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)
I roll my eyes.
Essie just smiles, watching them disappear up the stairs. Then she turns to me with a serious face. “You’re gonna get through this. It’s gonna be OK.”
I have the best sister on the planet. I upended her entire life and now she’s gotta live a lie because of it. Not only that, she knows she’s the favorite and she never lets our parents get away with treating her better than me. She’s always sticking up for me.
“I know,” I tell Essie. “I’ll just… stay down here and keep out of the way.”
It’s not like my parents are bad people. They’re not. My father was a hardworking plumber the whole time we were growing up in Encino. My mother was a housewife. She stayed home and raised us kids. She made dinner every night, and took us to after-school sports and activities, and she was always our number-one fan.
But now I’m thirty-five and they think I’m a mooch. They think I do nothing, even though my fake job description for the SS Corporation is head of marketing, which is literally the same title Essie has working for me. They think Essie feels sorry for me because I am a failed science fiction writer and is throwing me a bone.
And whatever, right? I’m not that guy. I’m super-rich, I’m super-ambitious, and I’m super-successful. It didn’t really bother me until… until I really did become a real-life science-fiction writer failure.
And now… I dunno. I feel like something’s gotta give. Because despite the fact that I live in a ten-million-dollar house with the ocean as my backyard and have literally lost count of how many times I’ve had a book on the bestseller lists, it’s this one failure that dominates all my thoughts and every day feels like a pointless challenge.
Essie is making a pouty face.
“I’m fine.”
“We should stop doing this convention, Steve. It’s not good for you.”
“I don’t even do anything. You do all the work.”
“That’s not true. You’re the one who writes the books. You’re the reason they come. And by the way, I got seventy-five requests for the name of my narrator last week.”
Despite my current mood, this makes me smile. “Really?”
“Do you want me to give them your name? It’s so stupid that you don’t want people to know you narrate sexy audiobooks. You should run with it. Turn it into something real. Something big. You could make so much—”
“Money?” I snicker. “Essie, do you really think money is the problem here?”
“No. But I’m desperate to fix whatever is wrong with you right now.”
“Come on. Like I have time to narrate other people’s books.”
Essie shrugs up one shoulder. “Well, it’s not like you’re writing much these days.”
She’s right. I’m not.
“You could do the narration on the side. Until you get your mojo back.”
“Have I lost my mojo?”
She makes one of those all-teeth smiles. Yes, I have. But she’s not going to say it out loud.
I sigh, then kind of give in. “Maybe.”
This makes Essie clap her hands and put them up to her chin like she’s praying.
“But don’t say anything yet, Essie. I have to think it through.”
“OK. I won’t. But you’re great at it. Hell, Steve, you’re great at everything. If we could just tell Mom and Dad the truth—”
“No! They can’t know. The whole thing will come tumbling down. And I’m not ready for that kind of attention, OK? I’m just not. You don’t read the reviews—”
“And you shouldn’t either.”
“I know, but my point is, they will crucify me, Essie. It’s not the money, either. I’m not worried about the fuckin’ money. But they will write terrible things about me, and give me the worst online blog awards, and turn me into a meme, and have Twitter wars, and—”
She puts up a hand to make me stop. “I get it. I won’t say anything.” Then she hugs me. “But you know, I’m your number one fan. Never forget that. I know exactly how spectacular you are.”
And, with the pep talk over, she turns away and goes up the stairs to welcome our parents into my home like she owns the place.
Later that evening, after Terry, and Shawn, and Luke have all wished me the best and gone home to their wonderful iconic-science-fiction-writer lives, I’m counting down until dinner is over and I can go back downstairs and forget I even have parents.
I’ve managed to make it twenty-three minutes, my pasta has been demolished, I’ve declined dessert and coffee, and I’m just about to push back from the table and make my retreat when I make the mistake of meeting my father’s gaze.
“Have you at least tried to get a job?”
“Dad!” Essie throws her napkin down. “We’ve talked about this. Steve has a job. He works for me.”
“He shouldn’t have to work for you. He should’ve finished school.”