Maisie
. . .
FORTY-SIX
six months later
“Three, two, one!” Cheers erupt, confetti flying and getting stuck in my hair.
It’s officially publication day. The entire office is packed for the release of my cowboy romance novel, Writing Saddle.
It technically released at midnight, but we decided to have our own countdown.
It took my blood, sweat, and tears, but here we are.
“Congratulations, Maisie!” I’m drawn into a tight hug by my new agent, Gracie. Turns out, everyone caught on to bitchy Pam, and she got demoted. I only faintly flinch from her touch. Baby steps.
Gracie is my dream agent. This story never would have made it out of draft mode without her.
She believed in my craft, told me to forget about all the noise and deadlines and write from my heart.
So, I did. I wrote it all down, every heartbreaking detail of the story that broke me but also stitched me back together.
A story so real, it’s still playing out today.
The ending may have turned out a little different than reality, but the rest—that is the raw, aching truth.
“Thank you, Gracie.” I squeeze her back, giving her my best smile. I hope she buys it. I hope they all do. Maybe if I can convince them this is the happiest day of my life, I’ll start to believe it too.
“You’ve already sold out at five bookstores,” she squeals, showing me her phone.
“That’s amazing!” Just my whole heart ripped out of my chest onto pages for their consumption. They wanted realistic, and there’s no getting more real than this.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m damn proud of this story. It’s by far my favorite thing I’ve written to date. I’m sure it always will be—the last thing to hold on to, keeping those memories alive. But they still hurt, aching and bleeding all the same.
“We are going out to celebrate tonight,” Gracie tells everyone, passing me a glass of champagne.
The last thing I want to do is celebrate in public, but I’ll do it. I’m not the only one to celebrate today. I had a whole amazing team behind getting this book out, and they deserve the love too.
“Let’s take this party down the street,” she says, cheers-ing me with her glass.
I can’t help but chuckle; she’s just so positive and everything Pam wasn’t. I loop my arm in hers, down my drink, and let her lead me towards celebrating this new milestone. There’s a reserved section when we get to the bar, a giant cake with my book cover printed on the front.
“You guys outdid yourself!” I giggle.
The drinks start flowing, and everyone is all smiles, but I still feel a tiny dull speckle on my heart, where a missing piece should be.
After an acceptable amount of time, I tell Gracie I have a tradition on pub days I need to fulfill and tell her goodbye.
I’m sure they will be celebrating until the early hours of the night.
I walk next door to the mini mart, grabbing a pint of strawberry cheesecake ice cream before hailing a cab.
My new apartment is close. I’m so preoccupied looking at online posts I’m tagged in for release day, I don’t see the giant box sitting in front of my door until it’s too late, and I’m tripping over it.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter, running after my pint escaping down the hall. I unlock my door and slide it into my apartment by my foot.
My door slams shut behind me, and the howling commences. A genuine smile touches my face for the first time tonight as I scoop Evie up and cradle her against my chest.
“Hi, sweet girl. I’ve missed you too,” I laugh into her fur. “Should we see what this silly thing is?” I coo to her, plopping her on top of the box.
My heart stops when I see what’s written on the side. Congratulations, honey. I can’t stop the first sob that wracks my body. I don’t even want to. I’ve held the tears back all these months, letting anger fill the void instead, and a single word has the floodgates breaking.
I’m a sobbing mess as I tear the floral wrapping paper away to reveal the exact pink typewriter I wanted as a kid, the same one on my socks Grayson saw all those months ago.
He remembered.
Evie lets out a concerned yowl, and I slice the tip of the scissors across the tape, opening the flaps.
A gasp is ripped from me. Not only is the most gorgeous typewriter of my dreams inside, but handwritten letters all addressed to me are scattered inside as well.
With shaking fingers, I move the letters aside and pull out the typewriter.
A piece of paper is already notched inside, with the words one for every day I’ve missed you typed on it.
I look back inside at the abundance of letters, counting each one.
One hundred and eighty two letters. Six months’ worth.
I pick up the one closest to me and rip it open.
Maisie,
Roses are red, lupines are blue, the best thing that ever happened to Montana was you.
If I had a penny for every second I thought about you, I would be a millionaire.
You are constantly on my mind, beating in my heart, etched into my soul.
I consider myself the luckiest man to have even had you for a single blip in time.
I see you in the sun, the monarchs that flutter about, the flames in every bonfire.
You are everywhere, consuming me. I know your parents are so proud of you, and so am I.
Always,
-Your Gray
I don’t fall asleep until I’ve read every letter and my pillow is no longer dry. No nightmares torment me for the first time in six months.
Research notes: epic love stories take time.