Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“Didn’t you send them pictures? It’s on the beach.”
“They were not impressed. So anyway, Essie and I fell in love kinda quick. And you were already pretty famous. I mean… Jeez. The movie deal was already being discussed. I kinda just absorbed the lie and embellished it with my own.”
“You were dating a famous erotica author?”
We both laugh. But he points at me. “That.”
“How’d that go over?”
“Well.” He pauses to think about this. “Not great, at first. But then they met Essie and they loved her immediately. She’s bubbly and shit. Kind of a people person.”
“Yeah. Don’t I know it.”
“So I told them I sold the trailer to you and you fixed it up.”
“They think I’m you.”
He nods. “And your parents think you’re me. Minus the trailers.”
I sigh. “And both sets are disappointed.”
Mike makes a face of… maybe. But then he says, “That’s one way to think of it, Steve. But the other way to think of it is… that’s just how parents are, ya know? They live a little bit through us. They want us to realize our dreams, of course, but I’m guessing that there are very few parents who can totally separate their ego from the successes and failures of their children.”
“Huh. Maybe.”
He shrugs. “So I decided I wasn’t gonna take it personal. I let it go.”
“So you’re telling me to let it go?”
“See, this is why I like to change the subject. If I don’t let it go—if I let it bother me—am I getting anything out of that?”
“Huh.” I ponder this.
“I’m not. So being upset about stupid shit like that… it’s just stupid.”
“What are they gonna think when they hear about this?”
“I have no idea. But… it’s got nothing to do with me. So whatever. Who cares? But I’ll tell you this, and then I’ll shut up about all of it. Your parents probably feel like shit right now. Because they’re wondering why you didn’t want to tell them something so… big. Something so… awesome. And they are taking that very personally, Steve.”
Then he claps me on the back and goes upstairs.
I don’t go upstairs. I go around the house to the patio and then kick off my shoes and go down the path to the beach. The sun is setting. A beautiful orange-red sunset reflecting off the water, which is pretty calm right now.
And I just walk. Playing the day back in my head.
When that PA system came on Essie and I just looked at each other. It’s like we knew.
I recognized Leslie’s voice and I knew. She was out to get us. There was never any reconciliation about what happened years ago in court. And of course I always knew that apology we forced her to do wasn’t real, but I guess I figured she got over it.
She lost.
I didn’t steal her fucking words and we proved it.
She lost.
She should’ve… I don’t know. Accepted her mistake, at the very least. Some soul-searching about her nasty, black heart would’ve been a great start.
But she was stewing. All these years. And plotting, I think.
When did she figure out I was SS? I’m not sure about that. But honestly, it doesn’t even matter.
I own that mistake.
I do. It’s my fault for lying.
And I feel terrible.
I’m not really angry at my parents for not believing in me. Or not accepting me. Mike’s right, it doesn’t matter.
I’m mad at myself.
When Essie and I came up to the front of the signing hall and saw Leslie Munch standing on a table, gleefully trying her best to ruin us, no one was mad. I didn’t see a single angry face in the crowd that had gathered.
No. What I saw was disappointment.
Betrayal, maybe.
They all just… looked at us. Mom and Dad were there too.
We didn’t say anything. Even after James and Leslie got into a fight over the mic and fell off the table.
James managed to stick the landing, but Leslie planted face-first onto the carpet and the blood… my God, the blood. She was a fucking mess.
And the center of attention.
That’s when Mike leaned in and said, “We should go. Audrey and James will handle Leslie.”
I looked back for Cordelia. Because once Leslie started speaking, I had forgotten about her. But I couldn’t see her in the crowd. So that’s what we did. We left. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
I sit down on the sand so I can watch the last little bit of sun disappear across the horizon, and then reach for my phone.
“Well, shit.” I forgot that I turned it off after Gregory got all weird.
But do I even want to turn it on? Do I want to see all the private messages on socials?
Everyone is going to be messaging me. Everyone is going to want to talk to me. Even if it’s just so they can pretend to know something and spread it around.