Chapter 45 Diane
Diane
The morning after the show, the house is quiet, except for Cassie and Amaya, who sit cross-legged in the living room, heads bent together over a faded photograph album.
Nathan is in the next room, whistling off-key.
There’s a kind of aftermath glow in the house, a pause before the world starts up again.
The phone rings. I answer on autopilot, expecting a telemarketer or, worse, one of the school’s robo-calls about midterm testing. Instead, it’s my literary agent, her voice infused with West Coast vowels and caffeine.
“Diane! Got a second?”
“Sure.” I step into the halo of sunlight from the front window, where the portrait of Cassie, Rolo, and me hangs. We look nothing and everything like ourselves.
My agent is all business, which is how I know it’s good news. She launches right in. “You remember that publisher we sent the first fifty pages to? They’re obsessed. They want to see the rest. Yesterday if possible.”
My knees threaten to give out. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. They asked if you could hop on a call next week. I said you were booked solid, but you could probably make time.”
I press a hand to my chest, heart fluttering like an anxious moth. “I—wow. Yes. I can definitely make time.”
“Excellent. And Diane? I read the last chapter last night. The ending made me ugly cry. In a good way.”
I blink hard, looking at my painted self, eyes calm and unafraid. “Thank you,” I manage.
We talk logistics for another minute. I hang up in a daze, the whole house tilting on its axis. Suddenly, I don’t know what to do with my hands, or my face, or any part of myself.
Nathan’s voice cuts in from across the room. “Everything okay?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. But he’s already seen my expression, and he crosses the hall in three strides. I barely get the words out: “The publisher wants the book. They want to see it all.”
His reaction is instant and physical. He lifts me up and swings me in a slow circle, careful not to crash into any furniture. I laugh, breathless and shocked, and when he sets me down, he kisses my forehead with all the ceremony of someone who knows how important this is to me.
Cassie and Amaya look up, the photo album forgotten.
“What happened?” Cassie asks, running over in her socked feet.
I crouch to her level. “Remember the book I was writing?”
She gives me a look. “How could I forget? It took you, like, forever to write it.”
“Well, somebody wants to publish it. Like, for real.”
She blinks. “Are you going to be famous?”
I laugh. “Probably not. But maybe I’ll get a better desk.”
She nudges me with her elbow, then, in a burst of affection, hugs me tightly. Amaya joins in, and for a minute we’re a tangle of limbs and giggles.
Nathan watches, hands in his pockets, head tilted. When our small huddle breaks apart, he reaches for my hand. “Proud of you,” he says.
It feels like the room is swelling. I look around at this strange little scene—my partner, my daughter, her best friend, and, of course, Rolo.
I think of Sara. The thought is sharp but not unlivable.
I wish she could see us like this, messy and hopeful, unfinished but so stubbornly, beautifully alive.
Later, when breakfast is over and the girls are off searching for sand dollars on the beach, Nathan and I wander out to the back porch.
The sun is just beginning its ascent, splattering the horizon in pink.
The air is cool and carries with it the salt of the sea.
We’re both quiet, lost in our thoughts, but it’s comfortable.
The kind of comfort you only have with someone who’s seen you at your worst and still thinks you’re worth the sunrise.
“I always knew you could do it.” He reaches for my hand, entwining his fingers with mine. “You deserve this.”
I chuckle, bumping my shoulder into his affectionately. “You’re a good liar,” I tell him.
“I’m serious, Diane. You’re brilliant… We all knew that. It was just a matter of time everyone else caught on.”
I squeeze his hand in reply, too overwhelmed by emotion to form words. And in that moment, I realize that not only is my story not over, but I can’t wait to see how it ends.