Chapter Four
It's Just Pretend ~ early July
N othing will ever satisfy quite like chips and queso from El Mariachi on my birthday.
I crunch down on a corn chip loaded with gooey, hot, white cheese while Sam and Ethan bicker over who gets the last chip from their bucket.
I sometimes wonder if their marriage survives strictly on arguing and making up, but when I see the tender way my brother looks at my best friend—okay, gag moment—I know they’re perfectly happy, and bickering over stupid things like chips keeps the romance alive.
“Give me the chip or I won’t vote for President Marshall’s reelection,” Sam warns, narrowing her blue eyes at my brother.
Ethan snorts. “Oh, really? Who will you vote for then?”
“I will abstain,” Sam says, crossing her arms and snubbing my brother.
“You admire his wife too much and want to see four more years of her. Of them together. You ate up their campaign trail romance like you’ve eaten all these chips.” Ethan laughs then breaks the last chip into two pieces. “Here, babe. ‘Cause I love you.”
Sam giggles, and I roll my eyes. Sam and I will be voting come November, and we’ll be voting for our favorite political couple.
Hayden Marshall is a powerhouse of a woman; I was glad when President Darcy Marshall announced that she’d become the new Secretary of State when the previous one had to step down due to health concerns halfway through the President’s term.
“Speaking of politics,” Dad chimes in. “Have you guys heard about One Love Organization’s recent kill? As if what they did in Japan a few years ago wasn’t bad enough…”
“Oh, hush,” Mom swats the air. “That’s just conspiracy. The Prime Minister of Britain was old and died of natural causes.”
Ethan leans in closer to Dad and loudly whispers, “I’m with you Dad. That’s a cultish organization if I’ve ever heard of one. Did you know they kidnap women to offer them up as sacrifices?”
“Ethan,” Sam hisses under her breath. “Stop talking about kidnappings.”
I make eye contact with everyone at the table, but right as I open my mouth to question their absurdity, Mom speaks up. “How’s the book coming along, Esme? You’ve been so secretive about it with us. We only see the little snippets you post. Heard back from the agent?”
The table quiets at Mom’s squeaky words.
Though my parents have been vocal about their support for my authoring endeavors, especially now that I’ve caught the eye of a literary agent, it’s still unfamiliar territory for all of us.
It’s drastically different from the ten-year plan I had in place, but that was before I mentally lost three years of my life.
“Well,” I begin and then pause to take a sip of sweet tea. “It’s only been a week since I spoke with him, and I told him I’d need at least a couple of weeks to finish my draft.”
Mom nods, then she gets that look on her face that tells me she’s going to do that thing where she frets over my stability: knitted brows, a twitch in her lip, and hardening eyes.
“You’re still going to teach this year, right?
I support your writing, but I just want to make sure you have a secure income.
That has to be your first priority, sweetie. ”
“Yes, Mom.” I release a small, unnoticeable breath to calm myself.
“I still plan to teach come August.” I open my mouth to add that my book is a hobby, a side project, but I snap my lips closed.
That’s the old me, the one who would belittle my love of writing.
The one who would shrug off my unspoken ambitions to become an author.
Not anymore.
That’s my woman, Noah interrupts. I bite my tongue to keep from smiling. Ever since meeting Ashton, I have a clearer vision of the man inside my head speaking to me. I hear the deep rumble in his voice, which sends chills rippling down my limbs.
Dad, always the laid-back one, pipes in before Mom has a chance to respond with questions about how I’ll juggle teaching and writing a book. “Who is the company again? The one wanting to represent you?”
“Yeah, I don’t think you ever told us his name.” I don’t miss the emphasis on “his” Mom adds, bringing her lemon water to her mouth.
“The agent is with Prewitt Publishing.” I avoid saying Ashton’s name right off the bat so Mom’s flying fingers don’t start searching for him and find out he’s an attractive male around my age.
Mom spits out her drink, sending the spray spritzing across the table onto Dad.
Dad’s eyes widen by three sizes, and he’s too shocked by something else to care that he's covered in Mom’s water.
“Prewitt?” Dad asks, his voice elevated.
I nod, my brows furrowing. “Yes. Is something wrong with him?” I did more research on him and the company after meeting with him, and I found nothing that raised a red flag.
In fact, I learned that Ashton represents another one of my favorite romance authors, Ashton Ashley, who inspired Noah’s middle and last name in my story.
(Also, I was watching Gone With the Wind at the time.) I vaguely wonder if it’s Ashton writing under a pen name because there are no pictures of Ashton Ashley when you search the name, and I plan to find out if he’ll tell me.
Because if it is…
Holy smokes. The guy is a serious romantic, and I don’t know if my heart can take working in such proximity with him when I feel like I know his soul from his stories. He wrote my all-time favorite novel, Days in Dothan.
“No, not at all, baby,” Dad says, grabbing a napkin and finally wiping off his face. I don’t miss the look of concern he sends Mom’s way, however.
“What is it?” I ask again with more force.
Ethan and Sam exchange glances, and I feel like I’m in one of those “Who’s gonna tell her” moments.
“They’re a publishing company strictly for the South? Based out of Tuscaloosa, right?” Ethan questions as if he already knows. But something is still off. Moments left unuttered.
“Yes,” I say slowly, wondering how my brother, who hasn’t picked up a book since high school, is aware of a small publishing company. “Which is why this is a huge opportunity for me.”
“Yeah, it is!” Sam lifts her hand for a high-five, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. But I’m unable to press any further because, at that moment, Bryan and his parents walk through the door and spot us. My spine stiffens.
“Oh, hi,” Bryan’s mom, Sandra, says as the trio approaches the table. Bryan is an equal mix of his parents. He’s got his mother’s short and stocky frame while parading his father’s sharp facial features.
“Hey, Sandra,” Mom says through a tight smile before addressing Bryan’s dad. “Dave.”
My dad only nods his head in greeting. Ever since their son left me at the altar, my parents aren’t friendly and welcoming like they typically are with others—even strangers.
I have no recollection of any of it, and I think my parents try to protect me from any sort of pain I might feel if I did suddenly remember.
I don’t blame them, but I do wish they’d understand that I’m not the same person.
Even if I did begin to recall events of the past, it’s been one whole year of rewriting my life already.
I don’t think I could ever go back to the woman I was pre-amnesia.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Bryan asks, cocky sarcasm lacing his voice.
Weird. He’s usually expressionless. I’ve never felt the desire to slap someone as much as I do at this moment.
The audacity of this mid-tiered man, to barge into my favorite restaurant on my birthday, and suggest I have a boyfriend!
But wait…
What if…?
Every set of eyes turns to me, and I make a split decision to play into Bryan’s assumption just to get him off my back. Adiós, Bland Box of Crackers.
The way Ashton stood up and stepped in for me at Main Street Coffee replays like a broken record in my head, and I think he wouldn’t mind if I used him at this moment. He was adamant that Bryan stay away from me because he made me uncomfortable.
After sipping my sweet tea for sugary courage, I square my shoulders and ready for the eruption to commence.
“He is on a work trip right now.” I pause, eyeing everyone carefully at the table.
Sam’s jaw is dropping, Ethan is clenching his teeth, and Mom and Dad are working overtime to take deep breaths.
Then the questions amalgamate and ring out.
“Girl, who is the man who took your attention off of writing for two seconds?” Sam leans back in her chair, crossing her arms and waggling her eyebrows.
“I want to meet him,” Dad and Ethan bark out at the same time.
“I’ll be,” Mom says, breathless, holding a hand over her heart. “Why did you keep this from us, sweetie?”
Because it’s all a farce and I’m a big fat liar, and oh… He’s my potential literary agent. Let’s not forget that one.
“It’s still new.” I shrug and occupy my dirty, lying mouth with another cheesy chip.
Bryan is sulky, back to his blank expression and sagging shoulders, but his parents seem fine enough. “Well, we should get seated,” Sandra says, ushering her crew away as we all wave and mumble goodbyes. “Oh, happy birthday, dear!”
I thank her, then meet four sets of eyes staring at me.
“Awkward,” Sam sings out, leaning back toward the table. “But Meme. Girl. I’m a little butt-hurt you didn’t tell me.”
Guilt swirls in my stomach, and I quietly blurt, “I lied.”
“Huh?” Ethan asks around his straw as he sips his sweet tea.
“I’m a big ole liar,” I say, sighing into my hands as I hang my head. “Bryan saw me meeting with the agent, and he surmised we were dating. I decided not to correct him just to keep him off my back.”
I lift my head just in time for Ethan to burst out laughing as Sam elbows him. She’s grinning, though, despite herself.
“You had to go and get a fake boyfriend because you can’t get a real one,” Ethan guffaws, wheezing with laughter. I level a stare at him, but that sends him over the edge with a roaring sound that garnishes the attention of those around us.