Chapter 28
THE RECOLLECTION STRUCK ME like a ton of bricks the moment I woke up the following morning—Carmichael wasn’t taking my novel.
As much as I’d attempted to stave off any premature optimism about getting published, hope had seeped into my chest more than I’d realized.
And where it used to dwell was an empty cavern.
The morning sun rose just as it always did, as if my plans for the future hadn’t disintegrated.
The birds whistled blithely, as if everything was going the way it was supposed to.
The smell of eggs and toast emanated from the kitchen, as if this was a morning just like any other.
I hadn’t been able to fess up to my parents over dinner last night.
I’d let them believe I was only shaken up about Edith.
“She’s okay, honey. Everything is okay,” Mom assured me.
Everything wasn’t okay, but I didn’t have the heart to tell them that just yet.
Not after I’d finally gotten them to be proud of me.
I couldn’t inform them that they had nothing to be proud of after all, that their daughter wasn’t capable of getting her own book published, only books for other people. People who mattered.
I crawled out of bed and found my way into the kitchen. Mom greeted me. “Morning, sweetie.”
“Hey,” I creaked. We took our places at the table, and my parents ate in silence for a few moments. I pushed my eggs around, attempting to work up an appetite.
“Linda called this morning. She said that Edith is doing a lot better and might be discharged soon,” Mom said cheerily.
“That’s good,” I replied. A weight was indeed lifted off my shoulders with that news, but there was still more resting on me. I focused on my eggs, knowing that if I looked up from my food and into her eyes, I might not be able to continue to fend off the tears.
“Is there something else on your mind?” Dad asked.
“You seem a little down,” Mom added.
I sucked in a deep breath, realizing I couldn’t deflect any longer. “Um . . . yeah, I am . . . down.”
“Why?” Dad inquired.
“I got word that Carmichael isn’t taking my manuscript. They’re not publishing my novel.”
Dad put his fork down. Mom’s face fell. “Oh, honey,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know you worked hard on it.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I really did.”
“Well, they made a huge mistake,” Dad said. “They would’ve been lucky to publish your story.”
“I second that,” Mom agreed.
I pulled my eyes up and looked back and forth between the two of them.
Tears welled in my eyes, but they weren’t exclusively sad.
I also felt gratitude and comfort from the simple yet significant words of encouragement from these two people who had brought me into this world.
They still believed in me, even when Carmichael didn’t. Even when I didn’t.
“Thank you,” I managed. My phone interrupted the moment with a ding.
A notification sat on my home screen, reminding me that I had a call with Liv in half an hour—our last one.
I fought down the urge to groan. The last thing I felt like doing was getting on a video call and pretending to be okay.
But rescheduling wasn’t an option when, aside from the times she carved out for our video chats, Liv hardly had a spare moment to begin with.
Thirty minutes later, I was sitting at my desk in my room, a freshly poured cup of coffee sitting next to me.
Liv’s face appeared on my screen. To my surprise, she wasn’t in an extravagant penthouse or a swanky hotel room.
Instead, she sat in what looked to be a teenage girl’s room.
The walls, a pale yellow, were covered with posters of Judy Collins and Fleetwood Mac and Joni Mitchell.
She wore an old, oversized T-shirt that looked like it had seen better days.
Her typically coiffed copper hair was thrown into a bun. She smiled sunnily.
“Hey, Jane.”
“Hey . . . where are you?” I asked, chuckling.
“I’m in my room. At my parents’ house in Tennessee,” she said, picking up her computer and showing me around.
For a pop star whose life was anything but typical, she had an incredibly normal bedroom.
A couple of guitars sat in one corner. Old stuffed animals, a twin bed, and string lights filled the space.
She pulled the camera back to herself. “I decided to take a little break.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yeah.” She sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I was supposed to stay in London until the day before Christmas Eve to finish working on the album, but . . . there’s just been a lot on my mind lately. And I felt like I needed to take a step back. I was actually inspired by you.”
“What?” My mouth hung open.
“Well, you just made me think about how long it had been since I’d been in my old bedroom. And, well, I realized it had been a couple of years.”
I smiled. “So you could go anywhere in the world, and you chose to go home.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I just feel lucky that my parents didn’t turn my room into a workout space or something.
” We both laughed, but it occurred to me that I could be thankful for the very same thing.
Even after their daughter had carelessly, even selfishly, avoided coming home for half a decade, my parents had never touched my bedroom.
“I don’t know,” Liv continued, “I’m sure I’ll write another album at some point. Maybe I’ll even go on another tour. But for now, I think I’ll just chill for a little while.”
I nodded sympathetically. “You might be due for an extended chill.”
Eventually, the conversation veered into the professional, book-oriented territory we were supposed to be in, and I had to break the news to Liv that Alexandria had been staunchly against our idea to add new themes to her book.
She shrugged with an accepting smile. “Oh, well, we tried. It’ll be a great book no matter what, since I have you around. I’ll just save it all for the next album.”
Before I knew it, we’d worked through the last of the discussion questions I’d planned. We lingered on the video call.
“Jane, really, it’s been so much fun to work with you on this book. I’ve honestly loved stepping away from my life and getting on these calls.”
I nodded. “I’ve really enjoyed them too. It’s hard to believe this is our last one.”
“I know,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “Hey, last time we talked, you were going to see that guy’s concert. What’s happened since then? Update me!”
A swarm of thoughts entered my mind. How could I present the occurrences of the last few days in a neat little box? Where was I even supposed to begin?
“Well, a lot’s happened, but things are sort of looking up.”
“Oh?” Liv wrinkled her brows in curiosity. I offered her the SparkNotes version of the past few days, with her interjecting questions and comments every now and then.
“The rejection from Carmichael is definitely disappointing, but . . . I’ll be okay,” I shrugged. Maybe it was just my lot in life.
We were about to hang up a couple of minutes later when Liv looked like she wanted to say something else. “You know, Jane, I think I could get used to the quiet life again. I wonder if you could too.”
I pondered her suggestion in the moments after hanging up. Suddenly, my phone chirped. Noah’s name popped up.
Hey, are you around in the next hour or two? Want to get some coffee?
Hey. Yeah, I’d love that.
An hour later, I pulled into a space outside Jack’s and scurried out of the nippy air into the cozy establishment. I spied Noah sitting at a little table by the window, two steaming cups of coffee sitting in front of him. He grinned and stood up as soon as he saw me.
“Hey,” he said, opening his arms. We embraced for a fleeting moment, the warmth from his tall body helping to eliminate the winter chill that stuck to my clothes. “Thanks for coming out.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” We took our seats, and he pushed my mug toward me. Our hands grazed as we both reached for the sugar at the same time. He stopped himself.
“Ladies first.” He watched me as I fixed my coffee.
“You guys want anything to eat?” Jack asked as he cleaned up the table next to us, pulling a rag off his shoulder to wipe it down.
“You have any specials?” Noah asked.
“Gingerbread pancakes. With peppermint whipped cream. For Christmas and all that,” he said, his voice flat in classic Jack fashion.
Noah looked at me. “Want to split those?”
“Sure.”
Jack hurried off. Noah eyed me as I sipped my coffee. “You look like you could use some of Jack’s pancakes,” he said.
“Yeah.” I offered a soft laugh. “It’s been a rough twenty-four hours.”
“Fill me in.” He leaned forward. I exhaled the weary sigh that had been building up all day, searching for the right words to illustrate the state of my inner world.
“I’ve had this dream of writing my own book, having my own name on it, putting something that I wrote out into the world for . . . well, for as long as I can remember. And I’ve wanted it more than I can even say. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. So, so badly.”
Noah nodded slowly, indicating that I should continue. I chose a spot on the table to fix my eyes on and braced myself.
“I got the call yesterday that my book isn’t being published.
And I just . . . I don’t know what to do.
I thought that if I worked hard enough, if I proved myself to be faithful and someone who could be counted on, I’d get my big break eventually.
That one day, it would all matter. That I would matter.
And I’m starting to realize that was stupid, and I’m questioning if I’m even good enough, or if this is some silly dream I was supposed to have grown out of by now.
And if that’s the case, then what have I been doing for the past decade? ”
The words poured out, first gradually and then rapidly. I peeked up at Noah, who was staring intently at me. He laid his hand over mine, enveloping it.
“Jane, I’m really sorry. That’s disappointing.
” He paused, dropping his eyes for a moment and biting his lip.
“I know a thing or two about dreams that haven’t come true.
I know all about questioning if I’ve been wasting my time holding on to a pipe dream that I should’ve let go of a long time ago.
I’m still opening for nobody bands. I’m not even the nobody myself. ”
He laughed, but it was only to mask what was going on underneath.
“But my philosophy, as cheesy as it sounds, is to just keep going. Nothing worth having is going to just drop into your lap or even be rewarded to you when it ‘should’ be. If that were the case, there’d be a New York Times bestseller waiting list.”
I chuckled lightly at the thought. He made a good point. Getting your book published or getting to be the main act rather than the opener wasn’t a linear path. There was no guarantee. But my concerns remained.
“I just don’t know what to do now—if I should stay in New York or stay at Carmichael, or what.” I shook my head, at a loss.
“I know. There’s a lot to think about right now.
But you’re smart, Jane. And you’re talented—at least, that’s what I’ve been led to believe.
I still haven’t read your writing, though,” he said, winking.
Again, he drew a smile out of me. “I think you’re going to figure it out. Just like you always have.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. He nodded, his eyes soft. A glimmer flashed through them as he opened his mouth, perhaps questioning if he should say what he was thinking.
“And, hey . . . if you decide to stick around Avila Falls awhile longer, I’ll be here.”
His words hung between us for a few moments.
I liked the idea of being near Noah, Edith, and my parents.
I loved it, in fact. But was my desire to be here, held in the safe haven of Avila Falls, what I truly wanted?
Or was I giving up my spot in the city where I could matter?
Was I running away from New York because it got hard?
Was it really possible to live a life that mattered in Avila Falls?
To find just as much meaning, fulfillment, and value in this tiny town?
Or was sticking it out in the city of dreams a requirement to find those things?
That requirement was what I’d written about in the unpublished novel that still sat on my computer. But did I believe that anymore? Had I found that to be true? Or would I have to rethink the ending I’d written to my story?
Jack approached the table with a majestic stack of pancakes topped with a perfect swirl of whipped cream. “I’ll be back with some more coffee for you guys,” he mumbled.
The conversation with Noah turned to lighter topics as we dug into the pancakes, ranging from the latest book by a saint he’d started reading, to the new album our favorite indie singer, Aria Winters, had just dropped, to our theories about whether Jack had always been so serious.
“What if he lives a double life? He’s a grouchy diner owner by day and an aspiring stand-up comedian by night,” Noah suggested. I giggled.
All my questions about the future niggled at the back of my mind, but for the next hour, I chose to focus on the tasty dish in front of me, the homey diner around me, and the handsome man across from me.
I’d said good night to my parents hours ago, but I couldn’t turn my mind off, so I went for a drive. I needed to think. To breathe. To . . . pray, maybe.
I pulled into a space in the empty high school parking lot and cut the engine, emerging from the vehicle and heading for the trees that had once hosted hours of my teenage ponderings.
I settled beneath the pines and leaned back against the trunk, which held me just the same as it always had.
Faint alabaster streaks of moonlight streamed in through the branches, casting their glow across my face.
I closed my eyes and pulled my knees up to my chest as an icy wind, along with the questions I had been pondering, swirled around me. I gazed up at the midnight blue sky. Glimpses of sparkling stars found me through the branches, beckoning me to point my questions upward.
How could I leave Avila Falls? How could I get on a plane and fly across the country knowing that Edith wasn’t okay? That my parents were only getting older? That Noah liked me?
How could I leave New York? How could I abandon the life I’d been chasing and building for the last ten years? The life that I’d dreamed of for so long?
What am I going to do?