by Sara Ney
“Keller, stop.” My sister’s boyfriend curls his lips, disgusted. “You’ve obviously never seen her throw a hissy fit about having to chop fire wood on the weekends at our parents’ house.”
I scoff, unimpressed. “Puh-lease. You think that’s bad? I’ll counter a wood-chopping hissy fit and raise you one you’ve obviously never seen Greyson stuff eighteen marshmallows in her mouth at one time. Ask her to play Chubby Bunny with you once.”
Cal’s blue eyes widen. “Seriously? Eighteen marshmallows? Dude, what the fuck.”
“Yes, seriously. It’s a game they used to play at sleep-away camp. Then she’d come home and play it with her friends. It’s freakishly disturbing.” I grimace at the memory of my dainty, blonde-haired and bright-eyed little sister—my parents’ pride and joy—cramming white puff after white puff of fluffy marshmallow into her mouth as a teenager.
Like a boss.
My sister’s boyfriend snickers. “Well, being able to fit large objects in her mouth is a skill that comes in handy for us both—where can I send my thank-you letter?”
“Ha ha, real funny, asshole.”
Cal’s booming laughter echoes loudly, sounding unpracticed and rusty as the girls re-approach, Greyson taking the lead with Tabitha nipping at her heels.
She eyes us skeptically.
“What are you two laughing at?” Greyson asks, automatically shimmying up to Cal, her body contouring to his—like two puzzle pieces that were made to fit together. Her arm slips around his waist while narrowing those light hazel eyes at me.
My sister unattractively purses her lips.
“What? What did I do?” I ask. “What’s with the stink-eye?”
Those slits of hazel get thinner. “What did you tell him?”
I immediately grab a square white cocktail napkin from the center of the table, wad it up, and shove it in my mouth. “Chubby bunny.”
“Oh my god!” Greyson laughs and smacks me in the arm. Hard. “You shithead!”
I wad up another one. It joins the first. “Chubby. Bunny.”
“Stop it, Collin, or you’ll choke. I don’t want to have to call Mom and Dad from the hospital because you’re jamming napkins down your throat.”
“Hey, I was forced into it—we were comparing bratty sister stories.” My voice is muffled around the two napkins packed in my mouth. A white corner sticks out from between my lips as I continue. “He didn’t leave me any choice.”
I can’t tell by Tabitha’s neutral expression if she’s amused or appalled by my childish antics.
My sister grabs a cocktail napkin, balls it up in her fist, and throws it at me, laughing. “On second thought, here. Shove this one in your face, too. Maybe it’ll shut you up.” Greyson turns to Tabitha and rolls her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know what you see in him, and now I have to question your taste in men. For a grown man, sometimes he is so immature.”
Tabitha giggles.
Cal glances back and forth between his sister and me. “Wait. For real, you’re seeing each other? I thought you were full of shit before.”
“No. Why would you think I was full of shit?”
He glances at his sister. “I mean, I love you, Tabby, so no offense—I’m just not used to seeing you dating anyone. I was already in college when you were dating that douchebag baseball player, and even I knew he didn’t deserve you.”
I move closer to Tabitha, pull her in, and relax my hand on her hip. “Damn right he didn’t deserve her,” I add, even though I have no idea what baseball player he’s talking about. I make a mental note to ask about it later. “Your sister is incredible.”
“I know that, Collin. I’m just saying she’s dated some real dickshitters.”
“Not on purpose,” Tabitha points out, resting her head on my shoulder. I give her a squeeze. “Remember Bryan Rickman? He wasn’t completely horrible.”
Cal laughs. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you date him in ninth grade?”
“What’s your point?”
“That doesn’t count. You were fourteen.”
She narrows her bright blue eyes. “How do you even remember all this?”
Cal blushes, the gash on his face appearing even more severe. Chagrined, he mutters, “I may or may not have read your diary.” Tabitha hauls off and whacks him with her purse. “Ouch! I said I may have! Jeez! There’s no tangible proof that I actually did.”
“Okay, break it up you two,” Greyson referees, stepping in. “Go to your rooms.”
But Cal is on a roll and brings the conversation full circle. “Really though, I’m just curious—how did you end up hooking up in the first place?” He grimaces. “I didn’t mean hooking up. I meant talking.”
“Dating?” Tabitha clears her throat. “Well, coincidentally, we ran into each other one afternoon doing out-of-office work stuff. Sometimes I take everything to a coffee shop, sit with my laptop, and drink coffee.”
I agree. “Same. And that’s what we were doing when we bumped into each other before the housewarming—”
“He scared the crap out of me—” Tabitha interrupts.
“She had the most adorable panic attack and spilled coffee all over herself. All over her white shirt. I was hoping it would turn into a wet tee-shirt contest—”
“Shut up, you were making me nervous!”
“I was making you nervous? Pretty sure it was the other way around.”
“Oh my god, you are so sweet.” She pecks my cheek, excited, then speaks to her brother. “So he’s just standing there staring, right, which was weirding me out. I end up knocking everything off the table, including the proof of my book—”
“It just lands under the table,” I add with a knowing smirk.
Tabitha throws her arms in the air. “And what does he do? Nothing! Doesn’t say a word about it, the shithead.”
We entertain Greyson and Cal, volleying barbs.
“What was I supposed to do? I had to get your attention somehow. Pocketing the book you wrote was the best way to do it…”
“Well, you didn’t have to steal it and hold it hostage so I’d go out with you.” She slaps my arm playfully, squeezing my bicep in the process. I flex. “It was so rude. He used it to blackmail me into going on our first date.”
“Puh-lease, don’t even act like you were going to say no—”
“I was going to say no! You were so annoying.” She punctuates this pronouncement with a kiss to my jawline before enthusiastically prattling on. “He was purposely trying to embarrass me. He even read out loud from chapter ten when we met up. I finally agreed to meet him because I really needed it back.”
Lost in our own stream of babbling nonsense, neither of us realizes why Calvin and Greyson are staring at us, slack-jawed.
Wait.
Why the fuck are they staring at us like that?
Was it something we said? Did we….
Oh shit.
Oh. Fucking. Shit.
I squeeze Tabitha’s waist, prodding her to stop talking. In her excitement, she doesn’t even realize we blurted out her secret. That with her rambling, she’s giving away her secret, too.
Cal holds his palm up to stop us. “Back up. Did you guys just say the book she wrote? What book? Who wrote it?”
I feign ignorance. “Did we say that?”
“Yes, jackhole, you did.” He looks point blank at his sister, a dark cloud descending on his expression. “Tabby, did you write a novel?”
“Uh…” She stands frozen, rooted to the floor, stunned. “Oh my god. I told, didn’t I? Collin, please tell me I didn’t just…”
Silence.
Followed by the inevitable.
Tabitha pulls away, unfolding herself from my body. I try to stop her by grabbing her upper arm, but she surprises me by giving me a shove so hard I stumble back a few steps. “Tabitha, it just slipped out. Babe, calm down—”
“Just slipped out! Just slipped out? Oh my god, I was going on and on about it! I’m such an idiot. An idiot!�
�� She throws her arms in the air, defeated, and turns to confront me, poking me in the chest with the tip of an index finger, ignoring her brother and my sister. Angry. Frustrated. “One year, Collin. One. Year. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. That’s how long I’ve kept my novel a secret.” She stomps away, huffing and muttering to herself before stomping back. “Everyone is going to hate me for lying! How am I going to look my parents in the eye, and see my grandma on the weekend after they find out? They’re going to think I’m a… a… Collin, I just told everyone the secret I’ve been keeping from them for an entire year!”
“Well, not everyone. Mom and Dad aren’t here,” her brother interjects, trying to be helpful.
“Shut up, Calvin. This is between me and Collin,” Tabitha admonishes with a loud shriek. Okay, maybe it’s not a shriek, exactly, but it’s definitely a cross between a scream and a whine.
Whoa, nelly, calm down.
She seriously needs to chill.
I’m not a complete idiot, so I compress my mouth shut, determined to power through her tirade.
“This was my well-guarded secret. How could I have been so stupid? What was I thinking! God, why didn’t I just tell you no when you asked me out the first time? This never would have happened. I’m such an idiot.”
Wait. Is she blaming me?
“Tab, please. Calm down, sweetie, be reasonable. This is a good thing, can’t you see it? I’m sorry, but maybe your brother knowing—”
“No. Forget it, Collin. This isn’t for you to decide. You don’t get to tell me to calm down.” She grabs her purse off the table.
“Tabitha, stop. Where the hell are you going?”
“I need time to think about what I’m gonna do. Alone.”
Except, we’re in a college town, staying with her brother for Christ’s sake, not back home where she can hitch a cab and go back to her place.
“Take me back to your apartment, Cal. I can’t sit in a car with him for three whole hours right now. Not just yet.” Tabitha drags her brother towards the door by the upper arm. “I just have to get out of here. Think.”
He’s powerless to fight her, instead launching an inquisition.
“What novel?” I hear Cal asks as he’s physically being led away. “Did you write a book, Tabby? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
She’s so angry. At herself. At me.
Irrational.
From beside me, my sister places a caring hand gently on my forearm, reminding me of her presence. “So, I take it Tabitha wrote a novel and didn’t want to tell anyone?”
My head gives a jerky nod. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” Pause. “That is so… cool.”
“Yeah.”
“Why would she keep it a secret?”
My broad shoulders shrug feebly. “Because it’s romance. The slutty kind.”
“Wow,” Greyson repeats. “That is so… awesome.”
Tell me about it.
Grey rests her palm on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “This will blow over. You’ll see.” My sister’s words are quiet and slightly skeptical.
“Yeah.”
But even I don’t believe it.
Collin: Tabitha, would you please answer my calls? You barely spoke on the car ride home and you’re not responding to my texts. We need to talk.
Collin: Please. I’m so fucking sorry they found out that way, but it was bound to come out eventually.
Collin: Greyson told me that your brother told your parents. What did they say? Please call me back.
Collin: Did you get the roses I sent to your office? I didn’t want to be cheesy and I know you’re pissed, but the red, yellow, lavender, and peach roses say everything—please, Tabitha. Let me tell you in person how I feel about you. Please.
Tabitha’s Notes for Book THREE, title to be determined. Titles I’m considering: THE BETRAYAL. Back cover blurb: Tarran felt betrayed by the world. By the one man she loved. Handsome and clever, the quick-witted devil had become her downfall. Because of him, the walls she’d so carefully erected around herself didn’t just fall; they imploded…
“Honey, can I come in?” A few short knocks at my office door interrupt my thoughts, and quickly, I close the expanded document on my laptop screen when my dad sticks his head in.
Ironically, building up walls has become my specialty lately.
“Sure, Dad. Of course.”
It’s his company and his building; the man hardly needs permission.
His distinguished salt-and-pepper gray hair appears in the doorway, leading the way inside my office, the permanent smile he’s never without pasted across his face. Around his eyes, weathered from the elements and years of working outdoors, are well-earned wrinkles and laugh lines.
We get our humor from him, Cal and I.
“Come in. Want to sit?” I indicate a spare chair in the corner.
Plopping himself unceremoniously in the chair that has been around this office longer than I’ve been alive, my father, Hodge Thompson, stretches, crosses his arms, and looks around.
“I haven’t been in here for quite a while.” He inches forward, plucking a framed photograph of me and my college roommate Savannah off my mahogany desk, studies it wordlessly, then sets it back in its place. “Your mom will be joining us shortly.”
My mom and dad sitting in here together?
Oh crap, this can only mean one thing: an ambush.
I give a stiff laugh. “Is this an intervention?”
He raises a gray brow. “Why, do you need one?”
“Good one, Dad.” I feign ignorance, forcing out a fake laugh. “Are the two of you taking me to lunch or something?”
He raises his other eyebrow and gives me “the look.” You know the one your parents give you when they know you know they think you’re full of shit.
Did that even make sense? For an author, I can’t even string a few words together today.
Wait. Did I just call myself an author?
Crap. I did, didn’t I?
I’ve never had that thought before—that I’m an author. A writer. And now I can’t help but wonder why it suddenly crossed my mind, now of all times, with my parents about to lecture me about… who knows what.
Nope, that’s a lie. I know exactly what they’re going to lecture me about, thanks to Collin and my loud-mouth brother.
My writing. My book.
My novel.
I slump down in my desk chair a little, swiveling towards the window to avoid my mother’s gaze when she swoops into the room, sophisticated, blonde haired, and blue eyed.
“Sorry I’m late! Did I miss anything?” She bends and kisses my dad on the top of his head, then lowers herself into the chair beside him, dropping her purse on the floor. Her hands go to her hair, and she fluffs. “Ugh, how gorgeous is it outside? Too bad we’re stuck inside.”
Mom, who does the accounting for the company, looks pointedly in my direction. “Take a break, both of you, and make some time to sit outside for a few. Get some fresh air.”
I grab the nearest pencil and anxiously tap it on the surface of my desk. “I’ll try.” I scan their faces. “So..?”
My dad starts, and, having no patience for bullshit, cuts right to the chase. “So. You wrote a book.”
He states it as a fact, not as a question.
Denying it would be futile, so I nod. “But it didn’t interfere with my work, I swear. I didn’t use company time to write, and I used my own laptop.”
My mom instantly looks deflated. “Honey, that’s not what he meant.” She reaches towards the desk and nabs the pencil from my nervous hands. “We want to know why you didn’t tell us.”
Because.
Because.
I have a million reasons why, but when I open my mouth to give them, no words spill out. Then I say, “What did Calvin tell you?”
Dad shakes his head, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Nothing. Just that you wrote a book. And that no one knew about it.�
�
“It’s a novel, actually,” I blurt out, unable to stop myself, and then I regret it when they both raise their eyebrows in surprise. “Sorry.”
Dad clears his throat. “He also said you’ve been seeing the Keller boy.” Unable to resist, I roll my eyes at that. The Keller boy. “He’s the one you were with when you spilled the proverbial beans, I assume?”
Only my dad would use air quotes when he said ‘proverbial beans,’ like it was a thing.
“Sort of seeing him. Yes.”
My mom, who can’t resist meddling in my love life, chooses her next words carefully. “Honey, why are you taking this whole thing out on this nice young man? Cal says you walked out on him. How is any of this his fault?”
Because I’m stubborn and willful and embarrassed. But of course, I don’t say any of this. Instead, I shrug, gazing out my office window for the answers.
“Tabitha.” My mother’s voice holds a sharp edge. “Did you hear what I said?”
God, I hate it when she talks to me like this, like I’m a child. I feel my chin start to wobble a little when I open my mouth to say, “Why did I take it out on Collin? Because it was easier to get mad at him rather than myself. Because I knew I was wrong. I needed someone to blame and he was there.”
Mom leans back in her seat and waits for me to continue.
“God, I acted so juvenile.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe at it with my shirtsleeve, refusing to stare into the faces of my disappointed parents. “He’s so great, Mom. I hope… I hope you get the chance to meet him.”
“If he’s anything like his sister, I’m sure we’re going to love him.”
“He is. You will.”
Silence fills the room then, and when my dad doesn’t continue where my mom left off, she sniffs impatiently. “Your father and I aren’t here to talk about your relationship, although we were concerned about it when we heard.” She shoots a pointed look at my dad, to get him on board with the discussion. “The real reason we wanted to sit you down was to tell you that we’re proud of you, honey. Of course we were shocked! But not for the reason you’d think. Tabitha, sweetie, you wrote a novel!”