Chapter Twenty-Three
It’s not until the end of August that I finally return to my book.
Life without Josie is quiet. There’s too much space for my thoughts to drift—to Liam, to a future without my wonderfully eccentric aunt, to the possibility that someone might actually believe my book has value, forcing me to confront my career. Writing feels impossible with a mind this still. The quiet amplifies every doubt, every worry, every stray thought clamoring for attention.
In the scene where I left off, the heroine wrestles with the decision to return home after weeks spent pouring herself into the screenplay for her film. She’s finally admitted that she loves the hero, but the reality of the distance between them looms large. And she isn’t prepared to risk her career, no matter how deep her feelings run, however much she might love small-town life.
It’s at this point that I realize that I’m not exactly sure how this book is going to end. In my outline and synopsis, I kind of left that as a “TBD” or a “TK” as we put on everything in publishing (and no one really knows why). I know the couple is going to get together in the end, but I’m not exactly settled on how that is going to happen.
In romance books, there are really only two options for an ending: happily ever after or happy for now. The first implies that the couple’s story is complete, and they will be together—married, with children, or a proposal, up to interpretation—forever. “Happy for now” means that the couple has overcome the great obstacle that threatened to tear them apart in the book. “Happy for now” leaves the opportunity for a sequel.
I’ve always thought of “happily ever after” as a big commitment, especially if the story includes some kind of instant love. I love romance, so much so that I’ve made a career out of it, but not every aspect of it is my favorite. I’ve never bought into the plots that have the couple fall in love within a matter of days. At the end of the book, they profess that they can’t live without each other, or they’d die for one another, when they haven’t even eaten a meal together.
Happily ever after also says a lot about the couple’s future. Someday we’ll be happy. We’ll be happy forever. Fifty years from now, we’ll find true happiness. And I just have one question to pose to Disney, Cinderella, and romance writers everywhere: what about now ? Why can’t our happiness focus on the here and now? Maybe we should say “screw the future” because, as corny as it sounds, it’s not promised. Maybe we should make “happily ever now” the new “happily ever after.”
I scroll to the first page of my document and type in all capitals:
HAPPILY EVER NOW
The next morning, I send the first 200 pages to Anne, with the subject line in the email reading, “Surprise.”
Elle says it’s the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done.
When Anne walks into work that morning, I immediately drag her into a conference room.
“Please tell me you’re pregnant with the chef guy’s baby. That would be the best plot twist ever,” she says as I lead her by the arm through the glass door. I slide it closed behind me.
“What? No. And no it wouldn’t.” I look down at myself. “Do I look pregnant?”
“Of course not, but a little excitement around here wouldn’t hurt,” she says, rolling her eyes.
I shake my head. “Anne, I have to tell you something, and I don’t know how you’re going to react, or even if it’s something I’m allowed to do. But here it is,” I say, my mind working faster than my words. “I wrote the book.”
“What book?” she replies immediately.
“The Hudson Hollow book. I’ve been working on it all summer. And I know it might be a legal problem because technically I was taking notes and working for the imprint, but I just felt like it was my story to tell. I’ve always wanted to write; I’ve tried in the past. And after Ruby said no to it, I just, it just came flowing out of me.” I try to gauge Anne’s reaction on her face, but she’s neutral. This feels like the biggest news I’ve ever shared in my life, and she hasn’t even batted an eye.
“The first 200 pages are in your inbox, and I would love it if you would read it, but I understand if it’s a conflict of interest.”
Anne doesn’t say anything for a solid minute.
Seriously, sixty seconds never passed so slowly.
The whole time, she stares at me, squinting one eye like she’s trying to evaluate my credibility. She purses her lips to one side, holding her chin between her fingers.
Ninety seconds.
“Anne—”
“Lucy,” she finally starts. “Please stop being in such knots about this. I think it’s great. It’s a little unorthodox, sure, but unorthodox is kind of my style. Before we talk about conflicts of interest, let me at least take a look and see if it’s any good.”
Blunt, but okay.
I nod, exhaling for the first time in what feels like all morning.
Anne takes all week to read it.
Yes, I understand that it’s not a one-chapter sample, but we’re editors, folks, we’re inherently fast readers. If we read something we like, we can have it done in a day. Two maximum.
But no. Anne waits until Thursday, a whole four days after I sent her the partial to tell me to schedule a meeting for us the following day. Making it Friday before she plans on even discussing it with me. Five. Days. Later.
I am in agony for those five days. Well, to be fair, Elle is probably in more agony because she has to put up with me. I pace. I snap. I groan. I barely sleep which just makes me crankier. I seriously reconsider my dream of being a writer, because I may not be able to handle the anticipation of critique all that well.
I may have been drinking too much coffee this week as well. My intake might have increased to compensate for the lack of sleep. Whoops.
By the time I make it to the small conference room with Anne on Friday morning, I’m ready to burst. Knowing myself and my inability to keep my mouth shut when it should be, I start talking before my butt even hits the chair. “It’s just a first draft,” I start, wringing my hands like a wet towel. “I can change and move things around—”
Anne raises a finger at me.
I close my mouth and clench my teeth. She takes her seat and calmly places her notebook down in front of her. Maybe she only looks so calm because I am so visibly not. I take a deep breath to try to still my internal vibration that is out of control. I place my hands on my lap and try to appear much cooler than I am.
“I really like it so far,” she says, placing her hands on the table to mimic my position.
“ Really ?” I say in disbelief. Anne nods and opens her notebook.
“It’s lovely. The characters are well-developed, it’s steamy but not too much to be in keeping with the small-town audience that we usually have. I like the backstories and the setting is just perfect. You clearly took your time writing down everything you saw while you were there. It shows.” I smile proudly. There is truly nothing better than working hard and being recognized for it. “But—”
Whoop, there it is.
I give Anne a weak smile and nod, urging her to go on. In my wildest dreams I didn’t imagine walking into this meeting to no criticism, so a “but” at the end of the compliment is more than palatable.
“I don’t really see where it’s going at this point,” she finishes with an awkward look on her face.
“Do you mean it’s not predictable?” I ask, trying to clarify her words.
“Well, we don’t want it to be predictable, do we?” I shake my head. “What I’m saying is that you’ve built this world and these characters and I feel like the writing is fading off toward the end. Like you’re not sure where you want to go.”
“Well, it’s a romance so there are only a few options,” I joke.
“Do you know what happens next? I don’t exactly recall from your outlines,” she says, flipping through her notes as if the answer will somehow be in there.
“The ending has always been a bit fuzzy for me,” I admit, looking down at my hands. Why wasn’t I more prepared for this question? Why didn’t I have an outline for the end prepared?
“Why do you think that is?” Anne asks, sitting back and tilting her head.
I let out a loud breath and do what has come to be a natural behavior in the recent weeks, I think of Liam.
While I may have changed a bit of the story to distance it from Liam and I, the truth is, every word that my main character says about her hero are my words. They’re my feelings. My feelings about Liam. And the reason I can’t pinpoint an ending for their story is because I didn’t get one for mine.
“Here’s the thing,” I start, sitting forward and making eye contact with Anne. “You know how I told you about that guy I met? How I thought we had something?”
“Of course,” Anne says, nodding quickly.
“Well, it was a bit more serious than I told you. At least, I thought it was. But when he found out that I was there to collect information for the imprint, he felt like he couldn’t trust me anymore. Which is very understandable,” I say, swallowing the sob in my throat and looking down to hide my glassy eyes.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry,” she says, placing a hand over mine.
“I think—I think the reason I’m struggling with the ending of this book is because it’s based so much on my story and my story didn’t have an ending. Not a good one anyway.” I let out a long breath when I finish talking, all the emotions from that day with Liam flooding my mind and making my body quake with sadness. I sniffle softly and pull myself together. I won’t be the girl who cries in front of her boss. I won’t.
“Lucy, are you alright?” Anne asks, leaning toward me.
Am I? I really don’t think so.
What would make me okay? Isn’t that what Elle is always asking me? What do I want? I thought I wanted this promotion, Anne telling me I could acquire books, that I could finally move forward at the company. Then I thought it was Anne telling me that she would read the book. And she’s done that. And yet, something is still missing.
The end of my story. The place where I feel at home. The clear path I’ve been looking for my entire life.
That’s what’s missing.
And the thing is, I found it. Somewhere I never thought possible.
What do I want? What would make me be okay?
Liam.
Sitting on his deck, Blue curled around my feet, Liam coming up behind me to wrap a blanket around me while we drink coffee on a misty morning. Helping him load the twins onto the boat for a day on the lake, Blue begrudgingly standing on the boat in his life jacket. Hiking up to The Point for a dinnertime picnic after a long day of writing.
All this time, I thought dreams like that were just that… dreams. I thought ideas like that belonged in books, and only in books.
I want a life like one in a romance novel. I want a man in a dark Henley leaning up against my doorway with his forearms flexed. I want passion and excitement. I want devotion and heart-aching love.
Maybe when I first started in this business, maybe even just a few months ago, I saw romance as a dream. I’ve loved romance novels since I was in high school. They were my escape from the mediocre life I found myself trapped in.
Maybe romance used to be an escape for me. But after years of believing true love was nothing but a fantasy, I’m starting to think… no, I know, it’s what I deserve.
“I’m really not,” I finally stutter, breaking out of my catatonic state, and blinking my way back to clarity. “Anne, I don’t think I can do this.”
How has it taken me this long to realize so much about myself? I’m always thinking about what everyone else around me is thinking. I picture how situations will work out for everyone else, besides myself. I thought I wanted to be in publishing, but maybe that was just some way to appease my parents’ dream for me to live a corporate life. I thought I wanted to live in the city because that’s where publishing was. I thought living in the city would be like my favorite episodes of Friends , when really, it’s nothing like that at all. I was justifying my choices by having to explain them to people, and I could never answer the question: What do I want?
And now the answer has never been clearer.
Anne is taken aback. “Do what? Finish the book?” I look down at the papers in her hand, the neurons in my brain making their way back to full capacity, then forging into overload.
“No, I mean, yes. I can. But not yet. I can’t finish it yet because I don’t know how it ends.” Anne looks at me quizzically. I stand up abruptly and start to walk out of the room, but I turn back and lean against the desk across from her. “I really hope you’re serious about publishing this book. Because if you are, I’ll write you another one and another one and another one. Because I don’t think I can be your assistant anymore. Or even your assistant editor. This isn’t how my story ends. And I have to go find out how it does.”
“And where are you going to do that?”
“Hudson Hollow.”
The smile on Anne’s face is unlike any expression I’ve ever seen her make. “I was hoping you would say that.” With that, she jolts out of her chair and rushes out of the room before I can comprehend what she said.
I furrow my brows and awkwardly follow her into the hall. The people in the rows of cubicles are staring at us like they’re angry librarians and we coughed in a silent library.
“Um, Anne?” I say, peeking my head out of the conference room. She’s already back at our desks. I grab my stuff from the conference room and speed-walk back to our row. Anne is waving her hands at the rest of our team. “Anne, what are you doing?”
She pulls out her phone and starts typing ferociously. “Going to Hudson Hollow,” she says matter-of-factly.
“ What ?” Elle and I say at the same time. Nicole, Terri, Callie, and Nadine take their earphones out to see what the commotion is about.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my heart starting to race a bit.
“Exactly what I said,” Anne says, finally looking up at me. “We’re going to get you an ending to your story.”
“What’s going on?” Nicole chimes in, all of us now standing around our desks and attracting the attention of the entire department.
“Anne, that’s crazy—” I start. “I—I didn’t really think it was a group kind of thing,” I say, staring at my boss in disbelief. Did I not explain myself well? It almost kind of sounded like I quit back there, and this was definitely not the response I was expecting. This is supposed to be my big montage moment, where I decide what I want and go get it. Anne is kind of stealing my thunder here.
“Where are we going?” Nadine asks, rounding the corner with Elle and Terri to be closer to the conversation.
“Hudson Hollow,” Anne answers.
Elle smiles brilliantly. “You’re going back? You’re going to tell him you love him?” She runs down the line of cubicles, drawing the attention of the rest of the floor.
“Tell who, what?” Callie asks, swinging her chair back from her desk.
“Liam, the chef guy. She loves him and we’re all going to Hudson Hollow to find an ending to her book,” Anne explains, dialing her phone.
“I’m sorry, we all ?” I say, looking between my co-workers. I turn my attention back to Anne and she raises her phone to her ear and puts up a finger to silence me. “Hey babe, I have a work emergency, I have to run up to the Catskills… I’ll explain everything later…”
“This is not a work emergency!” I whine in a whisper. “This is the exact opposite of a work emergency!”
“We’re all going!” Elle announces, and I look at her like she’s gone mad. How did this get so out of hand?
I look around at the rest of the team. “I have to say, I think that might look a little bit like we’re ganging up on him,” I say with a look of hesitancy on my face.
“We won’t all talk to him!” Elle says in an obvious tone. “Come on, ladies! Let’s get going!” The women jump up and we all begin to gather our belongings.
“This is so exciting!” Callie squeals, throwing miscellaneous items into her purse. Nicole and Terri look unsure but Anne is already halfway to the door.
“Nicole, Terri, let’s go! Time to be a little spontaneous! Don’t you want to see how this turns out?” she calls from the end of our aisle of cubicles.
“I do,” Nadine says, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“Nadine, find out what time the next bus is. Let’s get a move on!” Anne says, clapping her hands. I look over at the desk of our publisher, who is turned around with a curious look on his face. Anne follows my gaze and gives me a wide-eyed look. She really didn’t think this through. “Team-building exercise!” she yells across the floor. “As you were!”
Wow, Heartwarming Love Stories has really gone to the zoo today.