Hello my good friend, procrastination.
Instead of falling down the rabbit hole of mindless internet searches and videos, I walk to the kitchen and pull open the refrigerator door. Cocking my head from side to side, I take a moment to admire my bounty of fresh produce, bottles of my favorite wine, and the to-go containers from my leftovers from last night’s disaster of a dinner.
When he told me his name was Rico, I should have known my date would think he was “suave.” He’s not. He’s just like all the other power-hungry bozos I keep meeting—looking for a trophy wife and a good time, not necessarily with the same person. It’s exhausting. But at least I’m getting good at picking the restaurants. My dates might be getting worse, but my leftovers are getting better.
Too bad I’m not in the mood to revisit the leftover lasagna right now. I should make myself a gigantic salad with a homemade citrus dressing. Low calorie and delicious. Or . . . yep, there’s a better choice. I grab the carton of milk, take the box of my favorite sugary cereal from the pantry, and pour myself a huge bowl of bad carbs. Dinner of champions, folks.
As I shovel in spoonful after spoonful of sugary goodness into my mouth, I pick up my phone and scroll my social media accounts. If I don’t go into my messenger or actually comment on any posts, nobody will know I was here.
I lurk in a few author groups I frequent and see that, once again, it’s a different day yet the same story in the life of an author. Drama, chaos, and a sense of confusion on where our industry is headed. I’ll tell you all where my future is headed—to another bowl of cereal. I’ll just add an extra thirty minutes on the treadmill tomorrow to counteract the calories.
Taking my bowl with me, I return to the couch and grab the remote control to begin flipping through the channels. Stopping on one of my favorite romantic comedies, I settle in to watch my favorite kind of romance. The wallflower who believes nobody will see her for who she is. The woman who is destined to be passed over for the more beautiful, much more successful, and less compatible beauties until the hero sees her for who she is. And falls in love.
Simple, sweet, and approachable romance. It’s cheesy at its finest and it’s what I love—a simple, heartfelt love story without all the unnecessary angst and drama from traumatic childhoods and broken lives. It is not at all what I write but it is what I believe is possible. And let’s face it, it’s far more likely that a sweet girl with a kind heart will find love with a chef, or heck, even a prince, than it is with the smoking hot alpha male who has more money than he’ll ever spend in a lifetime and meets his match by accident.
At about the halfway point of the movie, my phone chimes with a text message. Picking up my phone, I tap the icon and see it’s Aggi.
Aggi: I think I’m blocked.
I quickly tap out a response.
Me: I doubt that.
Aggi: I’ve typed “Stuff happens and it’s funny.”
Me: I stand corrected.
My phone rings and Aggi’s name appears on the screen. Answering, I sigh into the phone instead of greeting her with words.
“Oh no! You too? We’re both blocked?” The anxiety in her voice sends panic through my veins. I hate the word “blocked.” Mostly because unblocking is exhausting so I try not to say the word.
“I prefer paused instead of blocked.”
“Donna, you are a genius. We aren’t blocked, we are paused. Yes!”
Laughing, I grab my remote and actually pause the movie I’m watching. “I’m not blocked or paused, I’m just uninspired. What’s your story?”
“I’m not blocked either. I’m restless. I’m at that pivotal part in the story where I can either pick up the heat or I can continue with the slow burn. Spencer wants me to push my deadline and go with him to Los Angeles for a few weeks. Relax at his, sorry, our place and reset my mind.”
“If only it were that easy,” I murmur. “Although, I could go for a few days of relaxation. Maybe I’d know what to do with my story. You may be at a pivotal point in yours but I’m not sure which direction to go with mine.”
“Why? Usually you have your plot lines nailed down before you start. I’ve never met anyone who can outline like you can.”
She’s not wrong. Years of drafting motions and briefs as an attorney still bleeds over a bit into my new career from time to time. I can get an idea and just run with it like everyone else. But when I have more voices talking to me than hours in the day to tell their story, a good, solid, detailed outline gives me the ability to get things done remarkably quickly.
Normally.
Resting my head against the couch cushion, I sigh again. “I have an outline in the can that I could use, I just don’t know that I want to. The creative in me kind of wants to break out of the mold and do something completely different.”
“So why don’t you?”
“That’s where the pause comes in. Maybe I’m just psyching myself out. Fear of failure and all that jazz.”
Aggi snickers. “I love that movie.” And now she’s belting out the theme to the musical Chicago in my ear.
“Okay, okay!” I yell, making her stop while she giggles. “I know. I’m so punny.”
She giggles again. “I’m going to ignore your sense of humor right now, because I may have an idea that can help us both.”
I know Aggi. Her ideas are either exactly what the doctor ordered or they’re slightly ridiculous. “Okay, hit me with this grand idea.”
“What if we went away for a few days. Just us. We take our laptops and write non-stop. Of course, we’ll stop for food and wine, but other than that we just write. I’ll find us somewhere peaceful and serene. A place we can take walks if we need to clear our heads and big comfy beds to nap.”
“Now you’re speaking my language. Wine and naps. Is there food at this wonderland you speak of?”
“Yes.” Exasperation is evident in her tone, as if she’s appalled I think she’d forget. This from the woman who was just singing showtunes in my ear. “I’ll make sure the fridge is stocked with cheese and crackers. What do you say? I think if I’m away without any distractions, specifically my sexy-as-hell fiancé, I can finish this book and meet Spencer in L.A.”
Contemplating her proposal, I sit quiet for a few beats. A trip somewhere, anywhere, sounds fantastic. I’m going stir crazy here and not making any progress with my book. Or books. I haven’t decided which series I’m going to focus on. My gut says go with the moneymaker, but my heart wants me to push my limits. To challenge myself, and my readers, with something different.
“Take the risk.”
“What risk? Donna, does that mean yes?”
“Yep. I think it does. But, where will we go? I think I need minimal communication opportunities. You know how easily distracted I can get with cat videos.”
“Mm-hmm. You’re the worst with that. Okay, I’m going to handle it all. Wait for my text with the information.”
Rising from the couch, I walk down the hall to my bedroom and pull my suitcase from its perch in my closet. As I slide open the zipper, I offer Aggi the appropriate “yep” or “nope” in response to her questions before I realize I never unpacked from Portland. I seriously need a handler.
And then one word brings me right back to the conversation.
“Wait, did you say snow?” She can’t be serious.
“Yep. Nothing is better than the beauty of the mountains in winter. Okay, pull out your gloves and scarves, lady. We’re going to the mountains!”
Before I can offer a response, Aggi disconnects the phone and I throw myself on the bed. Relaxation is white sandy beaches with a cabana boy fanning me, not snow and falling on my ass in the ice.
I really should have paid more attention to her when she was rattling off her destination options.
Chapter 8
Todd
“Now you know to get little Ginger the wet can food, right? Tuna is her favorite.”
I roll my eyes and toss a ten-pound bag of dry cat food in my cart.
“Yes, mother. I know the Spawn of Satan wants wet food.”
She giggles lightly in my ear, but I refuse to think too hard about what she’s laughing at. Ever since she remarried last year she giggles at random moments. If I so much as entertain the idea that it’s because her new husband is whispering sweet nothings in her ear, I will toss my cookies all over the dingy, sticky grocery store floor. Whoever mops has enough problems, so I prefer to believe it’s the witty charm of her only child putting her in high spirits.
“Stop that, Todd. Ginger is just playful.”
“He hisses and bites my ankles every time I come over. He doesn’t have red fur and the fact that he’s packing more parts in his undercarriage than a female, I have to know, Mom, why did you name him Ginger? Are you going for irony since he has white fur?”
She sighs in exasperation. “We’ve gone over this. It’s because he loves eating the ginger from my sushi.”
“That can’t be good for him,” I mutter, eyeing the self-feeding bowl on the top shelf. If my mother thinks I’m going to her house every day for the next week to feed the demon, she has another thing coming.
“Actually, it’s extremely beneficial to cats.”
As she drones on about how her holistic vet’s office sells ginger capsules so she can sprinkle it in her fur baby’s food, I climb up the shelf and grab the feeder, tossing it in the cart. Let’s see how Beelzebub likes not being pampered for a while. Seriously, my mother is out of control.
“So anyway, half a can of wet food twice a day and half a cup of dry food in the morning. If you want to give him milk, give it sparingly.”
Right. Because I’m going to give her cat milk.
“I know, Mom. You left the instructions on the counter. In triplicate and translated in Spanish just in case.”
Mom giggles. Again. Gross. “No I did not, you silly boy. I just haven’t gone out of town for this long in years. Maybe ever. I want to make sure I don’t miss anything.”
“You’re going to miss your flight if you don’t stop talking my ear off.” Pushing the cart down the aisle, I grab an extra litter box. It’s good for him to have options since I’ll be checking on him all of twice.
“Oh! You’re right. I’ve got to run. I love you, honey.”
Smiling, I melt back into our very comfortable mother-son relationship. It was just us and Aggi growing up so we’re closer than the average family. “I love you too, Mom. Have fun on your cruise. Don’t drink and fall over the balcony.”
“Todd! You naughty kid! Don’t put those thoughts in my head! You know I’m nervous already.”
Laughing, I take a few more seconds to calm her down and say our goodbyes. Just as I press the red button to end our call, Aggi’s dramatic ring tone indicates she’s the next person I have to talk to.
Exasperated, I throw out my hands and say to no one in particular, “Why am I so popular today?” Looking down, I find a small child staring at me. “What? It’s both a blessing and a curse.”
He just stares blankly, then shrugs and walks away as I swipe to connect the call.
“What up, Ags?”
“Todd!” She sounds out of breath.
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”
“Har, har.” She grunts through the phone and I immediately run through my mental calendar trying to remember if Spencer is out of town or if he’s the one making her breathe heavy. I’m praying it’s the former. I was just traumatized by my mother’s giggling. I can only take so much. “I need your help.”
“I’m going to assume you need someone with big, strong muscles to come help you with some project in your apartment.”
She snorts a laugh and then grunts again, like she’s moving something heavy. Again, I hope it’s not Spencer. “If I needed a man with muscle I’d call Jake in maintenance.”
“Well that was rude.”
“It’s not rude if it’s fact.”
“You’re not making a good case for me to help you, Ags.”
“You’re right. Also, I’m in a rush so I’ll get to the point.”
This is the moment in any conversation with my best friend that I know I’m about to be suckered into something. If she’s rushing when she needs help, it won’t matter what the task is. It won’t matter what my answer is. I’ll still end up doing it because Aggi won’t be there to find another victim—er—helper.
“I’m going to L.A.”
“Great!” I exclaim without missing a beat. “What time are we leaving? Do I need a ticket, or do you have one for me already?”
“You’re not coming with me this time, Todd.”
“Still rude,” I mutter.
“Spencer hurt his bum knee again. I don’t know how bad, but I need to get to L.A. before he goes in for surgery.”
That’s not good. I know Spencer is getting close to retirement, but that’s the second time he’s sustained an injury in just over a year. Retirement may find him if it’s bad enough.
“So do you need a ride to the airport or something?” I offer because I’m a good friend like that.
“No, I need you to let Donna into the cabin.”
“What?” I roll my eyes dramatically even though she can’t see it. Owning the character is important, no matter who is watching. “I have so much to do.”
Truthfully, I have no problem letting Donna into the cabin. She’s nice, and we enjoyed chatting it up at the airport. But if I’m going to deal with my mother’s possessed feline, I need to find pleasure in the little things. Giving Aggi a run for her money fits the bill.
“You have a team of ten people under you, Todd. You have jack shit to do,” she argues.
“That’s beside the point.”
“It’s totally the point.”
“Don’t judge me, Agnes. You don’t know my life.”
“I know your entire life.”
She’s right. She does. And frankly, I have no other points to make in this argument so I’m going to chalk it up to practice for next time and concede. “Why is Donna coming here anyway?”
Aggi grunts again, only now I realize it’s because she’s lugging her suitcase around the room. Chances are, she forgot to unpack it before putting it away after her last trip so it weighs a zillion pounds. “She’s writing a sweet romance and needs to get to a sweet location to find some inspiration.”
“Oh good. She decided to go for it.”
Pushing my cart, I stand in line behind that weird kid and his mother again. He’s creepy, just staring at me like he’s auditioning for the next lead in a Children of the Corn remake. I bet he and Ginger would get along great, but he’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s going to intimidate me. I once won the staredown contest in seventh grade. I had to use Visine for two weeks afterwards because my eyeballs were dehydrated. But this little shit doesn’t know that. He has no idea the extremes I’ll go to win.
“Well, she’s not one hundred percent on board yet. That’s why I offered her a cabin getaway. A change of scenery will probably do her creative brain some good.”
The staredown with creepy boy continues. His eyes twitch ever so slightly. I narrow mine. We move a step forward in the line.
“Wait,” Aggi interrupts the contest. Fortunately, I don’t even flinch. I am that good. “How do you know what Donna has been working on?”
“You’re not the only one who knows things, Ags. She’s my friend too.”
“Really,” she deadpans. “What’s her phone number?”
“I don’t have to know how to reach someone to know there is a special connection.” I’m full of shit. We both know it. But right now my only goal is to win, no matter who I’m competing against. That mindset is the only way I’m going to take down this beady eyed little punk. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“Crap. Yes.” Aggi’s breathing gets heavy again like she’s racing around her place. “Thank you, thank you for letting Donna in. And don’t forget to stock it with wine and snacks. And make
sure it’s clean since Frida quit the cleaning service.”
“What?” I bellow in shock, looking away from my competitor. As soon as I realize what I’ve done I glance back over to see him smirking at his victory. Dammit! I must have blinked. That’s what I get for not keeping tabs on the cleaning staff. “What do you mean Frida quit?”
“Don’t you ever check your emails?”
“It’s so impersonal. I prefer a phone call or face to face conversation.” I complain, turning my cart around and heading to the alcohol section. I knew the second I answered her call I was being screwed into something annoying. Not only do I have to stock supplies, I have to clean the toilets too. Damn Aggi and her being the best friend I’ve ever had and who I would do anything for!
“Well, that’s not the way the world works, but I’m not going to argue with you.”
“Says the woman who has only just purchased her first smart phone.”
“I’m ignoring you. Plus, I have a plane to catch in—shit—less than two hours. I’ll text you from the airport. Thank you, love you!”
She hangs up before I can properly say goodbye or berate her for tricking me into doing her dirty work once again.
It doesn’t take long to find what I need in the small market. There’s not much variety so it’s basically a coin toss. Red or white wine? Ritz crackers or saltines? Cheddar cheese or . . . actually there are a ton of cheese options. Small town living has come a long way from when I was a kid and real cheddar or Velveeta were the only options. I’m able to pick up a . . . Drunken Hooligan—what the hell kind of cheese name is this? Whatever, it sounds fancy. Sold. And some mozzarella and gouda just to play it safe.
A few other staples and the cleaning supplies I may or may not need round out my purchases for the day. By the time I make it up to the counter, Poltergeist is gone and it’s just me and the cashier.
Ear Candy Page 5