Chapter 3
Maggie is throwing back mezcal in a bar in Santa Monica, waiting for her boyfriend, Bryce, and trying to figure out what to do.
Should she do OnlyFans? Should she try to get a corporate job so her parents are happy?
She frowns at her drink, then tries to look on the bright side.
She’d be so much more financially stable if she just gave up on writing.
She wishes Bryce would hurry up and get back from the counter, but he’s busy talking to the blond bartender.
Maggie studies them. Bryce’s easy smile. The blonde’s glossy pink lips.
They say most writers are introverted; that’s why they become writers.
But not Bryce. Bryce is a one-man comedy hour, always talking to people, getting their stories.
That kind of attention from a gorgeous, six-foot-two half-Asian, half-white man with toned olive skin and green eyes can be destabilizing, and Maggie fully understands why the blonde can’t physically move.
Maggie turns her gaze to their chips, the insecurity flooding her.
Why is Bryce even into her? What if she tells him what Estelle said and he thinks she’s an imposter, too?
She spots a tiny bug circling their chips, a small fruit fly of some sort.
By reflex, she reaches out her palm and smacks the bug.
“Did you just squash a bug with your bare hands?” Bryce asks, walking back to their table, amused.
“No,” Maggie says, flushing.
“It’s the Vegas in you,” Bryce teases, sitting down and taking a sip of his beer.
Maggie hates it when Bryce makes fun of her. So what if she didn’t grow up in a penthouse in Singapore with five nannies the way he did?
“No. It’s the I want our chips to be disease-free in me,” Maggie says, giving him a pointed look as she wipes her palm on the side of her tote bag. In hindsight, she probably should have used a napkin.
“I’m just teasing. It’s what I love about you, babe,” Bryce says, leaning across and giving her a kiss.
Her anger softens at the word love. Bryce kisses the way he writes, with total, unwavering confidence, and she feels her thighs tremble. She grabs his shirt, tasting him hungrily, like she needs to convince the entire room—the blonde; the dead fly; her fragile, crumpled-up ego—that he’s hers.
When their lips finally part, he says to her, his voice husky, “You could have just told me to come over.”
“That’s not why I texted,” she says, pulling herself together. She takes a deep breath. As terrifying as it is to admit this to her gorgeous, rich, talented boyfriend, she makes herself say it: “Estelle says my writing is hollow.”
Bryce spits out his beer. “What?”
Maggie nods, wishing she could bury her head in the chips.
“She actually said that? That’s ridiculous! I’ve read your writing!” Bryce says. “It’s amazing. What is she microdosing?”
“She said I can’t write a novel because I’m only twenty-three. What can I possibly know about love or life or anything?”
“What the fuck does she know? She’s some over-the-hill cougar no one cares about anymore. Does anyone still read her books? Even my grandma’s moved on to Celeste Ng and that chick who writes about being a vegetarian!”
Maggie nods, relieved Bryce is in full agreement. Plus, The Vegetarian was astounding.
“Oh, and she said I have pretty advantage,” Maggie reports.
“Well, there you go! She’s jealous!” Bryce says. “You’re this young, gorgeous specimen. I mean, look at you! My God, you’re beautiful! She, on the other hand, probably has a shriveled-up poon. Probably hasn’t gotten laid in years.”
Maggie manages a small smile, though it sort of bothers her that he had to evoke Estelle’s poon.
He puts his hand on hers. “Forget her.”
She swallows. “Well, I kind of got fired, too,” she mutters to her drink.
“If you need money, I’ll give you money. I’ll just tell my parents to wire me more—”
Maggie shakes her head. It’s sweet, but she can’t let him do that.
Sometimes she studies Bryce like a strange artifact.
The way he has zero student debt and never looks at the total on the bill anytime they go out.
What’s it like to be taken care of like that?
It must be nice. But she can’t bring herself to mooch off his parents, too.
“It’s nothing. My parents will understand. Once my book comes out, I’m going to be huge!”
Maggie doesn’t doubt it. His manuscript is amazing. But how does she explain to him that she wants to be huge, too? She wants to be her own literary star.
“I’m sure you are—”
He grabs her hands. “No, Maggie, I know it. I met with Estelle, too.”
Maggie blinks. “What?”
“You said all you have to do is volunteer. So I went to that festival thing, too!”
“And…?” Maggie asks. “What’d she say?”
Bryce blushes. “Oh, you know, this and that. We were in a café. It was loud.”
“You guys met in person?” Maggie tries not to let her envy show.
“Yeah! In fact, come to think of it, it’s pretty cowardly of her to trash you on Zoom!” he says. His eyes flash with mischief. “You know what we should do? She told me she’s having a book launch tonight. We should go!”
“What? No!” Maggie shakes her head. The last thing she wants is to see that woman again.
“The semester’s almost over. What do you have to lose?
” Bryce says, pulling up the invite on his phone.
Maggie peeks at it. She tries to look past the fact that Estelle invited him—that they’re now in a texting situation; that’s how good his manuscript is in her eyes.
She reads the address. It’s a bookstore just four blocks away in Santa Monica.
“Let’s go and ask the bitch why she said those words. ”
It’s…tempting. Maggie would love to know, love to give her a piece of her mind, tell her in front of everyone just how unhollow her life is. But that would be crazy. Especially at Estelle’s book launch. There will probably be agents and industry people there. It’s a terrible, terrible idea.
“No,” Maggie says firmly.
“Then I’ll go,” Bryce says. Before Maggie can stop him, Bryce slaps down a fifty-dollar bill and charges out the door.
“No, Bryce, don’t, please,” Maggie calls after him as she runs down the streets of Santa Monica, trying to catch up to him.
Bryce darts between pedestrians. For once, he doesn’t bother to stop and chitchat with every bougie divorcée in tight yoga gear, smiley salesperson handing out wheat germ samples, and sorority girl headed to the beach. He’s a boyfriend on a mission.
When Maggie catches up with him, they’re standing in front of the bookstore.
Maggie gazes inside. She sees the silver of Estelle’s hair, the bright red of her lips catching the spotlight—this woman who is both the embodiment of her dream and her nightmare.
Whose words meant so much to Maggie that she was willing to risk losing her job and who left her feeling so low she’s considering giving up.
Bryce waits for her, his green eyes begging her to decide.
Fuck it, let’s do this.
She reaches for the door and pushes inside.