, I’ve decided to answer the first ten questions submitted in the chat forum below.”
All at once, a million questions flood my head like the basement of a beach house. I shut my eyes and try to focus on one but find the task impossible. Now that I have the opportunity to ask any question of the woman who has permanently altered my outlook on love, I can’t possibly pick.
“Done,” EGC announces. “The portal is now closed.”
“Fuck my fucking life!” I shout out to no one in particular. “Get it together, Joonie! You’re better than this!”
EGC begins addressing the queries methodically, one by one.
She answers a few painfully obvious questions (“Did Oceania really die in book three?” Give me a fucking break.
Locals.) She dodges some interesting queries about the space-time continuum and the rules of the universe.
I find myself itching to abandon my work project, open a new blank document, and start drafting a fic that features Ryke and Merriah on an intergalactic mission, soaring through space.
I’m seconds away from acting on my fantasy when EGC clears her throat.
Stilling right away, I sit up straight.
“Thank you so much for tuning in, dear readers,” she says, as if addressing each of us individually. “You know how much I appreciate your devotion and patronage. The final question is: What celebrity was the blueprint for Ryke?”
EGC laughs, but I roll my eyes. What a dumb waste of a question. Couldn’t that reader just look up a few fan edits and call it a day? Jesus Christ.
“Funnily enough, the character of Ryke wasn’t based on any of my celebrity crushes.
While I did do a lot of mythological research to construct his backstory, the actual character dossier was fully inspired by my old college friend, Ryan.
They even look alike. And he’s single, ladies!
” She pauses for a second, her eyes growing wide.
“You know what, I don’t think I’ve ever revealed that before! Shoot. He’s so going to kill me.”
She breaks out into giggles before bidding viewers goodbye and ending the live stream. In my fanfic forum, the Salty Girls are blowing up my notifications, freaking out about her comments and allusions to time travel.
But not me.
I can barely breathe, let alone think about the implications of an underwater wormhole.
Ryke.
Real.
Ryke is real.
Evelyn G. Carter just revealed that there is a living, breathing man out there whose chivalry and good looks inspired the character of Ryke.
A man whom I have never met.
Have not yet properly thanked.
A man who doesn’t even know I exist.
My pulse grows erratic. Hands shaking, I reach for my phone.
First, I Google the names Evelyn G. Carter and Ryan together.
Nothing.
Irritated, I pull up her Instagram account and search her followers for the name Ryan. But that yields seventy-two results. Ugh. I don’t know what I was expecting. The woman has over a million people following her.
Refusing to be deterred, I begin clicking on each profile, one by one. Until finally, I find one user with the words “Kenyon alum” in his bio.
Do you know who else went to Kenyon?
One Evelyn G. Carter.
She called him an old college buddy. This has to be him.
Hello, Ryan Mare.
The bad news? His profile is private.
The good news? I’ve never let a little security stop me before.
A more intensive search leads me straight to his LinkedIn.
While his profile is relatively barren (no profile picture, zero hobbies listed, definitely no endorsed skills), I deduce that Ryan Mare is about thirty-two, based on his graduation date.
The best part? According to his employment status, he’s worked at an environmental start-up for the last three years.
In New York City.
Only one hundred and fifty miles away.
Would it be crazy to…?
No.
I can’t possibly try to meet him.
That would be crazy.
Right?
Look, I’m not an idiot. I fully understand that Ryan Mare and Ryke are not one and the same.
I mean, the latter is more fish than man, for fuck’s sake!
And nothing drives me further up the wall than when people, especially straight, cisgender white men, act like romance readers can’t differentiate between reality and fiction.
It’s beyond condescending and totally misogynistic—we all know they only say this because women are the main consumers of the genre.
Like, would those same men accuse thriller-lovers of being more likely to murder their friends and family?
Probably not. Not to mention the double standard: Tons of fantasy and sci-fi franchises with majority-male audiences feature incredibly graphic sex, but no one is accusing fans of George R.
R. Martin of being brainwashed, you know?
There’s nothing more frustrating than having to constantly defend the merits of romance to naysayers.
Women, especially marginalized women, deserve more credit.
Period. We’re not frivolous and delusional.
I brush off a buried memory from the past, of Nico muttering that word with a finger to my temple.
But there’s this nagging voice in the back of my head.
One that whispers, What if you and Ryan Mare are star-crossed lovers?
What if everything is happening for a reason?
What if my past with Sam, with Nico, with Kyle, the doubt that led me to pick up ATOSAS, was all an elaborate way for destiny to lead me to meet my soul mate, Ryan?
What if we are truly fated?
In that case, not pursuing this, strictly for the plot, would be like depriving us both of a chance at happiness.
And the truth is, I’m tired of meeting up with the boys on dating apps. Of dating like I’m training for an Iron Man. I’m ready to meet The One, and I need a sign to keep me from giving up.
What if this is my sign?
I shut my laptop and get to work. For the first time since I left Ends Whale Books with my copy of A Tale of Salt Water & Secrets in tow, I make a decision that I’m positive is going to change the course of my life.
It’s time to go get my man.