Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Aiden and I were rapidly approaching the end of the semester—and our manuscript. Our characters were this close to confessing their love to each other, but I wanted it to be perfect. We had been writing together nonstop—and now that we could lay nearly everything we felt for each other out in the open, it felt like magic was pouring out of my fingers.
But the big love confession was our only hiccup. The right words couldn’t come to us, no matter how many times we tried to write the scene. Aiden suggested moving on and coming back to that paragraph when we had the chance, but I was hell-bent on making it perfect.
I was so focused on this class and our assignment that I often dreamt of it. I’d see Max and Hunter in my dreams and try to make sense of it all for a scene, but rarely did anything usable come to fruition.
Until one night, my eyes flashed open. Aiden’s arm was snug around my waist, my back to his chest. The words were moving around in my head, and I was desperate to get them out. We were in my apartment this time. I slapped around my nightstand until I found my phone and slipped out of Aiden’s grip. Propped up on my elbow, my hair fanning over my face, I quickly typed into my notes app.
“Go back to sleep, baby,” Aiden whispered, his voice thick. He tried to pull my shoulder back down to him, but I wouldn’t let him.
“I think I finally have it figured out,” I said.
The sheets rustled behind me and Aiden’s chin landed on my shoulder as he read what I had written. “What do you think?” I asked.
“I like it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, what do you really think?”
He hesitated before reaching for my phone. “Can I?”
I nodded, and he read through the lines again, changing a few words, refocusing a few sentences.
We went back and forth like this, revising the small paragraphs on my phone, passing it between us as our backs rested against the headboard.
“She can’t say that,” I fussed at him. “She’d never say that.”
“I’m sorry, but Maxine is the exact type of person to say, ‘I’ve loved you from the very beginning.’ ”
“Max would use details. She’d say what made her fall in love.”
“Fine, then you fix it.”
He passed the phone to me, and just like we had been doing all semester, I wrote what I felt about Aiden. I wrote what I wished I had the courage to say if my heart wasn’t so fragile and worried about its next break.
“I loved you before I even knew I did. I loved when someone said something funny and your eyes would find mine across the table just to watch me laugh. Or when you’d frown at something particularly sappy I’d written, even though I know now you liked it. I loved you the whole time, but I love you the most now.”
I handed the phone back to Aiden with shaky hands. He read the words, slowly and carefully, before typing his own. He handed it back to me, the sound of my heartbeat creating music in the room.
“I’m not good at romance like you are. I don’t have the right words to make you understand how completely wrapped around your finger I am. I didn’t believe in soulmates, and for the longest time I didn’t believe in love at all—until I met you. But I do love you. The shoot for the stars, shout on rooftops kind. I accepted my fate a long time ago. I don’t think I could ever love anyone else but you.”
After I read it, tears shone in my eyes. But neither of us said anything. We didn’t need to. These words probably wouldn’t ever make it into our manuscript. They were hard enough to write, let alone say, so we had to keep them tucked between the pages of a book. But we both knew it wasn’t Max and Hunter talking.
We lay back in the bed, Aiden’s warm arms holding me.
We were sitting at Peculiar Pub, our eyes trained on my phone, sitting in the center of the table. Logan and I were on one side, Tyler and Jess on the other side, pressed closely together. They’d been together for a while now, often lost in their own bubble.
No one said anything. Every time Logan tried to break the silence, the table shushed him.
“Are you sure it’s releasing today?” Jess eventually asked.
“The email said today at the latest . It has to be today,” I said. I bit my thumbnail, trying to soothe my nerves.
“God, the waiting is agonizing,” Logan said. He threw his head back and groaned. “I didn’t even apply, and I’m nervous.”
I needed to leave soon to go meet Aiden for dinner at Raoul’s in SoHo. I was desperate for the email to come before I left so I could either drown my sorrows in cheap beer at the pub or force Aiden to sip fancy wine with me in celebration.
“I kind of wish they didn’t send the email to everyone who applied. I’d rather be embarrassed in private,” I said, sipping on my water.
“You might be the only person from our program who applied. Besides, no one knows you applied,” Jess reassured. “If it isn’t you, only we and Aiden will know.”
I picked at the skin around my thumb, staying silent.
I was the happiest I’d ever been with Aiden. Each morning felt like a new start with the whole world in front of me. I loved Aiden—and I wanted to tell him soon. But waiting for the fellowship decision was taking up too much of my focus. I couldn’t sleep some nights from nerves, and I wanted a clear mind when I told Aiden. I wanted him to be my focus.
When my phone buzzed with the email, we all quickly straightened.
“I’m too nervous, I can’t look,” I whispered.
“Oh God, me either,” Logan groaned.
Tyler gingerly plucked his phone from the table and said, “I’ll read it.” I watched carefully as his eyes scanned every line, waiting for him to break out into a smile. Instead, his eyes flickered to mine. He shook his head only slightly and said, “I’m sorry, Rosie.”
The table was quiet. Everyone was waiting for me to react or move, and I didn’t know how to. I was embarrassed and sad, and I didn’t know how to move on from it so quickly.
“It’s okay,” I said eventually. “It’s hard to get into for a reason. Maybe next semester.”
“They’re stupid,” Jess supplied. “I’m sure your piece was the best one. They probably didn’t pick it because it was romance.”
“Probably,” I conceded. “That’s just how it goes. A man writes a love story and it’s considered great fiction and an epic tale, but a woman does it, then it’s clich é . God, y’all, sometimes it feels impossible to exist in the academic world as a romance writer.”
“Rosie,” Tyler said softly. “You might want to read the email … Aiden made it in.”
He laid the phone flat on the table and we all leaned forward to skim it.
Congratulations to Aiden Huntington. A student at NYU’s MFA Creative Program, his mentorship with Ida Abarough has guided him well, as his short story depicts grief in a visceral manner. We look forward to publishing him in the Sam Frost Literary Magazine and adding him to our list of fellowship recipients.
I reread the email, feeling a little dizzy. My first thought was How many Aiden Huntingtons are there at NYU? Because my Aiden wouldn’t betray me like this, it didn’t make sense.
“You didn’t mention that Aiden was submitting, too. Or that Ida was mentoring him, too.”
“I didn’t know,” I said, my words thick.
Silence fell over the table as I reread the email. It made sense that Aiden would have been accepted into the literary magazine. I didn’t think he was necessarily a better writer than me, but other academics ate his shit up.
But he said he hadn’t submitted, had he? And the mentorship with Ida made no sense.
How long had it been going on? And it wasn’t like Aiden didn’t know how much time I spent at the Writer’s House with Ida. And it wasn’t like Ida didn’t know that Aiden and I were together now. How could they both keep something like this from me?
But most of all, Ida was a romance writer . And try as I might to keep them at bay, the words he’d said about my beloved genre ages ago lingered in my mind.
“What a jerk,” Logan said.
“Logan,” Jess reprimanded.
“What? It’s true. He gains Rosie’s trust like this, lies to her, and leaves her blindsided? He’s exactly who we thought he was.”
“He’s not evil for submitting to the same fellowship as Rosie,” Tyler said.
“No, but he should’ve told her.”
“Rosie, are you okay?” Jess asked.
I didn’t say anything for a moment before taking a heavy breath. “I should go. I’m meeting Aiden,” I said numbly.
I couldn’t stop the resentment that lingered from the beginning of the semester from infiltrating my thoughts. I was mad at him. How many times did I talk about the fellowship with him? How many times did he watch me anxiously refresh my email waiting for this result? He listened each time, knowing he had already submitted. And never told me. I was mad that he’d lied to me about so much and yet my heart could still skip a beat when I said his name.
“Be careful, Rosie,” Jess said quietly.
The New York sun had just begun to set. Aiden had told me a million times that he was sure summers in Tennessee were nice, but nothing compared to the ones in New York. My southern heart had been reluctant to admit he was right, but he was. The sidewalks cooled down, the streets were full of people sitting on benches and at outdoor restaurants, smiling. The city came alive in the summer. After such harsh winters, it felt like every New Yorker was eager to soak up as much sun as the skyscrapers would permit.
The walk to Raoul’s wasn’t too far. Aiden was waiting outside for me, his hands in his pockets. A grin split his face when he saw me, and he gathered me into a hug.
“God, I missed you today,” he said into my hair. When I didn’t hug him back immediately, he pulled back and searched my eyes. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I stepped away from him a little, wrapping my arms around my torso so I didn’t have to touch him. He must not know yet.
His eyes tracked my motion, frowning slightly. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Does Raoul’s still sound good to you? If you’d rather go to La Pecora Blanca we can swing by there instead.”
“Raoul’s is good.”
He frowned. “Is everything okay? You seem off. Usually you’d pull up the dessert menus to decide.”
“I’m fine,” I said a little too sharply and his frown only deepened. He peered down at me, as if he could read what was wrong on my face. “Aiden, it’s nothing.”
“It’s not. I can tell when you’re upset. Rosie, I know you.”
“Maybe you don’t,” I snapped. “And maybe I don’t know you.”
His head jerked back. “Where is this coming from?”
When I was a kid, I used to get into terrible fights with my mom. I’d say mean things to her, but she’d always sit there and patiently wait for my temper to cool. The whole time I fought with her, I’d have this out of body experience where I could see myself acting horribly. And I’d wonder, Why am I being such a jerk to someone I love so much?
That’s how it felt with Aiden now.
Wordlessly, I pulled out my phone and handed it to him. He shot me a confused glance, but then he scanned the screen and his expression registered understanding. He was silent as he handed the phone back to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me about you applied?”
He shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. I couldn’t find the right time.”
“I told you countless times about how much this meant to me. How life changing it could be … how I wanted to prove that romance could win a prestigious award like this.”
He wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Rosie, it’s really not a big deal.”
I reared my head back. “How could you say that? It’s been nothing but a big deal to me.”
“Are you jealous or something?”
“No, Aiden,” I snapped. “I’m not fucking jealous that your tortured man piece appealed to other tortured men. It’s not really innovative in the literary world. I’m mad that you fucking lied to me.”
The angry words were pouring out of my mouth before I could stop them. I hated how he looked like Aiden from September, and I looked like Rosie from September. I could feel our defenses going up, and I was defenseless against it.
“I never lied ,” he insisted.
“Yes, you did,” I snapped. “You looked me in the eye and told me you weren’t applying to the litmag.”
“I said I had thought about it. Which was … technically true. I’d thought about it and applied. But that was before everything happened between us—”
“Why should I believe anything you say?” I pushed back, growing frustrated. “You should’ve just told me.”
“Right,” he scoffed. “And you would’ve been happy for me, like you are now? You can’t be mad I beat you.”
My head reared back. “I’m not mad you beat me, Aiden. I’m mad you didn’t tell me. I went to you for help and advice, and I fucking told you to apply, and you didn’t have the courage to tell me you were already planning to. You don’t even need this. Everyone will bow down to you the minute you finish a manuscript,” I said, bitingly.
“It’s not my fault you didn’t get in. What, you wanted me to hand it to you? Give you the easy way out? You’re already doing that by writing romance.”
I stepped back like he had pushed me. The sounds of New York drowned out, and all I could hear were Aiden’s words echoing in my head.
“Fuck you, Aiden. I’m not taking the easy way out with romance. How could you say that to me?”
“You’re a good writer, Rosie. A great one. You know what sort of stories get into that litmag—you shouldn’t have submitted a romantic piece.”
“Ida told me to submit a romantic piece.”
“Well that was bad fucking advice,” he snapped.
I knew Aiden had been lying to me this whole time. I was dizzy with pain as I realized this whole time Aiden hadn’t been taking me seriously. If he’d lied about the mentorship and respecting romance, what else had he been lying about?
“You meant everything you said in August?” I asked. “That romance was frivolous and not worth anyone’s time?”
He shook his head. “Rosie, don’t twist my words.”
“I know I’m a good writer,” I said emphatically. “I don’t need anyone else to tell me I am. I know it the way the sky is blue and the way romances will always have an HEA. It’s just a fucking fact, Aiden. Writing romance doesn’t nullify my skill, and for you to imply that makes you a dickhead.” I scoffed. “I really thought you had changed, that maybe you weren’t like Simon and everyone else. But you’re just sitting there on your high fucking horse judging me.”
“So I don’t like romance!” Aiden exploded. “You don’t like literary fiction. Whatever. I’m not throwing some fit over it.” He was getting angry now, his hands moving all over the place.
“I should’ve known better.” I could feel the tears climbing their way up my throat. I willed them away, not wanting to cry in front of Aiden as they welled in the corner of my eyes. I was stupid for falling for this front he had created. Of course he’d do whatever it took to get his sad ending. “I should’ve known you could never really love me like I hoped.”
“ I should’ve known better,” he corrected, his tone lashing. “I was stupid enough to believe you could actually want me .” His jaw tightened. “But you don’t want me . You want some guy you can mold into the words you’ve read in a book. Someone you could place on a damn pedestal that’s destined to fall.”
“So maybe I did place you on one,” I snapped, wiping the stray tears with the back of my hand. “I’d rather live in a world where I see the potential for someone’s best than their worst. But you know what, maybe I was wrong for that. How I felt for you included the litfic, sad endings, and all. And I never judged you for it. But this entire time you’ve been lying to me.” For a split second, I saw the Aiden I’d thought existed peek through the shadows. But, just as quickly, his eyes hardened again. “Finish the book,” I said, hiccupping between the words. “Kill Maxine. Give her some horrible, painful death. I’m done, Aiden.”
Before he could respond, I turned on my heel, walking home so fast the soles of my feet ached. It was easy to ignore, though, with the way the pain in my heart overpowered everything.
I ignored the glass of my own shattered heart as I cut myself trying to put hers back together.
— Excerpt from Untitled by Aiden Huntington and Rosie Maxwell