Chapter 33
Three months later
If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be part of a panel filled with authors I’ve admired and emulated for decades, I would have asked you whether that was your favorite hallucination.
But here I am, at the Southern California Festival of Books, on a panel with bestselling authors short-listed for major literary awards. Our topic of conversation is raising the stakes in fiction, whether genre fiction or upmarket commercial.
Holly bustles across the room, bringing the microphone to a woman who has raised her hand.
She’s here because when we were asked to suggest a moderator I nominated Holly.
Since that ugly day at the book signing, we’ve reconciled as two women who want to lift each other up in this whirlwind business called publishing.
Holly didn’t take long to reply to my apology-filled email, and responded with some apologies of her own, which I’m not sure I deserved.
Hurt and humiliated when she thought I’d snubbed her, she reacted badly.
We met at my coffee shop the day before she flew back to Missouri with her husband and children.
I couldn’t tell her the truth but I gave her the next best thing.
The idea, how I originally hated it, but an agent loved it.
How I worked to improve it and eventually grew to love it.
All mostly true. She read passages of the sequel I’m writing and gave me valuable feedback.
Interestingly, she finds the sequel to be far more of the voice she was accustomed to reading.
Funny.
There’s someone else whose feedback I’d much prefer but I haven’t spoken to him in three months.
Three long months in which Mami and I planned a wedding.
Three months in which I’ve written the entire first draft of the tentatively titled, The Romantic Rejects.
It’s just a placeholder title, but Kate thinks it’s hilarious.
In my fictional world, Grayson and Lula eventually wind up together, even if it’s at the last minute, and sail off into the sunset. Literally.
You might wonder if I’ve asked Kate about Ryan. We share an agent, the only connection we still have. I waited until the news came I’d been officially asked to speak at the conference. Then, I called Kate.
“Will he be there?”
No need for her to ask who “he” was.
“Yes, he’s on a panel but not on the same day. Still, there’s a good chance you two could meet if you’d like me to arrange it.”
“Oh, no. Don’t go out of your way.”
“Surely you two are still in touch, or is Ryan doing his thing again?” Kate said.
“Doing his thing again?”
“The thing where he holes up in his house writing nonstop, shutting everyone and everything out until he’s done. That’s how his marriage failed, you know. I don’t think he’d mind me telling you, seeing how close you two became.”
My heart feels like a raw and aching muscle every time I think of Ryan and I try not to make it often for the sake of self-preservation.
“How much of a love story do you think is enough in a book that wouldn’t normally be considered part of the romance genre?”
The audience member’s question snaps me out of my daydream.
All panelists take a turn answering the question in regard to raising stakes.
My answer is there can never be too much of a love story in any book.
I accept that only in the romance genre can one be assured of a happy ending, but love stories come in all shapes and sizes.
There are sad endings, and yes, unfinished endings.
“Contemporary, historical, cozy mystery, World War II spy novel,” I say, and then lose my train of thought when I see Ryan standing in the back of the room. “Um…yes. Give me all the romance.”
Everyone claps and Holly comments, “We are not surprised to hear Elizabeth say this!”
Ryan catches my eye and smiles. I’m pretty sure my face does a weird contortion in which I attempt a smile but look like I’m having a stroke.
God, he looks incredible. He’s dressed in slate slacks and a navy peacoat that makes him look like a cross between an L.L.Bean model and a modern-day Heathcliff from the moors.
His hair is long and unruly, he’s wearing what looks like a new pair of glasses, and the beard is back.
He might be unrecognizable to some but I’m not likely to ever miss him in a crowd.
I can hear my heart beating in my ears and I hope no one asks me another question because I’m now brain-dead.
I’ve dated in the past three months as I tried to get over him, don’t get me wrong.
Well, it was one date. One. When I started getting flowers delivered every week with no note I immediately suspected Chris.
But one phone call to tell him to quit doing that, and I learned he was already dating someone new.
It wasn’t him. The flowers continued, mostly daffodils with the occasional daylilies thrown in.
I went down the list of possible people, even suspecting Eddie, and they continued to come.
Once, the UPS guy was there delivering books at the same time as the flower guy.
“I wish they would just stop coming,” I said and the UPS guy burst out laughing.
“There’s something you don’t hear often.”
He asked me out and I still wonder if it was because he assumed I was low-maintenance.
It was dinner, very nice, pleasant, though he couldn’t even tell me the title of the last book he’d read.
He did not have any strong opinions and wasn’t much of a history buff.
Still, we planned to meet again. That night I went home and cried for hours.
I did not want to see him again even though I had no real reason.
It took me weeks to figure out I’m desperately, completely, hopelessly in love with Ryan. Some romance writer, right?
What I feel for him is not admiration, it’s not friendship, it’s not a workplace relationship. I’m not overtly grateful but just the right amount. He’s not a mentor. He’s not a teacher.
I just love him because I see him the way I’m not able to see anyone else. I see inside his heart and I know he sees mine.
I’ve stalked him on social media, which in his case is pretty useless.
He shares the occasional book review and photos of some of his research but continues to be impersonal and distant.
I suppose it works for him. In other words, he’s given me no clue as to whether he even remembers me, much less still loves me as he once claimed right before he walked away.
But as I sit here now, waiting for this panel to end, I can see he remembers me. He remembers us.
“Thank you, everyone,” Holly announces and I realize we’re done. “If you have a copy of a book you’d like signed, please form a line behind me.”
Now I can’t leave because someone might actually want me to sign a book. The line moves at roughly the pace of a snail on antidepressants and when I look up, I catch Ryan leaving the room.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I sign a book for a reader. “I have to go, it’s an emergency.”
This might be rude but I need to get out of here.
I have to see Ryan. There are things I need to know.
How dare he show up here, smile, and walk away again?
As I leave the hall, I take a turn and think I see the sleeve of his peacoat.
He’s walking fast, like he can’t wait to get away from me.
Well, not before answering a few questions!
I bump into a small crowd forming in front of an author’s booth, making my way around with effusive apologies. Eventually I follow Ryan’s back down a long hall and the groups of people around me begin to thin. We’re not near any of the action and I know he’ll hear me now.
“Ryan!” I call. “Stop!”
He finally stops, turns, and does not look surprised to see me. I, however, am out of breath.
“Hey, you,” he says as if we just spoke yesterday.
“Where…where are you going?” Hand to my chest, I try to slow my breathing.
What’s happening now in my chest must be the result of my sedentary job mixed with the knowledge that nothing has changed because my heart is hurting just to see him.
It’s racing and beating like it hasn’t in weeks because it just saw something it desperately wants.
My heart wants to jump out from behind my rib cage and get Ryan.
“Nowhere. You were busy. Good panel.”
I close the distance between us. “Good panel? That’s all you have to say?”
“No. Actually, it was great. I enjoyed it. No notes. How have you been?”
I take a deep breath. “Pretty shitty, actually. Thanks for asking.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Well, you should be! It’s your fault.”
He cocks his head but does not respond. So, I march right up to him, standing inches from his warm body.
“Do you still love me, yes or no?”
He looks at me from under hooded eyelids. “Yes.”
“What? Yes?”
“That’s what I said. Nothing has changed for me.”
“But—”
A crowd approaches, people on their way to the next panel, which starts in five minutes.
Ryan grabs my arm and pulls me aside. We wind up in a small nook.
This moment reminds me of the time a bicyclist almost knocked me over and he pulled me out of the way.
I’d felt so warm and cherished. I want to cry thinking of all the time we’ve lost.
“Luci,” he says. “I meant what I said. It’s not going to change. I never thought I’d feel this way again with a love that’s even stronger.”
“Then why did you just leave? Was it really to finish the book?”
“Yes and no. Look, I fell in love with you first. You were distracting me only because I couldn’t see how this could work. It was too painful. I wanted to let you go so you could be happy. It’s the most selfless thing I’ve ever done, so let me have that moment.”
I grab him by the lapels of his peacoat. “No! I will not let you have that moment. It was wrong. Did it ever occur to you that I love you, too?”
He blinks. “When did that happen?”