Chapter 11 #3
Whose side is Lisa on here? I want to cry out. The truth is so embarrassing that I want to shrivel up and hide, but it’s too late now.
Fern: Well, she was the only editor who offered on the book, and my agent didn’t mention having a call or anything.
For a moment, there’s silence. I am so painfully aware that I am surrounded by writers who had multiple editors fighting over their books.
Writers like Haven and Lisa, who have had to get on many, many phone calls where editors raved about their books and tried to win them over by offering this and that to them on a silver plate.
Meanwhile, I, of course, had to take whatever I could get.
Haven: Oh okay. I see. I would have a call with her now to discuss her notes in depth. And honestly I think this is a good sign, she cares so much about the book that she wrote twelve pages of notes for it . . . that’s not something an editor would do for just any book.
Anxiety claws at my chest. This is the thing with Haven.
Her replies are so well crafted that a casual observer wouldn’t notice anything off about them.
But I see right through her. She’s making herself out to be a good person, trying to be kind to me about my shitty situation, but there are always ulterior motives with her.
Already she’s made me look bad, painted me as ungrateful for the immense work my editor has devoted to my manuscript.
I need to remedy this, and quick. I can’t afford to let Haven outmaneuver me like she did before.
I know what she’s doing: She’s laying the groundwork to push me out of the group and turn me into an outcast once more.
Fern: Thank you for the advice. You’re right, I really appreciate the amount of effort my editor put into the book. I think I’m just overwhelmed by the amount of changes she wants me to make to it.
Lisa: It is totally overwhelming for sure! I don’t blame you, I would have the same exact reaction. But yeah, looking at it in that perspective is helpful. It sounds like she’s super invested in your book!
Felicity: Oh totally! In fact, I kind of wish my editor would do the same!!
Do you, Felicity? I think snidely. Then I immediately feel guilty for thinking that.
I hate having mean thoughts. I don’t want to be like Haven, thinking the worst of everyone.
I’ve worked so long and hard on myself to get rid of awful thoughts like these.
I have established healthy coping mechanisms to avoid this negativity, but this entire interaction with Haven is so triggering.
This is the real problem I have with Haven.
It’s not just that she’s a bad person. It’s that I hate who I am when I’m with her. I need to end this conversation.
But before I can do so, there’s another reply from Haven.
Haven: I think that’s the right thing to do, Fern! And who knows, you might end up loving the changes. Publishing works in mysterious ways.
My mouth turns into a desert. Dani’s voice rings through my mind.
That was her thing, and Haven knows it. She was always saying that various things work in mysterious ways.
When we were kids, it used to be a running joke between us.
She’d say something like “Life works in mysterious ways,” and I’d go “Algebra works in mysterious ways.” I can’t believe Haven just did that.
Fern: I’m going to email her now. Thanks everyone!
It’s only after I shut down Slack that I notice that my shirt’s sticking to my skin with sweat.
I put the phone down on the kitchen counter and guzzle another glass of water.
I literally feel as though I’ve just sprinted down several blocks after not having eaten anything the entire day.
I’m shaky and lightheaded, and my breath is coming out in shallow, rapid gasps.
A panic attack? I used to get them all the time back in high school.
I go through the usual motions of grounding myself in the present moment, looking around at my surroundings and naming things I can see, smell, hear, and feel.
My shakiness ebbs away slowly, leaving me utterly spent.
I go to the bathroom and strip down, avoiding looking in the mirror, full of self-hatred.
I stand under the shower until I run out of hot water, then I am forced to come out.
After I’ve dressed myself, I pad into the kitchen and take out Doughlores.
The only thing that is sure to bring me peace on days like this is baking.
I look up my saved recipes and decide on sourdough raspberry and white chocolate muffins.
For the next half hour, I lose myself in the act of measuring out the ingredients and then mixing them together.
There’s just something about thick batter or pliant dough that helps me leave behind whatever is bothering me, and I thank the universe every day that no matter how bad things get, I will always have this outlet.
It is only when the muffins are in the oven that I let myself check my Slack again.
There are new messages in the #commiserations channel, but I go straight to the private chat with Lisa and Jenna.
They’re talking about something else completely unrelated, and for a second, I wonder if I should just move on and try to forget what happened.
But then what are friends for if not to obsess over the little details?
Fern: Ugh, I hate that Haven replied to my thing in #commiserations. I’m not imagining it, right? She was being . . . ugh?
Jenna: Wait, what happened in #commiserations? I haven’t checked that channel yet! brB going to catch up.
Lisa: Hmm, I’m not sure I got any bad vibes from her? Which part of what she said was bad?
Shit. I can’t tell Lisa that Haven saying “Publishing works in mysterious ways” is a pointed, cruel threat. I see now, belatedly, that from an outsider’s perspective, everything that Haven said is perfectly innocent.
Fern: It’s just she’s reminding me a bit about some stuff she did back in high school.
Lisa: Ah, right. That really sucks. I’m sorry you have to deal with that. But anyway, I still think you should talk to your agent first
I sigh with frustration. That’s not the point, I want to wail.
I mean, yes, sure I’ll talk to Poppy first. But the point is, Haven made me look bad in front of everyone, and she did it so smoothly, so subtly, that no one even realized she was doing it.
It feels like high school all over again.
What can I do to stop it from happening?
I’m not crazy, I know I’m not. I’m not imagining it. Everyone else just—
A new private message pops up, and all my thoughts screech to a sudden stop. Because the name that’s appeared in bold is Haven’s.
Haven: Hey, Fern. It’s been a while. How’re you doing? Congratulations on your book deal!
For the longest time, my mind remains blank.
No, that’s not quite right. It’s actually whizzing around at such a fast rate that I can’t make out any thoughts, it’s just a blur of blinding white.
How can she just pop back into my life like this?
So casually, as though nothing terrible happened in our past. As though Dani were still alive.
I give a small shake of the head and blink furiously.
My fingers hover over the keyboard and move of their own accord, bypassing the mess in my head.
Fern: Hi. Yes it’s been a while. Thanks, and congrats on your deal too
I add an exclamation mark at the end of the last sentence to be friendly, then find that I can’t bear it. I delete it, reread the message, and hit send.
Haven: I just wanted to reach out and say I hope there are no hard feelings. That was a million years ago, huh? I’m sure we’ve both grown a lot as people.
My entire body feels hot, as though the blood in my veins has been replaced by liquid flames.
No hard feelings? A million years ago? We’ve both grown a lot?
How dare she? It was ten years ago, and I still remember everything she did to me, to Dani, down to the smallest details.
It was ten years ago, but Dani is still dead.
She will forever be gone. But of course, to Haven, none of it truly mattered.
It was all just a game to her, and now here she is, trying to play the role of the bigger person.
What do I say to her? Should I tell her she’s full of shit and I know exactly what’s behind that beautiful mask of hers?
Should I pretend like I don’t know what she’s talking about, so she has to spell it out?
Of course, in the end, my cowardly ass doesn’t do either of those things. I can’t even do passive aggression; I’m more of a straight-up passive kind of person. One might call me a doormat. I would call myself a survivalist.
Fern: God, no, of course no hard feelings. High school was a whole different life. So glad we’re in the same debut group
As soon as I hit Enter, I feel so slimy, so unbearably uncomfortable, that I immediately follow up with Gtg, I’m meeting a friend for dinner. Bye!
I close the window and bury my face in my hands. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on my ragged breathing. I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay I’m . . .
Eventually, I calm down enough to look on the bright side of things.
I’m still on the other side of the country, far, far away from Haven.
Haven reached out with a peace offering.
Sure, it’s probably a calculated move, but she has no incentive to target me again, right?
I’m a nobody. She has better things to focus on, and like she said, we’ve both grown into different people.
She might’ve changed. She might’ve found peace, her vicious edges sanded down by maturity.
And all her messages in the Slack group aren’t that bad.
Yeah, she’s different. She’s no longer the Haven who made my life hell for seven years.
And now that she’s reached out, we can put everything behind us.
Maybe she and I can even become friends one day.