Novelista Girl

by Meredith Schorr

Blood rushed to my face as I took hold of the phone and placed it on the coffee table in front of me. I would have preferred to wait until I was offered a deal before telling Erin. “Hey, Erin.”

  “Hey, sis. What’s with having a family reunion without me?”

  I knew she wasn’t really wounded by the tone of her voice. “I surprised the folks.”

  “A habit of yours lately,” Erin said, laughing.

  “Ha ha. Yeah, I was in Miami with Nicholas and figured I would take the opportunity to see the parental figures.” Not wanting to discuss Nicholas, I cleared my throat and quickly changed the subject. “Mom wanted me to call and share some good news.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I have an agent who’s going to be submitting my book to publishers.”

  “Hannah’s agent,” my dad piped in.

  I glared at my dad for providing this unnecessary bit of information.

  Feigning ignorance, he said, “I wanted to see how Erin would react to hearing Hannah’s name.”

  As if on cue, Erin said, “No way. You and Hannah share the same agent? That’s beyond cool.”

  My dad smiled and whispered, “I told you so.”

  I shook my head at him while my mother chuckled into her hand. “Yeah. I took your advice and asked Hannah for help, and she referred me to her agent, who loved the book.”

  “See? You should listen to your little sister more often.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, sometimes you are worth something.”

  “Hardy har har. So, what happens now?”

  “Felicia, the agent, pitches the book to a bunch of publishing houses, and hopefully one will want it.” More to myself, I added, “It would be super cool if it went to auction, but I won’t be greedy.” If more than one house wanted a book, it would go to the highest bidder.

  Erin squealed. “Maybe it will be published by the same company as Cut on the Bias and Tearing at the Seams.”

  My mom began saying “Hannah’s publisher is the agent’s first choi—” before cutting herself off and glancing at me apologetically.

  “I’m so coming to your book launch,” Erin said.

  I beamed in response to my sister’s confidence in me.

  “I assume Hannah will be there, right?”

  As my dad laughed from his seat on the couch, I walked over to him and kicked his foot.

  “I suppose.” At the rate I was going, Hannah might be my only friend, but I didn’t want to think about celebrating the release of my debut novel without Nicholas or Bridget by my side. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Congrats, Kim. What?”

  “What what?”

  “Huh? Oh, I was talking to Gerry. My husband’s having a breakdown because some character got eaten on The Walking Dead. I need to comfort him. But keep me posted, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  As I lay in bed later, I clasped my phone, fighting the urge to call Nicholas and tell him I was another step closer to being a published author. Nicholas was generally a happy person, but he reserved his biggest smiles for me—when I walked into a room, when I said something funny, when I delivered good news. I knew this latest disclosure would make him grin so wide, and my cheeks hurt vicariously just thinking about it. But I was remembering the old Nicholas. The new Nicholas wouldn’t have time to be happy for me until the conclusion of his business meeting, until the jury reached a decision, until the judge issued a sentence. I released the phone with my hand and curled into the fetal position, my heart equal parts bitter and sad. And I missed Bridget so much, my heart throbbed. If a dream came true and you had no one to share it with, was it really a dream come true?

  Chapter 34

  I second-guessed my decision as soon as I stood outside her apartment and the cab drove away, leaving me on the curb with my pink carry-on luggage next to me. It wasn’t so much a choice to go straight to Bridget’s apartment from the airport as a reflex I couldn’t control. I swallowed hard and rolled my bag into the lobby. “Hey, Joe,” I said to Bridget’s doorman as I approached the elevator. Since I was a regular fixture at Bridget’s apartment, the doormen never bothered to call up first. Only a few years older than us, Joe was my favorite, although before I moved downtown, we went to the same gym, and I sometimes did a double take when I saw him in workout clothes, his sweaty brown hair matted against his head. It was a far cry from his black doorman’s uniform.

  “Kim. It’s been a few weeks. How’ve you been?” Joe called out from behind the front desk.

  “Never better,” I said cheerfully, trying to disguise the tremor in my voice even though I was positive Joe wouldn’t pick up on my anxiety. Why would he? Bridget and I never fought. Until now.

  “Good to hear,” he said as a pizza delivery guy walked into the building. I heard him say, “Delivery” into the intercom as the elevator door opened before me, and I stepped inside. I held the door for the pizza guy and acknowledged him with a smile before staring straight ahead, my feet tapping against the ground until we reached Bridget’s floor.

  Before I could chicken out, I knocked three times and held my breath as I heard Jonathan say, “Coming.”

  “Kim,” Jonathan said, his mouth falling open. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need to see her.” I peered inside, a waterfall of tears threatening to drop at any second.

  Jonathan scratched his shaved head with one hand and pulled up his black sweatpants with the other. “Are you sure you’re not twins?”

  I gently shoved him out of the way and walked inside the apartment. I felt Bridget’s absence instantly.

  Jonathan shook his head in amusement. “She’s not here.”

  “No duh. Where is she?”

  “It’s a funny thing…” Jonathan said, an odd smile plastered on his face.

  I placed my hands on my hips and waited for him to continue. “Well?”

  “She went to find you. We were watching Hot Tub Time Machine, chomping on microwave popcorn, and out of nowhere, she jumped off the couch, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door. I asked where she was going and she said, ‘Kim. I need Kim.’ Before I had a chance to respond, she threw her jacket over her arm and slammed the door behind her.”

  “She went to find me,” I repeated and looked down at my shaking hands. “I gotta go.” I ran out the door. As an afterthought, I called out, “Thanks,” hoping Jonathan had heard me.

  Unlike Greenwich Village where I lived with Nicholas, cabs were plentiful on the Upper East Side where Bridget resided with Jonathan, and I hailed one the moment I stepped out of their lobby and onto the sidewalk. I gave the driver my address and sat upright watching the neighborhoods change from midtown, to Gramercy, to Union Square, and beyond out the window. Halfway there, I second-guessed my hasty decision to head downtown. What if Bridget had been to my place, found it empty, and was now on her way back uptown? I debated telling the taxi driver to turn around, but my thoughts on the matter were so scattered that before I knew it, the cab was parked in front of my brownstone, where a girl with long, rusty-red hair was sitting on the stoop with her head bent down between her legs.

  I paid the driver and climbed out of the cab, calling out, “Bridget,” before I could stop myself.

  Bridget’s head popped up, and she scrambled to her feet.

  I ran toward her, my arms outstretched until she was directly in front of me. As she stood immobile, I stopped short. What if it wasn’t a desire to reconcile that prompted Bridget to race out of her apartment to meet me, but an urgent need to attack my friendship skills in person?

  As we faced each other, less than ten inches between us, visions from a friendship past flashed before my eyes: The day we became friends, after I caught her peering over my shoulder in seventh-grade science as I read The Power of Three, the book based on the Charmed television series; the nights we spent i
n each other’s childhood bedrooms (mine pink and hers multicolored, of course) high on Fruitopia as we pored over the latest Delia’s catalog and took countless relationship quizzes in YM magazine despite having zero experience with boys; the times we stood up strong against the big bad Hannah when she pulled every trick out of her hat to exploit our vulnerabilities, including my (lack of) height and Bridget’s (lack of) money; the night at the end of my sixteenth year when I called her only minutes before and then an hour after I lost my virginity to Jonathan with a mixture of excitement and horror over “going all the way.” Her friendship was my most significant relationship to date, including Nicholas, and I wasn’t ready to pull the final curtain. But what if Bridget was?

  As if reading my mind, she threw herself forward and engulfed me in an embrace. The smell of apricot from her hair tickled my nose, and I heard a muffled, “I’m so sorry, Kim. Please forgive me.”

  “I’m sorry too,” I mumbled into her shoulder before I lost control of the tears I was holding back. We held each other tight, both of us sobbing as we rocked from side to side.

  Bridget let go first, but a moment later, she pulled me toward her again and squeezed me hard. “Thank God.” When we separated the second time, I noticed she was shaking. “I’m freezing,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  I grabbed her chilled hand and led her to the entrance of my brownstone. “How long have you been waiting?” It was unseasonably chilly for late spring and way too cold to be outside for an extended period of time.

  Crossing her arms across her chest while I fumbled in my purse for my keys, she said, “Jonathan called and told me you were on your way. I didn’t want to miss you.”

  I opened the door, and we hugged again at the foot of the stairs, garnering chuckles from the young couple whose path we blocked. “They probably think we’re lovers,” Bridget said with a laugh.

  “You could do worse,” I said as we trudged up the stairs, me falling behind Bridget due to my luggage.

  Twenty minutes later, Bridget was cozy on my pink “lady couch” with an afghan over her legs and a cup of tea while I packed a bag to bring back to her place.

  “I can’t believe you broke up with Nicholas, Kim. The things I said about you guys…” She frowned. “I didn’t mean them. I was being a bitch.”

  “Yeah, you were,” I agreed. When Bridget’s lips trembled, I sat on the couch next to her. “I forgive you.”

  She slid closer to me and put an arm around my back. “I sunk beyond low, Kim. Besides being jealous, I was seriously angry at you.” She blew on her tea and took a timid sip.

  “With good reason. My comment about Jonathan was way out of line. Watching you guys at dinner with Caroline and Felix, it’s clear you’re happy the way things are, and I’m happy for you. Your dreams are no less valid than mine even if they’re different. I’m sorry for being so shortsighted. I promise not to bug you about it anymore.”

  Bridget swiped her brow. “Thank God. I know the concern came from a good place, but I hated having to justify my decisions to you.”

  I swallowed hard. “And I shouldn’t have lied to you about Hannah. It’s how we got into this mess in the first place.”

  Bridget let out a sigh. “I’m not excusing it, but I understand why you felt the need.”

  “She asked if I shopped in little-people stores,” I said, staring straight ahead at the queen-sized bed I shared with Nicholas. I wondered if we’d ever sleep there together again. I couldn’t remember if we’d even cuddled the last time we lay there together, much less had sex.

  “What the hell does that even mean?”

  I turned to face her. “It means she will never ever replace you. Not even close.”

  “I believe you.”

  I stared at her intently. “Do you really though?”

  Bridget dropped her gaze downward and nodded before taking another sip of tea.

  I tapped her on the shoulder. “Because, Bridget, you have to know something.”

  Bridget cocked her head to the side. “What is it?” she asked, her green eyes opened wide in uncertainty.

  I inhaled deeply and let out a breath before speaking. “Hannah was horrible in high school, but she’s not so bad anymore. Yes, she’s the president of her own fan club, except for Erin, maybe…” I paused, and we laughed together. “For sure, she still has this way of making compliments sound like insults and insults sound like flattery. And I have no desire to spend more than twenty minutes in her company at a time, but she’s done some really nice things for me.”

  Bridget nodded. “All true.”

  “Do you think you can let go of the past, then?” I pleaded with my eyes. “If not for you, then for me?”

  Bridget nodded and, her voice shaking, said, “Recent behavior notwithstanding, I’d do anything for you, K.”

  I smiled softly. “I don’t doubt it.” I stood up and walked over to the bed where my suitcase was half-filled with enough clothes to last a week. I blinked back tears.

  Rising from the couch, Bridget said, “Damn Nicholas. I’m so pissed at him.”

  “I have my best friend back. I have an agent. Why isn’t that enough?” I gulped.

  “Because it’s not.” Wrapping her arms around my neck, she whispered, “Stupid boys.”

  Relaxing into her hug, I wiped my eyes and repeated, “Stupid boys.”

  “As long as we’re speaking of boys, can we talk about Felix now? Is it acceptable to refer to someone’s husband as a ‘boy’?”

  I zipped my suitcase and faced Bridget with my hands on my hips. “I suppose ‘man’ is more appropriate.”

  She clucked her tongue. “Hot man?”

  I smiled. “Very hot man. Our Caroline did a fine job.”

  “A fine job, indeed,” Bridget said, and we laughed together, a sound I had missed with fervor.

  I was a long way off from convincing myself having my best friend back and an agent was good enough, but as Bridget and I dragged my luggage down the stairs and into yet another cab, I conceded it was a decent start.

  We sat in silence in the taxi, lost in our thoughts, but every so often, Bridget would squeeze my hand as if reminding me she was still there. I returned a text from Nicholas, whose flight home from Florida had just landed, asking about my whereabouts, and told him I had resolved my issues with Bridget and would be staying with her and Jonathan temporarily. Then I checked my Gmail account. When I saw the unopened email from Hannah, I sucked in my breath, troubled by the timing. I glanced at Bridget, who was busy texting someone—probably Jonathan—and opened it.

  Bonjour Kim,

  I trust you’re past whatever caused that scene with Whatshername—Strawberry Shortcake—at HanGawi by now. It was super awkward for me, but I forgive you.

  As you know, the release of Tearing at the Seams is August 11th. In case Candace hasn’t reached out to you yet, I’ve attached an advanced copy review in MOBI format. I can arrange a paperback like last time if you prefer—in exchange for a five-pink-champagne-flutes review, of course. Jk.

  Enjoy!

  Cocktails soon?

  Hannah

  I snorted and quickly covered my mouth with my hand, but it was too late.

  “What?” Bridget asked, turning away from the window.

  I hesitated, but now was as good a time as any to see if Bridget meant what she said about moving on. “Hannah sent me a copy of Tearing at the Seams for review. She didn’t ask me to review it as much as assume it as a given. So very Hannah of her.” I failed to mention Hannah’s reference to Bridget, not by her name, but by “Whatshername Strawberry Shortcake.” Mostly because I didn’t want to give Bridget a reason to renege on her promise, but also because “Strawberry Shortcake” reminded me of “Strawberry Fields Forever,” and I was trying to keep my mind off of Nicholas.

  Bridget pursed her lips and shrugged. “S
urprise surprise. But at least this time around, you’re okay with liking the book.”

  “Hannah’s a lot of things and, for better or worse, being a good writer is one of them.” I gave her a wry grin. “I still hope it doesn’t make my top-ten list.”

  “Maybe I’ll read it too,” Bridget said, her voice steady.

  My mouth dropped open.

  Breaking into a huge smile, Bridget said, “Gotcha.”

  I placed my hand over my heart. “You scared me.”

  Bridget chuckled. “I said I’d cut the chick some slack, but a girl’s got to have limits.”

  Chapter 35

  Later on, I sat in the middle of Bridget’s purple couch, with Bridget on one side and Jonathan on the other. Jonathan had picked up Italian food from Uva for dinner, and Bridget had cracked open a bottle of pinot noir. They were both being extra nice to me. I expected it from Bridget—she was still making up for her past behavior, even though I told her it was forgotten—but when Jonathan agreed to watch back-to-back episodes of The Real Housewives of Orange County with us, I asked Bridget to check his temperature.

  “I’m not sick. I’m just glad you guys made up. And I’m sorry about…” He walked over to the windowsill with a cigarette before completing his sentence.

  Twisting my head so I could still see him from my comfy spot on the couch, I said, “What are you sorry about?”

  Jonathan took a deep drag of his cigarette and then flicked it in the tray. “You and Nicholas.” His face turned red.

  Despite a newfound familiarity with the heaviness I felt in my chest whenever his name was mentioned, I was lost for a response and tempted to apologize to Jonathan for putting him in the awkward position of wanting to comfort me. I wondered if it would be the same way at work the next day. Had Nicholas told them what happened? If so, I knew Rob would tread carefully and not mention anything unless I did first. Although well-intentioned, I feared David and Lucy would be in such a rush to share their regrets they would unknowingly move in like vultures. And Daneen. Well, Daneen would be like Nurse Ratched on steroids ready to pounce. Her elation at this new gossip likely had her so riled up, she’d have to take a Valium to fall asleep tonight. I was only mildly consoled in the knowledge that whether or not I was in the picture, Daneen would never take my place in Nicholas’s heart or bed. As my tummy dropped, I visualized Daneen and Nicholas huddled together over a bottle of wine, comparing notes on whose parent was less praiseful of their respective career achievements.