Chapter 7 Jane
Jane
I don’t do lazy mornings, but I sleep two hours past my usual alarm the first morning at Keeley’s, a dull ache in my head throbbing from the lack of caffeine.
Instead of getting out of bed the way I should, I lean against the padded headboard and wrap the soft down gray comforter around me like a cocoon.
This apartment might be a little stark, but the linens are nice and cozy and have the faintest lavender scent, and it’s tempting to linger in bed knowing my schedule for the day is clear.
Hanging out with Keeley last night almost felt…
normal, as we watched three episodes of Epic Theme Song.
I’ll never get over seeing talented friends do well, and Valerie was as charming as ever as Wendy the Wonder.
It’s a fun show, and I’m so happy for her that it got renewed after such a long hiatus.
Even though Keeley and I cleared the air, it still feels like there’s something unsaid between us.
It makes my stomach drop every time I see something that reminds me of her in this space.
The guest bedroom is nearly as stark as the rest of the condo, and you wouldn’t know at first glance that anything is personalized at all.
But there are a couple of touches that scream Keeley.
Beneath all of that snark she wears like a mask is one of the most considerate people I know.
She’d never admit it, but hospitality is kind of Keeley’s thing.
I see it in the tray with soaps and mini toiletries she’s set out on the dresser, in the homemade crocheted blanket in a basket in the corner, even in the cozy vanilla candles and lighter on the bedside table.
She wants this place to be welcoming to guests, and I smile a little as I hug the quilt even tighter around my shoulders, realizing that’s going to be me for a while. Warmth seeps to my toes.
Still, my to-do list is a mile long, and the thoughts of everything on it banish any desire to stay in bed. Because the problem is, Keeley wasn’t wrong about my schedule. I know I’m too busy. I just don’t know how to stop.
I’ve talked to my therapist about this a dozen times.
Apparently, I try to produce at unsustainable levels because staying busy kept me a little insulated from my parents’ scrutiny as a kid.
It’s a textbook coping mechanism. Every time I thought I was a pretty good person, I read a Bible verse I didn’t measure up to, and then I would get so sick with worry that I was going to hell for not being good enough.
So I padded my schedule with hobbies they approved of to avoid being forced into extra Bible studies.
Because How can you be bored when you could spend time with the Lord? was my dad’s favorite saying.
Now…I don’t know how to stop. My therapist says I’m “allowed to rest,” but it doesn’t feel like it when hustling keeps you afloat in this business. I prefer knowing when my next paycheck is coming in.
When the self-loathing—and the coffee craving—becomes too strong to ignore, I change into leggings and an oversized T-shirt and pad out into the hall. A keyboard catches my eye through the cracked door of the room across from mine on the way to the empty kitchen.
I perk up at the Chemex sitting on the counter. There’s a bag of fresh coffee beans from my favorite place, a box of filters, and a burr grinder sitting next to it on the counter, along with a key and a little pink sticky note.
Jane,
I think this is all the right stuff? I remember seeing these beans at your apartment, and I thought you might like something normal after the stress of last night. If it’s not right, I’m so sorry! Blame the damn hipster barista who helped me pick it out.
Help yourself to everything, obviously. We can get groceries later, but there should be some options in the pantry for your breakfast (I hope!).
I’m heading out for a long-ass run, but I should be back by 11. Here’s a key if you need to leave. My entry code for the gate is 1725.
Keeley
A delighted giggle escapes my lips.
Keeley Cunningham took an extra trip across the city to my favorite coffee shop and bought, not just my favorite beans, but all the supplies to make coffee just the way I like it.
She has a machine that takes coffee pods, so that would have been fine.
I’m already inconveniencing her by staying here.
And then she went out of her way to do something special for me.
I’m struck by the gesture, and my chest warms. Maybe it’s a sign that she’s…
No. It’s just a peace offering after last night, or her way of being a good friend. Keeley is like this—she’ll do anything for the people she cares about, just like making her guest room cozy, and that even means going halfway across town to get coffee. It doesn’t make me special.
It’s like she wrote—she’s trying to make things a little easier for me.
I search through the cupboards until I find her mug collection.
Compared to the starkness of the apartment, these are a lot more personalized: there’s one with a llama in the pan pride colors; one with supercool fan art of the entire band as vampires; a few from brands like Zildjian and Gretsch; and one with the Rebel Alliance symbol from Star Wars painted in a rainbow.
But I grab the one covered in simple doodles of breasts, because it makes me laugh.
For the next fifteen minutes, I lose myself in the routine of making coffee, feeling oddly soothed by the motions.
I find a food scale deep in the back of the pantry and weigh the beans for two cups of coffee, then grind them while I put on a kettle to boil the water.
The scent of the fresh grounds fills my lungs, and my brain perks up at the incoming boost of caffeine.
Once the pot begins to boil, I stick a filter in the Chemex and add a little hot water to ensure the filter is set into place.
Then I scoop the ground coffee in the filter and begin my slow, careful pour.
And I nearly swoon as the aroma of my favorite coffee in the world permeates throughout Keeley’s kitchen, adding just a little bit of me to this space.
I lean my elbows on the kitchen counter as I wait for the pour-over to percolate, then prepare a cup.
I take a slow, careful sip, and it fills me with warmth from head to toe.
Fine, I’m addicted to caffeine, but it’s not the worst vice I could have. In this industry, it practically makes me a saint.
My stomach rumbles, and my eyes land on the fruit basket next to the fridge. I grab a perfectly green-yellow banana from the bunch and eat while I scroll through my notifications.
The most urgent is a message from my insurance company.
When I call them back, I learn the restoration company is already hard at work.
Unfortunately, I have rusted-out pipes that finally burst from corrosion, and they’ll all need to be replaced before any other repairs can begin, which is going to extend the time I’m away from my house.
The agent asks if they can put me up in a hotel, and I hesitate for a moment before assuring them I have that figured out for the time being.
The last thing I want to do is crash here for weeks on end, but Keeley’s offering of the pour-over coffee supplies makes me think she wants me to stay. After our argument, it’s an olive branch, and I don’t want to overlook it. I’ll talk to her before I make other plans.
After I hang up with my insurance agent, I return my other agent’s call.
“Jane! Good to hear from you.” Lacey’s voice is chipper but no-nonsense, as always. With her on the East Coast, I know she’s been working for hours, and she emailed me asking for a check-in this morning. But Lacey knows I’m normally on top of things.
Still, I should explain why it took me so long.
She gasps dramatically after my story about the house flood, and I’m a little vindicated by the horror in her tone. “Oh my god, are you okay? Do you need a hotel? I can have an assistant from the LA office jump in to help.”
Lacey is located in New York, but the agency also has a location here. Still, they’re not my personal assistants, and I have everything under control.
“I appreciate that, but I’m staying with a friend, and my homeowner’s insurance is already taking care of everything.”
“Good, good. Well, I called you because we already heard back from Defiant Games. They loved you after the meeting, and of course they already adored what you did for Shooting Stars. They want to know if you can come up with a theme song for Half Moon Ranch 2 as a formal audition, but I think the job is yours if you want it.”
I sigh. After recording “Never Your King,” going to the Royal Con panel, and throwing myself into meetings this week, I haven’t had a break in…ten days.
“Umm…how long do I have?”
“They want it by Monday. I know it’s tight, but you’ve pulled off worse deadlines. Are you still wanting to go for it with everything you have going on?”
My shoulders tense. Between dealing with insurance and my scheduled meetings for other potential projects, it’s going to be another marathon writing week. I guess I will be taking advantage of Keeley’s keyboard.
Out of all of the things on my radar, this video game gig is probably the least stressful. Still, my creative well is nearly dry. I don’t know how I’m supposed to fill it again.
But that’s not Lacey’s problem.
“I can make that work. Thanks for the update.”
She lets out a hmm that feels like judgment. “Please let me know if anything changes. If this is too much, we can try to push that deadline.”
“No, I can make it happen.”
“Are you sure? We can reevaluate priorities if it’s too much.”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. We’ve had this conversation before.
One of the things I appreciate about Lacey is that she’s a great advocate for her clients, but she’s not a shark—she’s gone far because she’s savvy and kind.
She even checks in about my workload capacity before we sign any new contract.
But I can handle this.