Chapter 14 Seraphina #2
“Maybe you don’t either,” Delphine said to me. “Fight them. Tell them you do it your way or you’re finding another publisher.”
“You could self-publish,” Gillian said quietly. “That way you get to decide what you share and don’t share.”
“That feels like a big shift,” I said. But it was something to think about. I had many author friends who produced their own work. They loved the freedom it gave them. On the other hand, they didn’t have a powerful publisher behind them. One with a marketing team.
“Am I being ridiculous?” I asked my friends. “Maybe they’re right about the whole thing. I should use it to my advantage.”
“Whatever you do, think about it as a mom, not a writer,” Delphine said.
“Those two things aren’t separate,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
“Talk to Hunter about this,” Gillian said. “Work it out together. This won’t be the last challenge you face as a couple. Especially two people in the public eye. But it’ll be okay. As long as you’re acting from a place of integrity, you’ll be fine.”
I really hoped she was right. Because right now I felt completely uncertain of what the best step should be.
“Tyler and Peter have a baseball game tomorrow,” Gillian said. “I’ll be there, obviously. But maybe we should all go, in case Hawthorne decides it’s a good idea to send a team of photographers.”
“Gillian, that’s so scheming,” Delphine said. “And out of character. But I love it. I’ll be there.”
Lila and Esme also committed. Knowing my posse would be next to me made me feel instantly better.
“Hunter’s going too,” I said. “Tyler asked him to.”
“How sweet,” Esme said. “Thinking of stoic Tyler asking Hunter to his game makes me feel a little teary.”
“Me too,” I said. “I’m not sure any of us realized how much our children want a father.”
Delphine’s expression darkened as she stood. “I should go. I need to pick Annie up at practice.”
The others had to run to various kid related responsibilities too. A few minutes later, they were gone. My phone buzzed with a text from Hunter.
Hunter
Thinking about you. Can I pick you up tomorrow for Tyler’s game?
Seraphina
That would be nice. The ladies just left. Tyler’s home soon from practice. Do you want to come for dinner? We could order in.
Hunter
Sure. I’ll pick something up. Thai sound good? Or Mexican?
Seraphina
Tyler loves a fat burrito. And I like street tacos.
Hunter
I’m on it. Also, Tyler and I texted earlier about his next guitar lesson. We’ll eat first and then he and I can do our thing.
Seraphina
Great. See you soon.
I set the phone aside and turned on a streaming app to play music, choosing the Ivy James channel, as I put the empty glasses in the dishwasher. A song played and finished and then another came on. It was Ivy, singing “Or Something Like That Anyway.”
Goosebumps traveled the length of my arms. Her voice was so beautiful and the song so exquisite, I had to sit down on a stool at the island.
It was just her voice with Hunter’s guitar accompanying, the sound intimate, almost as if they were performing in my kitchen.
I pulled up the streaming app on my phone to see when it was released.
Just today. And it already had a million streams.
A song inspired by me. It was silly to feel as if I’d written it myself.
I’d only said a line in passing that Hunter and Ivy had turned into a breathtaking work of art.
But still, it felt like it partially belonged to me too, and that made me swell with pride and love.
I must remember this moment when dealing with the hassle of a public relationship.
Our union had produced this song. What else might we make together?
Tyler came home about fifteen minutes later, dirty and smelling a bit ripe. “Go shower,” I said. “Hunter’s bringing Mexican. Then you’ll have your guitar lesson.”
“Mom, that’s the greatest news ever,” Tyler said, before speeding up the stairs.
Hunter arrived a little after seven with several bags of takeout from my favorite local Mexican restaurant.
He set aside the bags to give me a kiss. “How you doing?”
“I’m okay. I’ll tell you about it after dinner.”
Tyler came in, hair damp and cheeks pink, smelling much better than he had just minutes ago.
“Your mom said you like burritos, so I ordered the macho size,” Hunter said.
“Awesome,” Tyler said. “We’re eating so much better now that you’re here.”
Soon, we had our plates filled and were seated at the table. Hunter had ordered enchiladas for himself and three pork street tacos for me.
“How was practice?” Hunter asked Tyler.
Tyler, holding his burrito in both hands, finished chewing before answering. “It was great. I was on fire today. Coach Alex said I must have eaten my Wheaties this morning, but I didn’t know what that meant.”
Hunter and I exchanged a humored glance.
“You’re too young to know that one,” Hunter said, before explaining the cereal campaign from decades ago.
“Regardless, it was a compliment,” I said.
Tyler went on talking about baseball. He was excited for the game tomorrow against our rival high school. “Their pitcher’s really good, but I think Peter’s better. And Rick got cleared to play tomorrow, so that’s really good.”
“Who’s Rick?” Hunter asked.
“He’s our first baseman,” Tyler said. “He broke his arm ice skating during Christmas break, so he’s been out. Rehab seems to have worked. He was throwing great today.”
Tyler went on about various things in relation to his team, chattering more than he usually did when it was just the two of us. Hunter asked questions, which clearly delighted my son.
He needed a father. A man like Hunter who would listen without judgment. Who would show an interest in a fifteen-year-old boy who lived for baseball and music. Who could be a better match for Tyler than Hunter?
“I have some news of my own,” Hunter said, after the subject of baseball seemed to have reached its limit. “I quit my job at the bar.”
“It’s about time,” I said. “You’re a songwriter, not a bartender.”
“Now that I’m writing again, I can say that. But this past year, I wasn’t sure that was true any longer.”
“And then you met my mom.” Tyler grinned, like he’d been the one to match us. Maybe he had. There were the guitar lessons, after all.
“Yes, and then I met your mom, my new muse.”
“So much pressure,” I said, teasing.
“I want to spend more time with you two,” Hunter said. “Which means working nights is no longer an option.”
“Cool,” Tyler said. “Because we like having you here.”
I was pleased to hear this, obviously. Hunter was reclaiming his career. But what about mine? Was it really on a steady decline? I could be dropped from my publisher, especially if I refused to do as suggested and sell my soul to the gossip gods. Who was I if not a writer?
I must have sighed because they both stopped conversing to look at me.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
I blinked, startled from my thoughts. “Oh, nothing.”
“Did something happen?” Tyler’s face scrunched up, clearly worried.
I pushed away my plate. “I had a difficult discussion with one of the Hawthorne folks. Nothing to worry about, really, but it has me agitated.”
“What was difficult about it?” Tyler asked.
I sighed consciously this time. “It was the marketing vice-president. Brooke Gaines.”
“Oh yeah, I remember her from one of your signings,” Tyler said. “She gave me the creeps. Like vampire energy.”
“Yes, that’s her,” I said.
“What did she want?” Tyler asked.
Hunter scowled. “Let me guess. She wants to play up our relationship for publicity purposes.”
I blinked, astonished he’d guessed it so quickly. “How did you know?”
“The music business is pretty much the same,” Hunter said. “These days, the head honchos grab hold of anything that gets attention and use it to their advantage.”
“What did you tell her?” Tyler asked me.
“I told her no,” I said. “She suggested she send photographers to take candid photos of Hunter and me. Like at your baseball game, for example.”
“She thinks that will help you sell more books?” Tyler asked. “That’s weird.”
“Think of it as a story,” Hunter said to Tyler. “Famous single romance author dating the guy Dana has everyone talking about. People will be fascinated, even though there’s nothing remotely scandalous about any of it.”
“She said my sales have been declining.” Just saying the words filled me with shame. I was letting my son down, and I had no power to fix it. “And Sylvia recently suggested I pivot. Write for a younger reader. More angst.”
“Like something that goes viral on TikTok,” Tyler asked.
“Exactly,” I said, feeling sick.
“Dorian told me he can’t keep copies of your latest one stocked,” Tyler said, sounding protective. “People keep buying them.”
“I don’t have sales data, which is the problem,” I said. “Publishers like to keep that from their authors.”
“So they can control you better,” Hunter said. “Through fear and shame.”
“Like my baseball coach in middle school. Mom, do you remember his style of public shaming?”
I grew hot just thinking about that guy. We’d had words more than once. “Oh, I remember. And yes, it’s similar. Only the folks at Hawthorne are more subtle about it.”
Hunter pushed away his mostly eaten meal and splayed his hands on the table. “Let’s talk about this. As a family.” He hesitated. “I mean, as if we were a family.”
As a family. Okay. That was a big thing to say.
“Yeah, sure,” Tyler said, leaning forward. “So we all weigh in on how much Mom should let them exploit your relationship?”
My son. Fifteen going on fifty.
“What do you think?” I asked Tyler.
“I think you should be you, Mom. But if you’re worried about your sales numbers and you think this will help, maybe consider it.”
“What about the photographers? Doesn’t it feel invasive?” I asked.
“It does. But nothing we can’t handle.” He turned his gaze to Hunter. “What’s your opinion?”
“I think this whole thing’s absurd,” Hunter said.
“Your mother’s a great writer. She sells a ton of books for her publisher.
She has a huge following. This shouldn’t even be on the table.
But since it is, maybe we think about how we use it to our advantage.
Dana’s book’s upending all of our lives.
This could be something good that comes out of it. ”
“I don’t want them anywhere near Tyler,” I said.
“Mom, they’re not going to take photos of me. There’s that law in place now. Haven’t you noticed all the stickers on famous people’s kids’ faces?”
“It covers harassment by paparazzi,” I said. “Not photos arranged by my own publisher with my consent. Which I’m not giving them, but what if they don’t care and send them anyway? One of the reasons I live in Willet Cove is to give you a safe and carefree childhood. This just feels wrong.”
“Okay, then, we don’t do it,” Tyler said.
“I could agree to an interview or two,” I said. “Maybe that would keep them happy.”
“If that feels all right?” Hunter asked.
“I think so. Truth is, I need Hawthorne on my side. This is my career we’re talking about.”
“Send the vampire lady an email, so it’s in writing,” Hunter said.
“Right. I’ll do it now,” I said. “While you guys have your lesson.”
“Should we use the living room?” Tyler asked.
I nodded absently, then went to my office. While I sat at my desk, thinking about what to say, I heard the strumming of guitars from the living room. With that as my background, I typed a quick email to Brooke and copied Sylvia.
Hi Brooke,
I’m following up on our conversation from earlier and wanted to reiterate that I will not agree to photographs at any of my son’s events. However, I’ll consider one interview, preferably print rather than video.
A few conditions: I’ll need approval of the publication and the journalist. I won’t discuss my son beyond confirming he exists. And I’ll need to see any quotes attributed to me before the piece runs.
If these terms work for Hawthorne, I’m happy to discuss next steps. If they don’t, I understand.
Best,
Seraphina
I read it twice, then hit send before I could soften the tone. Afterward, I opened my current manuscript and wrote for thirty minutes. When I heard the lesson ending, I saved my work and headed out of my office and into the kitchen.
Hunter was starting the dishwasher while Tyler wiped down the counter. For a moment, I just stood, watching them. How was it possible that Hunter’s presence in our lives seemed so natural? So right?
“Done?” Hunter asked.
“Done.”
“How do you feel?”
I considered the question. The knot in my chest had loosened slightly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t completely gone, but I could breathe a little easier. “At least they know where I stand.”
“That’s good,” Hunter said.
Tyler hung the dish towel on the oven handle. “Ice cream?”
“Ice cream,” I agreed. “It won’t solve all our problems, but it’s hard to remember what they are when strawberry ice cream’s melting on your tongue.”
They both laughed. For a moment everything was just fine.