Rule #29
IT’S NEVER TOO EARLY TO START THINKING ABOUT NEXT HURRICANE SEASON
SONNY
It has been two weeks- only two weeks- and I have no idea how I ever did life without Cai.
As expected, she nailed the meeting with the creative director, and she was brought on board.
In Cai fashion, she supposedly accepted it on the condition that she receive no special treatment and that any storyline requiring my approval be submitted anonymously to avoid the appearance of preferential treatment.
We arrive separately when possible and spend our days on our own tasks, avoiding any type of fraternization.
Sometimes in the evenings, she tells me how worried she is that she isn’t delivering work fast enough or thoroughly enough, but I assure her she’s doing great.
I can tell she really loves the job because she gets to be creative.
I love having her with me every morning and evening, and if I ever want to assure myself that I’m not dreaming midday, I can just walk down the hall and see her.
We have taken care of most of the loose ends: letting go of the lease for her apartment and grabbing the few things she has that are precious to her.
I saw Senor Asshole just once, when we went to get Cai’s things; I prepared myself for a confrontation. I did a few push-ups that morning to try to look as buff as possible, in case I had to posture up on him, since I expected him to be angry and aggressive.
What I met was a guy who began fanboying over me as soon as we arrived.
“Holy Shit! You’re Lawson Jones! The Silent Knights guy!” He was grinning, eyes wide.
“Uhh… Yeah,” I said, wanting to keep my protector status with Cai but also not wanting to seem rude to a fan.
“Cai,” he’d called to her as she gathered her things. “This is the guy who created those games!” Then, back to me, he says, “There’s a sequel coming out soon, right?”
“Should be yup,” I’d said.
“So you and…” Trevor looked from me into the apartment as if just doing the math and figuring out what it meant that I was there. “Oh… so I guess it only matters that you’re a gamer if you’re not rich,” he said, words dripping with malice.
“I guess that depends on the game you’re playing,” I said, squaring my shoulders.
Cai came up behind him with two boxes stacked one on the other, two duffels, and a rolling suitcase. I reached past Trevor to grab some of the load.
“This everything?” I asked her, and she nodded.
“I’m more of a Sleeper Cell player anyway. Better action sequences. More FPS.” Trevor said, brow furrowed, obviously hoping to elicit a reaction from me by bringing up a rival game.
I smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” I put my arm around Cai, and we walked away.
“Whatever, bro! You’ll figure it out soon; you can do better!” he called out to us.
I watched Cai wince at the words.
I considered saying nothing, knowing that would bother him more, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Trevor, you’ve already fucked up the best thing you had going for you. Maybe you quit while you’re ahead and stop talking before you figure it out the hard way.” Trevor stood fuming but didn’t say another word.
CAI
Two weeks. In only two weeks, my life looked completely different. The Cai from before that plane ride wouldn’t have recognized me now.
Waking up in Sonny’s bed, having coffee together, getting to work as an actual writer and on the team for possibly one of the hottest games ever; it all felt completely unreal.
I had insisted on no special treatment; I wanted to know that any accomplishment was earned on my own merit, not because I am sleeping with the boss.
Still, every time I submit an outline or story, I hold my breath. What if my ideas are terrible? What if I can’t live up to the story that had made me cry during that side quest with Rey? What if everyone realizes I am a fraud who’s spent years doubting myself?
But then I get a note back from the creative director saying something like, “This has heart. Keep going,” and I feel like I can fly.
I thought the confrontation with Trevor would be a challenge.
For all of Sonny’s assurances, I worried he’d think my baggage was too much.
That I wasn’t worth it. But it was quite the opposite.
If anything, it cemented us together. Nothing in my past and no sudden realization is going to change Sonny’s feelings about me. I have to get used to that.
The evenings are my favorite part.
I come home (still strange to call it that), and Sonny will already be there, or he’ll walk in shortly after me.
We cook together, usually something Cuban that he requests from our Hurricane last supper.
Or he’ll order something from one of his favorite spots, and I’ll joke about his takeout addiction.
We talk about our days, maybe watch a Rifftrax (I think I might like Birdemic the most), and fall into bed like we’ve been doing this for years instead of weeks.
It is terrifying how right it feels.
Tonight, I am curled up on the couch with my notebook when Sonny walks in. He looks tired but happy, throwing his book bag onto a side table as he crosses the room.
“Hey,” he says, leaning down to kiss me. “How was your day?”
“Productive. I think I finally cracked that hospital subplot. How about you?”
“Long. But better now.” He drops onto the couch beside me and pulls my legs across his lap, his hand absently stroking my thigh. “You know… You don’t have to keep insisting on the anonymity. You’ve more than proven that you’re deserving of that spot.”
I shrug, “Maybe. But it makes me feel better.”
“As you wish,” he says and kisses my ankle.
“Alex called me today,” I say, recalling my conversation with my sister earlier.
“Everything good?”
“Yeah, she wanted to know our plans for the Noche Buena,” I say.
I can feel my anxiety rising, but more so from the history I have with this request from previous boyfriends, not because I think Sonny will mind.
“Remind me what that is?”
“Christmas Eve. It’s our big celebration. We roast a pig, do fireworks, there’s music…” Should I mention the day drinking or the dominoes matches?
“Sounds awesome,” Sonny says. “Any chance for another hurricane?”
I smile. “Unfortunately, hurricane season is June to November, so no chance there, stud.”
“Rats,” he jokes. “Can we still stay in your pink childhood room?”
I laugh lightly. “I’m sure that will be expected.”
“And can we take loads of pictures and have a really festive Christmas card made beforehand?”
I give him a small nudge with my foot. “Ok, smartass, I know I’m ridiculous about my Christmas card. You don’t have to make fun of me.”
Sonny grabs my leg and pulls me towards him so that I am almost straddling him. “Hey!” He says. “I wasn’t making fun of you. I want that too.”
I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice. “Really?!”
“Yeah, of course! I told you I’m all in. I want all of it.”
“And Noche Buena in Miami is ok?”
“I insist on it,” he adds and kisses me sweet and slow.
“And you’re sure no chance of hurricanes?”
“Afraid not,” I say.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to make our own thunderstorm,” he says, with a mischievous smile on his lips that I can’t wait to kiss off.