31. Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Milo
While Rose works on a prerequisite online class, Callum and I set up and play an epic story complete with all the blocks he owns, some plastic animals, a few army guy figurines, and an old collection of Strawberry Shortcake dolls that Rose has had since childhood.
She crouches down beside us, laughing. “I can’t study anymore. This looks like too much fun.”
When I lie down on the floor on my stomach, Callum scrambles to mirror my pose. “Then join us, milady, as the dragon and the prince go head-to-head in a battle for the princess’s hand in marriage.”
“That’s a cow, not a dragon.”
I sigh, grinning. “Think outside the box.”
I hand the cow to Callum. “Here, buddy, you be the dragon. Can you say, dragon?”
Callum does and I beam with pride at his intelligent, early grasp of the human language.
“And I’ll be the princess,” I say, picking up the Strawberry Shortcake doll. “We don’t worry about gender norms around here.”
“I’ll be the prince,” Rose says, stretching out on her side and grabbing a green, plastic Army guy. She turns it so it’s facing the doll I’m holding. “Your highness Princess, don’t you know you don’t need a man to save you?” she asks in a gravely man voice. “You can save your own self!”
“Exactly,” I answer. I don’t attempt a princess voice because I have to draw the line somewhere. “I was just about to say that. In fact, in Thaddeus Blackthorn’s written works, he asserts this fact quite often. It’s a common theme.”
“I know,” Rose says, regarding me carefully. “We really need to discuss the complexity of the plotlines of the epic fantasy of Thaddeus Blackthorn.”
We haven’t discussed the whole Thaddeus Blackthorn thing since this morning.
“I can’t wait.” I cringe. “I think. I mean, I’m used to hiding behind my screen. And also, can I add that the princess doesn’t need a man to save her, I agree a hundred percent. But love and companionship? Mutual respect? Play? Someone to enjoy her life with?” My gaze lingers on her. “There’s nothing wrong with needing that.”
“I know,” she insists, a touch of frustration lining her words.
We share a look and then play some more until Callum needs a diaper change. “I’ve got it this time,” I say, stretching up and out of my prone position, taking him by the hand, and walking him over to the changing pad.
“I googled you,” she says when I have my back turned to her.
I was afraid of this. It’s been a long time since I’ve googled my pen name, so who knows what’s out there.
After a pause, I pipe up. “And?” This is new territory we’re in, one in which Rose knows my secret identity.
“Milo, you’ve won some awards as Thaddeus Blackthorn.”
“And?” I say again.
“That’s a big deal.”
I shrug. “It was an honor to win those. But it’s only a couple of steps along the journey. There’s still so much for me to learn.” I finish with Callum’s diaper and help him sit up. “I’ll go take this to the trashcan outside.”
When I reach the door, Callum runs towards me, his arms outstretched. I can’t quite understand his string of baby talk. “You want to come?” I set the tightly folded up diaper back on the changing pad, swoop him up into my arms, and rotate him around above me so his legs settle on my shoulders. He laughs, which in turn makes me laugh.
“Be right back.” I hazard a glance at her, and she has this sort of wide-eyed look that I can’t even begin to interpret. “Wave bye-bye to Mommy, Callum!”
Once outside, I trudge to the trashcan with Callum safely on my shoulders and try to breathe. Was this a mistake, coming clean to Rose about what I do on the side?
Except, it’s quickly becoming something I don’t want to do on the side. Right now, the early mornings are for writing. The day is for Sebastian’s work. The evenings are for Rose.
It would be a dream come true to somehow make enough money that I could step away from the corporate life altogether and write full-time. Rose and writing?
Yes, please.
I still don’t know how I’m going to respond to Rose’s questions when Callum and I get back to the house.
“Are you okay if we talk about this? Or would you rather not?” she asks, biting down on her lower lip.
“Honestly?” A thrill travels up my spine as my gaze locks onto her mouth. “I’d rather kiss your lower lip than do anything else right now, but I have to wash my hands first, no matter what we do.”
She giggles and follows me, standing in the doorway to the bathroom, watching me carefully.
“I feel like you like me more now that you know I write fantasy novels.” I rinse my hands and squirt foam soap on them.
“I don’t,” Rose insists, rolling her eyes. “I like you the same amount, which is a lot.”
I finish washing and rinsing, then dry my hands off on the hand towel. I tug her close, with Callum’s arms circling our knees. “Then why do you keep looking at me like I’m a famous person, but also like I’m also about the steal your TV?”
She holds up a finger. “We had that happen once.”
“A famous person stole your TV?”
She drops her head back in laughter. “Just the stolen TV part. Although, it was never found, so who knows? Maybe a famous person did do it.”
“You’re stalling,” I prod. I’m not even sure there’s a good answer to my question about why she’s looking at me like this. I’d still like to hear what she has to say.
“I know.” She absently slides her hands up and down my back in a slow motion. “But you’ve been stalling, too. You’re the one who spent the last couple of months not telling me who you really were.”
“Ah. Is that what this weirdness is about?”
“Weirdness? More like I’m just trying to get used to it. And no, I’m not bothered too much about your keeping your identity a secret.”
“I didn’t realize I was lying to you.” My heart starts to pound. For me, that’s the worst part. Rose hasn’t been able to trust people—for her own survival. I hate that I’ve become a part of that equation.
“You were, technically, lying by omission. But I understand why. I’m sure you were surprised to hear me first mention Zehma of the Night Loch , huh? Did any part of you want to be like, ‘Hey, that’s me!’?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately. “But I was terrified. It’s a part of myself that I’ve kept separate for so long. It’s very strange.”
“You haven’t told anyone else because you think they’ll disapprove?”
I feel my face fall. I don’t need to touch my cheeks to know they’re on fire. “I don’t think my family’s going to like it, so I’m trying to learn how to be okay with that.”
“How do you know that? If one of my family members had written such wonderful things, I’d be proud. I am proud, Milo.”
I give her a light kiss on her temple, inhaling her crisp cucumber scent. “Thank you. But that’s the thing, my brothers? They don’t read fiction that much. Their preferred reading is in the realms of sports news, history, and business non-fiction.”
“But they would read it since it was written by you. I know they would.”
“Do I want them to, though?” I grimace again.She studies my face, her hazel eyes taking in all of me. “You don’t have to be like your brothers, you know. It’s okay to just be you.”
“I know that. It’s hard to feel differently, though.” I step away from her and grab Thorin’s leash off the hook near the front door. We’ve gotten into the routine of taking him for a walk in the evenings, and I think it might be easier for me to talk about this if we’re not face to face.
“It’s one thing to like the Atlanta Braves when the whole family likes the Yankees. That’s hard enough.” I pause to shift into a smile, which she reciprocates. Thorin’s alert and ready to go, watching my hands with a bouncy anticipation as I straighten out the leash. “But this? It’s vulnerable. I can’t think of a single scenario that would be welcome if they found out I’m Thaddeus.”
Rose bends to retrieve Callum’s sneakers and then sits cross-legged on the entryway floor. “They don’t have to. Not yet, anyway. I don’t think you should tell them until you’re ready. But Milo? Have you ever thought about writing as a career?”
I scoff, even though it’s in my thoughts a lot these days. “And support a family on an author’s salary? That’s impossible.”
Callum toddles over to her, trips into her lap, and lifts up a foot. He knows the drill as well as Thorin does.
“Impossible? There are plenty of writers who make a decent amount of money off their writing.”
I can only grunt. I know that’s true, but I’m a long way from that, though, since I haven’t been able to get an agent yet.
“But Milo, you have a gift, and you obviously enjoy it.” She grits her teeth, attempting to wrangle Callum’s chubby foot into the shoe.
I’ve done it before. It should be top of the list of the most surprisingly hard parts of parenting.
“Do you actually want me to become a full-time writer?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’m just asking you to not let go of your dreams.”
I join a giddy Thorin at the front door. He swipes a paw at it—like he’s knocking so I’ll open it and let him free. “Rose, part of me would love to make a living from my writing.” I’m starting to feel a stomachache coming on from all this vulnerability. “I can’t believe you finally know I’m Thaddeus Blackthorn.”
“Do you regret telling me?” She has Callum by the hand and follows me out the door, slinging her keychain off her wrist to lock it behind her.
“No,” I say.
“Milo, you’re kind of a big deal.” She reaches my side. Even though it’s crowded on the sidewalk, with Callum wandering to and fro and Thorin trying to break free from the heel command and lead the pack, it feels good that we’re all together like this.
“Do you realize this?” she continues. “You’re in the top one percent of all Turnip contributors. Your social media pages have hundreds of thousands of followers. You won an award given by Brandson Sanderson, for heaven’s sake.”
I can’t help my smile. “That one was really cool.”
“See?” She pushes against my shoulder. “I’m telling you, you’re good.”
“Thank you.” It’s such a hard thing to say when I’m used to anonymity. “Sanderson offered to look at my next manuscript after I won the award. I did some digging, and other people who’ve won it in years’ past? They’ve gotten book deals, Rose.”
“See? You could totally make this work.”
“Maybe someday. But I don’t want to quit on Sebastian. I owe it to him to keep doing the job he gave me. I like working with my brothers, and I’m not ready to give that up.”
There’s a part of me that feels like a cat, preening and purring at Rose’s praise. I feel truly alive when I’m creating stories, and I’m glad she sees that in my work.
She eases closer to me, and I feel the heat of her arm near mine. We’re both watching Callum as he weaves from one side of the walk to the other, making revving engine noises with his mouth.
“It’s admirable you want to have a traditional career. I know what it’s like to not have that,” she says.
I cut a glance at her in time to see her jaw tremble.
“Just promise me you won’t stop writing, okay?” She stops and turns to face me. “The world needs your words.” She gives a wry smile. “And I need to find out what’s going to happen at the end of Balthor and Zehma’s story. A lot of people are dying to know.”
I brush my hand along the back of my neck, holding the lead steady as Thorin tries to get us to go faster. “I want to finish the story soon. It’s hard to carve out enough time.”
“Maybe you should start coming over every other night, instead.”
At my glare, she hurries to explain. “I don’t want that. I miss you when you’re not here. But your writing’s important. It’s important to me, too. You can make this work as a solid career. If that means we spend less time with one another, I . . .” She trails off, staring at a place above my head, frowning. “I mean, I don’t like the idea. I just want to be a support to you.”
We resume the walk, and Rose urges Callum to stay close to her. “Do you think you could ever write at my place?” she asks. “My kitchen chairs are surprisingly comfortable. And I wouldn’t charge you for Wi-Fi.” She winks, and I step closer to her so I can wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“We can figure this out tomorrow, right?” I say, and then exhale a heavy breath. “I have to get used to having my secret out there.”
“You’ll tell your family eventually?”
“Yes. I will.”
But I’d rather not think about that right now. One thing at a time. The walk stretches long, the smell of spring’s new cedar leaves in the air. Once back at her place, we work together to wipe down the counters, feed the dog, and get Callum to sleep.
Afterwards, Rose talks me into playing cards, and I’ve just won my second game when she puts her hand on mine.
“I kind of like that I know your big secret.”
“Yeah? Well, I do, too,” I say. “There’s something else you should know.” I shoot
out a breath. “Yet another thing no one in my real life knows.”
Her eyes gape, and I rush to explain.
“I was accepted into the Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing program at Greenleaf College.”
“That’s in Denver, right?”
I nod, dread pooling inside of me. “I’m supposed to start in the fall.” The admission hangs in the air between us, and I watch as things shift in her consciousness.
“All this talk of me starting my nursing program and you’re starting graduate studies, too? That’s amazing.” She traps her top lip with her teeth. “You’ve mentioned wanting to transfer to the Chapel Hill resort like me, though.”
“Well, that’s still a possibility.”
“Can you go to Greenleaf online?”
I drop my gaze to the table. “No, it’s not an option. They’re a small school and they only meet in person. It’s a professional program, so classes are held on weeknights and weekends. And it’s one of the only MFAs that has an optional emphasis on genre fiction. It’s right up my alley.”
“It’s an honor to be accepted, though, right? I mean, you have to do this.” She smiles, but there’s something behind it. Apprehension?
“All this still doesn’t mean we have to break up, though, Rose. We can still do the long-distance thing. Or I could defer and go with you to North Carolina and then do the program when we get back.” I’m steeling myself for her response. I know what she’ll say, but I can’t help trying to help her understand that there are more options for us to stay together.
“I doubt they’d let you defer. Those small colleges have enormous waitlists, don’t they?”
“They do.”
She’s right. I’ve looked into it and it’s highly unlikely they’d let me defer. When I’m willing to face the whole picture, I know it’s now or never. Her gaze tells me she can see it in my eyes.
“Milo, you don’t want to defer. I know this, and I would never ask you to. You have to go.”
“But you’ve said all along that long distance is an impossibility!”
“We’ve gone over this.” Her voice is quiet. She huffs out a breath of exasperation as she tries to right the deck of cards so she can shuffle them again. “Can we please not go there right now?”
Finally, she neatly sets the deck and shuffles the cards with a crisp, satisfying phlipt.
When she hands the deck to me, I deal. And this dance we have, of walking the dog with Callum, of cleaning together, of parenting Callum together, of playing cards? Knowing it’s going to end feels completely wrong. And I don’t want to talk about it right now, either.
“I have one more confession to make.” What’s one more? Anything’s better than trying to convince her not to say goodbye in a few months.
Her eyes flash open. “Oh no. What is it this time?”
“About my middle name . . .”
“Please tell me it’s Kalamazoo. Or Klingon? Wait. I got it! Kookaburra. Maybe
your parents did some research in Australia and gained a deep appreciation for Kookaburra birds.”
I knock my head back in laughter. “You should be the creative writer, Rose. Your
imagination is astounding.”
She places both hands on the table and leans toward me, giving me the stink
eye. “The middle name, Milo?”
I take one of her hands in mine and tease out a kiss along her knuckles. “I must
admit, I’ve been a little Fort Knox about it.”
She inhales and pulls her hand away, her gaze exploring my face. “Knox!
Milo Knox Tate!”
I lean back, grinning. “The woman’s a genius.” I push my arms out wide.
“That’s hardly fair, though. It’s not a K sound. The K is silent. You play so dirty,
Milo Knox Tate.”
“Hey! Take it up with the parents.”
“Maybe I will.” And there’s something about her gaze that I believe—that I
want to believe. I’m daring to believe that somehow, we can continue to be in each other’s lives. I’ll meet her mom, and she’ll meet my parents. Things simply cannot end completely come September.
“You know what?” She scrapes her chair back, walks around it to my side, and slides onto my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me, long and sweet. “This summer, I want you to write and do your job at Tate. But as for the remaining hours, I deem this the Summer of Rose and Milo.”
“With a heavy dose of Callum, please.” I say in between kisses. The dog trots over and nudges his nose against my side, begging for a pat.
“And don’t forget a dash of Thorin.”
“It’s settled then,” she says. “This is the Summer of Rose and Milo.”