Chapter Twenty-One
It’s July 4th and I am not watching the fireworks on Liam’s boat in Hudson Hollow.
I’m not sitting on his lap in his captain’s chair, wearing the sweatshirt he brought me in case I got cold, my arms wrapped around his neck. I’m on my couch, in Manhattan, throwing popcorn at the Macy’s fireworks on my T.V.
“Girl, it’s not Macy’s fault. Stop throwing things at them,” Elle scolds, plopping herself down on the couch next to me. She pulls the blanket that is draped across my legs onto hers, setting a bowl of popcorn on her lap.
She wants to say something else, I can tell. I feel her watching me. It’s the same, “ Will she snap? ” look she’s been giving me since I got home. I haven’t been up for much talking since my tearful phone call on the ride home. I know it’s been hard for her and that she’s been giving me my space. But I think her patience is holding on by a thread now.
“So, are we going to talk about it?” she says in a wary tone.
When I turn my head toward her, she pops a piece of popcorn in her mouth and smacks her plump lips with a pop. I’ve missed her so much, I want to reach across the couch and hug her for no reason, just because I can. Because she’s not a three-hour drive away, she’s right here, with me, on the same piece of furniture. We’re back where we belong, watching T.V., me avoiding her invasive, therapist-like questions. All is well.
Isn’t it?
“I think I’m all talked out, honestly,” I reply with a sigh.
“But you’ve barely said a word!” she whines, raising her voice.
I almost smile at her outburst, but my body catches itself. The moment my lips start to curl up, my reflexes kick in, and remind me why I am sitting where I am right now.
“I did. I told Liam everything. I was the most honest I’ve ever been with anyone in my life. You’re always saying it’s hard for people to be vulnerable,” I say, gesturing to her with my hand. “Well, it was ,” I add, matter-of-factly. “I did it, and then he told me he needed space, and you know what, I don’t blame him.”
“You know he was hurting when he said that.”
“Elle, I know you want to believe the best in people, and you really want this to work out, but this is not an actual romance novel. When a guy tells you he’s done with you in real life, he means it.”
“What are you going to do? Go back to Tinder and forget that the perfect guy already exists?” She crosses her arms and glares at me with piercing brown eyes, arching her perfect brow at me.
“I don’t see what else I can do,” I say, resigned. Elle leans in, taking the popcorn from my lap and placing it on the coffee table. I try to avoid her gaze for as long as possible, but she eventually draws me in.
She looks at me like I’m wounded, and the one thing she wants most in the world right now is to make it better. And usually, that’s what she does. That’s what we do for each other—–we pick up the pieces, but this time, I think we’re both at a loss.
“Lucy,” she starts. “I’m so proud of you.” Always start with the positive. Any editor knows that when you give feedback, you have to start with the good news first. “I know you’ll roll your eyes at me. But Hudson Hollow changed you, and I think you know that too.” I grimace at her, and she knows she’s right. “You went somewhere new, on your own, met new people, and proved to yourself that you’re a pretty great writer.” I flutter my eyes down and fiddle with the strings on the blanket as she talks. “Think about it, you practically wrote a book, and you fell in love.” I look at her slowly, my cheeks so hot that it feels like steam is emanating from my skin.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know,” she adds in a confident tone. “I’m especially proud of the way you put yourself out there, how you told Liam everything,” I wince when I hear his name. “And I think you will find your way back to him, and him to you. I’m manifesting it.” I eye her knowingly, swallowing to try to contain my emotions. She nudges my shoulder.
“I love you, Elle. And I hope you’re right.”
*
The following day, Elle comes with me to visit my parents’ house, and for the first time since I returned from upstate, I smile; and I mean really smile. Seeing Josie is restorative, even if she’s looking frail, and sleeping away most of the day. And when we return to our apartment on Sunday, my mind feels calmer. Seeing my family helped take my mind off worrying about Monday, and sharing with Anne everything I wrote in that little notebook, and all the guilt that comes along with it.
When Monday does arrive, my stomach is in knots. Nadine is always the first one in the office, being the newest member of the team, she’s eager to please. We’ve tried to tell her that Nicole and Terri never show their faces before 9:30 am, and Anne usually moseys in a half hour or so later, but she refuses to risk it.
“Hey! How was your trip?” Nadine asks, standing up from her side of the wall as soon as I get to my desk.
“It was good, thanks,” I say, hoping she’ll leave it at that.
“It’s been all Anne can talk about,” she says with a knowing smile.
“Ha! No pressure then,” I mumble, plopping into my chair and turning my computer on in frustration.
I want to inundate Anne with so much information that even her most specific questions are answered before she even has a chance to ask them. I organized and typed up a simpler version of my outline along with an in-depth setting description, and profiles for each character. It was a lot of work. If this project becomes a bestseller, I should really get a piece of the pie.
Elle was right, Hudson Hollow changed me. Even if I can’t be as confident as her, I can damn well fake it. I can know my worth, and I can go for what I want. I only need to repeat that about seven thousand more times in my head.
Nicole and Terri don’t bother me much when they come in, but Callie is more intrusive, asking if I met any cute guys. I shut her down with a brief answer and a look that says I’m not in the mood to talk.
“Hey!” Anne exclaims when she comes strutting past my desk. “Look how tan you are!” She drops her bag on my desk and stands there with her arms outstretched. I stand up awkwardly and hug her. Callie visually cringes next to me. I’ve worked here for almost three years and this has never happened.
“I can’t wait to hear all about it!” she says, making her way to her own desk. I eye Elle over our divider. She’s holding in a laugh.
“I have a conference room booked for us at 11 am, and a call scheduled with Ruby at 11:30,” I say, handing her a pile of mail. “You asked me to remind you to email Erin back about lunch and to formally reject that submission from Kelly first thing this morning.”
“My God, I’ve missed you,” Anne says with a groan.
Mission accomplished .
*
“Okay, so tell me everything!” Anne says, sliding the glass door shut behind us. She sits down and props her head on her hands, giddy to hear everything I’m about to say.
“It was great,” I start, swallowing hard. “It was such a… unique opportunity. I’m very grateful, Anne.”
“I’m thrilled to hear that.” I force a smile. I already feel the sweat trickling down my neck from my nerves. I desperately hope it doesn’t show.
“Hudson Hollow is the perfect small town to set a series in,” I continue, handing her my write-up. “I think you sending me there was great inspiration for our—well, Ruby’s —heroine. I’m thinking she could be a writer for a production company, sent to work on a new project in a small town. It will give us the fish-out-of-water aspect that you were kind of envisioning with me.”
“That sounds great. And our love interest?” she asks, not looking up from the packet.
“A historian,” I say, sliding the character profiles over to her.
“Did you get any inspiration from that neighbor guy Elle told me about?” My heart shudders at the question. She finally looks up and moves to the edge of her seat. “What happened with him, by the way?”
If she only knew the half of it.
“He was great. But this character is quite different. He’s a complete alpha hero who turns out to be a cinnamon roll. Liam, er, the neighbor guy, well,” I sigh, “he was a cinnamon roll through and through.” I try to push the thought of him from my mind.
I look down at the time on my phone, and a reminder for our call with Ruby flashes on the screen. Anne follows my gaze, and our eyes meet a moment later.
“Ready for this?” she asks, pride in her voice.
“As I’ll ever be,” I murmur. Part of me can’t believe I’m about to do this. I am about to tell a bestselling author, a professional, what she should write. All the hard work, the writing, the hours spent speaking into my computer, and all my work over the past three years, it’s all led to this moment.
“Lucy,” Anne starts, jolting me from my thoughts. I turn my attention to her, the anxious voice still mumbling in the back of my mind. “No matter what Ruby says here, I want you to know, I took the liberty of ordering you some new business cards,” she says with a sly smile.
Something between a laugh and a “ha!” comes out of my mouth. “Does that mean what I think it means? Because I don’t actually have business cards now…”
“You don’t have business cards?” she asks, raising a brow.
“You told me assistants don’t need business cards,” I gently remind her.
“That does sound like me,” she says sarcastically. “Well, you’ll have them now.”
“Anne, thank you. I really appreciate it,” I say, less enthusiastically than either of us expected.
I should be elated in this moment. And part of me is—truly. Even if Elle and Josie or even Liam don’t believe it, I do love this job. And I’m proud of myself for making it to this point. I did it. I got the promotion.
“What is it?” Anne asks, giving me a curious look. I’m not sure I want to tell her exactly what’s going through my mind. I think she can tell that something is off, but I’m not sure she will understand. How do you explain to someone that you’re unhappy when your dreams come true, because it’s not actually your dream anymore?
“It’s just a lot to take in,” I say, trying to recompose myself. “And we still have to talk to Ruby. I’m a little overwhelmed,” I admit.
“I can handle Ruby,” Anne says. She reaches over and gives my shoulder a light squeeze. “You’ve earned this, no matter what happens today.”
I finally let myself smile, but it’s reserved.
My hand shakes as I dial Ruby’s number on the conference phone in the middle of the table.
“Hello Ruby, how’s it going?” Anne starts, putting on her friendly editor voice.
“It’s going,” Ruby replies. Every time I speak to Ruby—which isn’t that often—she always strikes me as burnt out. She didn’t get into writing until later in life, and now I think she is pushing eighty. Maybe she’s tired of the business? I honestly don’t know what her reasoning is for being so grumpy all the time. But everyone has their own issues, I suppose. You never know what someone is going through.
“So, what did your lackey come up with?”
Um, feeling a little less understanding now.
“ Lucy , I can assure you, has gone above and beyond the call of duty here.”
I take a deep breath, feeling assured that Anne has my back. Ruby isn’t Anne’s favorite person, and while she may be a bestselling author and essential to our company, Anne won’t let her bully me. I’m confident in that.
“It’s all you,” Anne says with an encouraging nod. I press my lips in a line and try to smile back at her.
I relay the basic story elements to Ruby: the main character is a film writer who goes to a small town to research for a new movie. While there, she falls for a historian, but feels conflicted about her feelings for him. She struggles to balance her morals, her desire to impress her boss, and an impending deadline. I elaborate on a few of the side characters, and briefly go over the plot structure as I see it unfolding. Anne and Ruby remain silent, almost ambivalent, and by the end, my mouth is incredibly dry. While I may not feel proud of how I obtained this work, I am proud of the story I came up with. I worked my ass off in Hudson Hollow, and from the look on Anne's face, I’d say she agrees.
“What do you think, Ruby?” Anne asks after a few moments.
“I—” she starts, and then sighs. Well, that’s not a good sign. I crease my eyebrows at Anne.
“Ruby?” Anne prompts.
“I just don’t see what is so special about it,” Ruby finally says.
Okay, rude .
“I’m sorry?” I say. Anne reaches a hand over and gently places it on my arm.
“Why don’t we talk through some of your concerns?” Anne says, the consummate professional.
“It’s the whole thing, really,” Ruby whines. “It just doesn’t feel like me.”
Maybe because you didn’t come up with the ideas.
“I don’t understand. You write everything . How could this not feel you ?” Anne asks.
“I know, I know. I guess cowboys always felt the most authentic to me. Even with the suspense, I could model that after my favorite crime shows, but I just don’t see the appeal of a city versus small town conflict.”
“I understand that this would be new territory,” Anne starts.
“Maybe you might feel differently if you traveled to a small town like I did,” I offer, trying to salvage things. “I’m sure that could be arranged the next time you are in New York for promo.” I look at Anne for validation.
“Sure, we could do that,” she says with a nod.
“The town is my least favorite part.”
Woah, bitch. Take that back.
“The people are bland, too cookie-cutter. There’s nothing that makes them or the setting unique,” Ruby drones.
“I don’t think that’s fair—” I say, but Anne squeezes my arm again.
“Ruby—” Anne starts, but Ruby cuts her off.
“I’ll think about it, Anne. But I’m pretty sure this is a no.” I let out a quiet gasp. “I’m disappointed of course, but maybe it is time to move on.”
“Ruby—”
“We’ll speak soon,” Ruby interjects.
The dial tone echoes in the room.
“Well,” Anne says, still staring at the speaker in the middle of the table. “Fuck.”
Did that really just happen? Did I really go through all of that turmoil and stress for nothing? How—how could Ruby react like that? How could she say that my characters are cookie-cutter? They are based on some of the most amazing and caring people I’ve ever met in my life. How could I have failed this spectacularly?
“Anne, I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice cracking.
“Please, Lucy, don’t be silly. That woman has been giving me a hard time for years. She’ll moan about this for a while, and then one day she’ll come to me saying she has a new great idea, and this will all be water under the bridge. I just thought maybe we’d do it the easy way this time around,” Anne explains, shaking her head.
Anne pats me on the shoulder as she stands. “This is not a reflection of all the great work you did, though. Please know that,” she says. But how can I not take it as one? “We’ll figure something out. Maybe another author can use your ideas.” Anne squeezes my shoulder and slips out of the room.
I crumple in my seat, bringing my hand to my head, and let out a loud exhale.
I failed. I hurt Liam, I hurt Jill, I hurt everyone… for nothing.
I got what I wanted—what I thought I wanted. I’m an assistant editor. But this win, if that’s what it can be called, feels hollow now. Because what I want now is so different from what I wanted six weeks ago. I want so badly for this story to have a life, for all the little pieces of my soul that went into this outline to thrive on a shelf somewhere.
I can feel Anne’s gaze from the other side of the glass, and I retreat into an invisible shell around my body. I want to go home and curl up in my bed and pour over my notes, because that’s the only way I will feel close to Liam. That’s what I want most of all. I want to be sitting on his deck, his fingers entwined with mine, smelling smoke from his firepit and listening to the giggles of Robbie and Mia on the grass below us. I want to be back in Hudson Hollow.
Today was supposed to be one of the best days of my life—I finally have the promotion I’ve waited years for. But now it’s lost its meaning. Now, all I can think about is Liam, and Hudson Hollow, the past six weeks of my life that brough so much joy and self-discovery. Maybe the only way I can do that is to write this book myself.
If Ruby doesn’t want this story, fine. Because I do.