Chapter Seven Overwhelmed
Meri
Voices layered over one another, chairs scraping against the floor, silverware clinking against plates.
It wasn’t quiet, and it wasn’t controlled, but it was predictable.
The rhythm of it made sense. Orders in, food out, tables cleared, repeat.
There was a pattern to follow, and as long as I stayed inside it, I didn’t have to think about anything else.
Like Aryn Lovich and why he had asked me to go to The Enchanted Quill convention.
I picked up a tray Jane had set near the counter and checked the plates before carrying it into the dining room. I made my way to a couple seated at a small table near the window.
“Here you are," I said, setting the plates down carefully. “Can I get you anything else?”
“This looks wonderful," the woman said, smiling up at me.
“Thank you," I replied, then stepped back before the conversation could extend further.
I moved between tables without stopping, clearing one, refilling another with a clean table cloth, napkins and silverware. I kept my attention on the sequence of tasks rather than the people attached to them. It was easier that way. People introduced variables while tasks didn’t.
“Meri," Jane said as I came back into the kitchen, her voice gentle but observant, “you don’t have to stay out there if it’s too much."
“I’m fine," I said, setting the tray down and reaching for another. I didn’t know where Lydia had gotten to so my help with lunch was needed. “It’s busy and you need the help."
Jane studied me for a moment, then handed me a stack of clean plates instead. She let it go for a moment, then added, “You were talking to the guy at the lobby earlier."
“Yes."
“You seemed to be getting along," she said, watching me more closely now.
“We were having a conversation," I said with a shrug, putting the plates on my tray and grabbing some napkins with silverware folded inside of them.
Jane smiled faintly at that. “Do you like him?”
“No," I answered. “I don’t know him."
“That was fast," she observed.
She leaned against the counter, folding her arms lightly. “He seems interested in you. He asked you to go with him to that conference."
“ The Enchanted Quill ," I replied.
Jane’s expression shifted slightly, as though she was trying to decide how far to push. I made a face. “I just don’t understand it."
“You don’t understand what?” Jane gently asked.
I shrugged, hesitating to say the thought aloud. “Why would a guy like that want to have anything to do with me? I’m not exactly his type."
“You don’t know his type. Maybe you’re exactly what he’s looking for," Jane suggested.
“Yeah, the weird, nerdy one who is oversensitive to everything." I paused and blinked. “Maybe he has a fetish."
Jane sighed. “Meri, you are perfect just the way you are. If anyone has ever made you feel that way then they are in the wrong."
“Everyone makes me feel that way because that’s who I am," I told her truthfully. Most days I could own that. I was different and normally I could deal with it but Aryn Levich made me feel… itchy.
Before Jane could respond, Kitty came marching into the kitchen, putting a tray of used dishes down on the countertop. “Are we talking about the movie star? Because I have opinions."
“I’m sure you do," I dryly stated.
“He’s charming," Kitty continued, ignoring my reTopher. “And he keeps looking at Meri like he’s trying to solve a puzzle."
“That sounds accurate," Jane pointed out.
“It’s unnecessary," I replied. “Maybe he’s just bored."
“And Daniel," Kitty added, her grin widening, “Mom is going to be insufferable about that."
“I’m aware," I groaned.
“Daniel?” Jane questioned in surprise.
“Dad’s new apprentice. Mom thinks Meri and Dan should date," Kitty explained.
“Oh Meri. I’ll have a talk with Mom," Jane offered.
“A lot of good that will do," I muttered.
“You have options now," Kitty said cheerfully. “That’s new."
“I don’t need options," I said firmly.
“That’s not what Mom thinks," Kitty replied. “Since you’re the only one not dating, she’s turned her attention to you."
“Would one of you be willing to break up with your boyfriend to save me?” I asked somewhat hopefully.
Jane hid a smile behind her hand, and Kitty laughed outright. “You’re impossible."
“Mom has never bothered with me before. Even she knows I’m not the type of girl that guys like," I replied.
Jane gave me a sympathetic look. “I wish you would stop putting yourself down."
“I don’t think you’ve told me about any of your dates," Kitty mentioned. “Or your boyfriends. Why so secret, Meri Bennet?”
I shrugged, hoping my face wasn’t going as red as it felt hot. “There’s nothing important to tell."
The truth was, I hadn’t been on a single date. Guys didn’t ask me out and I wasn’t about to approach anyone. I just couldn’t. There was too much chance of rejection.
“Leave her alone, Kitty," Jane chided, which somehow made it worse.
“Table four needs more coffee." Kitty told me as she began to unload the dishwasher.
I picked up the full carafe of coffee and headed back to the dining room.
The dining room felt louder when I stepped back into it, the overlapping conversations sharper now that I had stepped away and returned. I focused on serving coffee, moving directly to the table Kitty had mentioned and refilling the cups without engaging further.
“Thank you," one of the guests said.
“You’re welcome," I replied, already stepping back.
The noise pressed in more insistently now, the edges of conversations harder to separate from one another. I set the coffee pot down on the nearest station and turned toward the kitchen, then paused.
The front door was visible from where I stood.
The porch beyond it was empty.
I moved toward it before I could reconsider, stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind me with more care than necessary, hoping it would be silent and no one would notice my escape. The cold hit immediately, sharp and clean, cutting through the lingering noise from inside.
I crossed to the bench near the far end of the porch and sat down, tucking my feet up slightly as I leaned forward and rested my arms across my knees. The wood was cold through the fabric of my leggings and sweater, but the stillness made it easier to breathe.
The snow stretched out beyond the edge of the porch, untouched in most places, the surface smooth and unbroken where the wind hadn’t disturbed it. I focused on that, on the clean lines and the absence of movement, letting the quiet settle where the noise had been.
I just need a few moments to recenter myself, to regulate my emotions and then I could cope for a few more hours, I told myself. It was just a small break.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I closed my eyes briefly before pulling it out, seeing that it was from my agent, and answering the call.
“Meri," Tara said, her voice brisk and efficient. “You’re packed and ready to go for Enchanted Quill tomorrow, right? I won’t have to pick you up and drive you like last time?”
The last convention had been bigger and I had a mild panic attack the morning of. Tara had forced me to go. I couldn’t even remember half of the day, but my hand had been cramped for two days from signing so many books.
“I was considering cancelling," I said, swallowing down my anxiety against the noise and demands tomorrow would bring. I still couldn’t believe that Tara had signed me up to be on a panel.
It was bad enough to be constantly pleasant and cheerful to hundreds of people wanting an autograph or a photo, but to have to speak in front of a crowd? Dread formed, weighing down my chest.
There was a pause on the other end, brief but pointed. “You can’t cancel."
“I’m overwhelmed," I replied truthfully in a small voice. Living in a small apartment with Kitty and Lydia hadn’t helped. I had no privacy, no space to just be myself and recharge. I did like helping out at the inn, helping my family, but it was also a drain on my energy.
“You’ll be fine," she said immediately. “It’s not hard. You show up, you sign, you smile, you leave. The next day you answer a few questions on the panel, you do the book signing thing again and it’s over."
“That’s not how it works," I said, thinking of all the logistics. The fact I would be wearing a scratchy wig all day, and my makeup would need to be flawless. I hated makeup. It wasn’t me.
The clothes weren’t comfortable. I had this persona that people thought the author of Ember and Ink was that I needed to fulfil.
I blinked back moisture, willing myself not to cry, forcing the reaction back before it could turn into something worse.
“That’s exactly how it works," Tara replied, impatience lacing her voice. “We have ticket sales tied to your appearance. If you cancel, we’ll have to deal with refunds, complaints, and potential legal issues. You don’t want that."
I pressed my fingers more firmly against my arm. “Maybe we could cancel the first signing, or the panel, and I’ll do the rest?”
“Meri, you agreed to this," she said.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t remember agreeing to any of this. I remember getting bulldozed into it.
“Also," she continued, her tone shifting slightly, “the publisher wants to review the contract for the next set of books."
“I’m aware," I said tightly.
“They’re offering an expansion," she said. “Four more books."
“I’m considering going indie," I blurted out.
There was another pause, longer this time. “That would be a mistake."
“It would give me control," I replied. Control of my schedule, control of my life again. While I had been so grateful and happy to have a publishing company pick up my books and help me to succeed, I also felt like it had been a snare that was constantly pressing down on me.
“It would give you instability," she countered. “Indie publishing is a phase. It’s not sustainable at your level."
“I could make it work," I said stubbornly.
“You don’t need to make it work. You already have something that works," Tara advised.
“On their terms," I replied.
“On professional terms," she corrected. “You need to sign the contract before they decide to move on. There are other authors."
“I know that," I muttered.
“Good," she said. “Then act accordingly."
She continued talking, shifting into details about timelines and expectations, but I stopped listening when she mentioned film rights again.
“I have to go," I said, cutting her off.
“Meri—”
I ended the call. The phone rang again, and I let it go to voicemail.
The quiet returned immediately, the absence of her voice sharper than the cold air around me. I pulled my feet closer, wrapping my arms more tightly around my knees as I looked back out over the snow.
The door opened behind me, and Aryn’s voice cut through the quiet.