Chapter 17
Willa
I meant to shower earlier, but when Justin left I found myself cleaning all of the dishes and every other inch of his house that was already clean, but I just cleaned it again.
He insisted that I didn't need to pay rent, but I couldn't just live there and be a mooch. And sex wasn't going to cover it, so I wanted to show that I was worth keeping around.
I almost jumped out of my skin when I got out of the shower and Justin was standing at the end of the bed, his back to me as he fiddled with something.
"Justin?" I asked, tilting my head.
He jumped almost a foot before he turned around, leaning on whatever the dark, large object was. "Willa. I didn't hear you come up behind me."
I raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
He smiled and stepped to the side, putting out his hands like Vanna White.
I gasped, staring back at me was an antique writing desk. One I had only seen in magazines, but never actually used. I ran to it, running my fingers over the rich wood. "Justin. Is this...?" Words were failing me. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever given to me.
"Well, it's not a ring, but I hope this shows some kind of commitment to you. I thought if you're going to stay here and going to keep writing, you need a good desk. Now we just need to find a chair, but I'm sure the Flea has something."
I turned toward him, tears welling in my eyes. He was the kindest man I'd ever been with and I loved him so furiously for showing me how amazing love actually was. "Thank you, Justin. You don't know how much this means to me."
"Really? You like it."
"I love it."
***
The desk still hadn't been used for any writing.
I was completely and utterly blocked.
So I decided to try the writer's group that someone had suggested at Justin's family party.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? You've never been into Manhattan by yourself or taken the subway." Justin said, his eyes serious.
I shook my head, hopping down from the bar stool. He was behind the bar. A few people had milled in for some tastings and another couple of people were eating at some tables. "No. You're working."
"Yeah, but I'm sure Luke could handle it for a few hours."
"No. You'll be bored to death."
He smiled. "I'm sure I could find ways to entertain myself."
I leaned over giving him a quick kiss. "Exactly and that'll be a distraction. I promise I'll be fine and I'll text you when I get there and when I leave."
He sighed. "Fine, fine. Go have fun with your writer friends."
I leaned in giving him one last kiss before heading toward the door. "I will."
The subway system wasn't as complicated as I thought it would be. I'd gone on the train a few times in St. Louis and it was basically the same thing, just underground.
The Writer's Club met at a chain coffee shop in Manhattan on Wednesday nights.
The place looked like every other coffee chain I'd ever been to in the world, even the airport ones. They all had the same color scheme. Same young baristas. And were always packed, even late at night.
I peered around the corner of the long line and saw a few chairs pushed together with some very classy looking people sitting at them. Seriously, everything they had on was designer from head-to-toe and not like teenage girl's version of designer with some mall stores, but brands I had only seen in magazines, not even at the malls in Missouri.
From their sandals to their leather hand bags, they exuded elegance and I was the girl in chuck tailors and a faded V-neck. I was definitely out of my element.
"Hi. Um. Is this the writer's club meeting?" I asked, my voice squeaking. I tried to shake it off and not seem like I was totally intimidated, but there was no way I couldn't be.
I'd recognized some of the names on the writer's club website and they were some of the biggest names in romance right now. The only one I could remember their face was the one guy I had met in person at the vineyard. Even he smiled at me like I was some kind of charity case before he spoke. I couldn't, for the life of me, remember his name. It may have actually been Guy. I needed to start writing things down.
"Yes, Willa. Glad you could make it."
He stood up, putting his hand on my back. The guy was about my same height and probably even weighed less than me, which was evident in his skinny slacks and Vneck, except he pulled off the V neck way better than me. We probably even had the same bra size.
"Guys, this is Willa, the girl I met at the vineyard. She's dating Justin Foster, from the Foster Family vineyards."
I did a stupid little wave because I had no idea what else to do. The rest of the group nodded and mumbled some 'hellos' and I took a seat after the guy sat back down.
"So, Willa, what do you write?" A woman asked. I recognized her from the website. I think her name was Stacey or Lacey. She was a self-published phenomenon who just took a six-figure deal with a big publishing house.
"Oh, um, thrillers. Well, trying to write a thriller. I'm kind of experiencing writer's block right now."
The guy gasped, putting his hand on mine. "Oh, honey, don't say that word. The W word is like saying Voldemort."
"He who shall not be named!" A girl yelled.
I couldn't help but laugh. The book nerds were my people.
Once the laughing subsided I sighed. "Yeah. That's why I'm here tonight. I'm hoping to get some inspiration being around other authors."
Stacey or Lacey laughed. "I hear that. This used to be the only bit of sanity I had when I was married to Brock. But now I'm not married to that bastard anymore, so I can just be around writer people all the time instead of people who are distractions and don't believe in me."
"Oh, that sucks," I muttered, because I wasn't sure what else to say.
Stacey or Lacey shook her head. "It did. I worked my ass off in my law office for years and then would come home at night, still have to cook dinner, and take care of the kids. When I would finally get some time to get some words in, Brock would just complain that I was keeping him up and call it a silly hobby. He only started to take me seriously when my first book hit New York Times, but then he still expected me to put up my writing and do all the housework. He would get jealous if I talked to bloggers or readers online and if I wanted to go to a signing? You would think I asked him if I could cut off his leg. It was the worst. Eleven years of marriage and it took a book boyfriend to break us up."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."
Stacey or Lacey smiled a tight-lipped smile. "Don't be. It's all for the best. I'm much happier without him."
Guy put his hand on my knee. "But don't worry, Willa. Not all husbands are like that. Mine is my biggest cheerleader."
Another girl laughed. "Yeah, because he's like your freaking Nazi manager. If he doesn't know every word you write in your manuscript or online and know every sale, he has a conniption."
Guy frowned and turned toward me. "That's not true. Stuart is very involved in my career, but we're a partnership. He's a market analyst by trade, so he's just eager to help me be the most successful writer I can be."
"He also holds your purse strings!" Another guy yelled.
Guy smirked. "Yes. Stuart has been able to help fund my career. When I got laid off from my teaching job, I filed for unemployment, but it wasn't exactly enough. I moved in with Stuart last spring and he encouraged me to write, even helped pay for the cost of my first book. When it wasn't successful he started helping with the marketing and even hooked me up with the publicist you met at the winery. Every little bit of a team helps."
I shook my head. "Wow. I haven't even thought that far about everything. I just need to get a book finished first."
Guy nudged my shoulder. "If I had a man like Justin Foster I think I'd be distracted as well, or really inspired to write some very hot romance instead of thrillers."
I felt the heat rise to my face and the group laughed.
Stacey or Lacey shook her head. "Don't be modest or blush. We're a bunch of romance and suspense writers. We talk about cocks and write about them all day long. Nothing really fazes us. Sometimes we all need more than just a kiss goodnight in our books and in real life."
The girl beside Stacey or Lacey put a fist up to her mouth and made a choking sound, which incited laughter from the rest of the group.
Guy put his hand on mine. "But, all kidding aside. Did you bring the pages like I asked you to in the email? We all like to get out our red pens and pass around the pages. It's like a little mini critique group."
I bit down on my bottom lip. No one had ever read my writing except for some flash fiction that my college professors had us write. Now it was going to be read by real writers. "Uh. Yes. I did. It's still kind of rough."
I reached into my bag and pulled out the first five pages that I had printed out this morning.
Stacey or Lacey grabbed it from my hand. "I like it rough! I'll go first!"
"O-O-Okay." Guy handed me his words and people passed around sheets of paper.
"I've got the timer set for fifteen minutes then we'll switch until we all get to read each other's work. Ready?" Guy asked.
Everyone nodded.
"Go!"
Everybody else's words seemed to flow like butter. Guy's words were like poetry, practically lifting off the page. I barely had any notes for his. Stacey or Lacey wrote a sex scene that was so hot, I had to squeeze my legs together and not think too hard about getting turned on by reading someone's naughty parts in a coffee shop.
There was only one set of words that was romantic suspense, and it was a hell of a lot better than mine. They had passion, intrigue, and I even felt sorry for the killer.
By the time we were all done with our pages, they got passed around and mine had a ton of red marks on it.
What is this beginning?
Less telling. More showing.
Am I supposed to like this character?
What is the point of this?
This doesn't sound like a mob family.
And that was only the notes on the first page. I didn't even look through the rest of it.
"Thank you all for reading my pages," I said, stuffing them back in my bag.
"We have another critique group that meets on Thursdays in Greenwich if you want to come by there. It's before open mic poetry," Guy said.
I nodded, trying to keep my tears at bay.
I usually had a pretty thick skin, but I'd never had my writing critiqued and it hurt. I know it shouldn't have, but it was like putting my baby out to the world and having someone tell me that it was ugly.
Guy nudged me. "Hey, girl. Don't worry. We all have really bad first drafts. As you write more and start editing, that's when you really get to the heart of the story."
The rest of the group nodded.
"Have you thought about getting some books on basic plot and story structure? I think the library even has some on plotting," Stacey or Lacey added.
"I'll have to check those out," I said, swallowing hard.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Guy asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. Totally fine. My head is just kind of swimming. It's a lot to take in."
Guy patted my hand. "Well you sleep on it and look over those notes. You have my email so if you have any questions or want to meet up and talk plotting over wine or coffee, I'm always in."
Stacey or Lacey raised her hand. "Me too!"
I nodded before standing up and putting my bag over my shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you all, so much. I'd better get going though, so I can catch the subway back to Brooklyn. It was nice meeting you."
I waved and we all said our goodbyes, before I stepped into the night air.
The summer sun had finally started to set and it was cooling down, which made it a more comfortable walk back to the subway station.
But it felt like the longest walk of my life because there were so many thoughts swimming through my head.
How much more work did my writing need?
Could I actually be able to fix everything that needed to be fixed?
Then there was another part that was gnawing at me. The relationships of the writers in the group was something I couldn't ignore.
Stacey or Lacey had a husband that didn't support her. He was almost a distraction. Was Justin that? If I kept writing and we did get married and have kids, would he expect me to do everything around the house while he worked all day and then not write at night?
No. That wouldn't be Justin.
I didn't think.
Maybe he would be more like Guy's husband.
But I didn't want a guy that had to completely support me financially either. I grew up with a mother that was independent in her own right, but worked as a partner with my father.
Maybe I shouldn't have moved in with Justin. Maybe we were already off on the wrong foot with having him take care of me.
I leaned against a brick building, letting out a deep breath of air. There were so many thoughts swimming through my head, I just wanted to push them all out.
I reached into my pocket, thinking I was going to turn on some music on my phone, but instead I found myself searching through my contacts until I found my mother's number.
I was twenty-one and living on my own. I was an adult. But sometimes even an adult misses and needs to talk to her mother.
I put the phone up to my ear and she answered on the second ring.
"Willa! How are you?"
Her voice was cheery and already I found myself smiling.
"I'm okay."
"What's wrong? Is everything okay with the boyfriend?" The concern was evident in her voice.
I sighed. "Yeah. I mean I think it is. I just got back from a writer's group meeting, and well, it wasn't pretty."
"Oh no! Were they mean to you? Those bitches! If I need to come to New York to take care of them, I will."
I laughed, shaking my head even though she couldn't see it. "No. They weren't mean. They were just honest about my writing. That it needs a lot of work."
"Well was there criticism helpful or just attacking?"
I blew a breath of air out, and it pushed a crackling sound into the phone. "Helpful. I guess. But it wasn't just what they said about my manuscript. It's when they talked about their lives. How their families and husbands supported their words."
"Baby, you know your father and I do support you. I can't say that we both didn't think it was crazy for you to head off to New York, but you seem to be making it work. And you're young. If you can follow your dreams, then do it."
"Yeah...but..."
"Is this about the boyfriend?"
I sighed. "Yeah."
"Is he not supporting you?"
I licked my lips. "No, he is. He even bought me a writing desk so I could write in the apartment."
"Well, that's great news."
"Yeah...he is great..." I trailed off.
"Then what's the problem?" Mom asked.
"I don't know. I guess I'm just afraid that if I have a career in writing, is he going to continue to be supportive? And if he is, but I'm not making anything as a writer, is he going to have to support me financially and I'll just be a burden?"
"Those are all valid questions to ask yourself, Willa, and maybe to talk to him about. If you two love each other, you should be able to find a compromise in anything. If you have to spend a few years as a jam maker, writing stories on your new desk until you become a breakout star then you'll do it. If you'd rather try and get a job with a local publisher, and work your way up that way, you can do it. The world is your oyster. You have so many opportunities ahead of you, don't sell yourself short."
"I'm not trying to."
Her smile was evident in each word. "Willa, don't fight fate. If you're meant to be a writer, then you're going to write. If Justin loves you, he's going to support it. It may mean helping you out financially, or just giving you an ear to bend, but he's going to support you. Love is about honesty, trust, and support. And I'm sure if you love him enough to move in with him, and he wants you there, then you have all of those things."
I nodded, licking my lips and finally smiling. "Thanks, Mom. I needed that."
"You're welcome, baby. Now go take those pages, stuff them in a drawer until you're ready and go give that man of yours a big hug and tell him what he means to you."
I smiled. "I will, Mom. Now let's see if I can survive the subway home."
"Oh no! Well text me when you get home then so I know you aren't mugged."
I laughed for what felt like the first time in forever. "I will, Mom. I'll text you before I go in to see Justin."
"You'd better, Willa. And don't be a stranger. I miss our talks."
"I promise to call more often, Mom."
"Good."
I pushed off the brick building and started walking toward the subway station. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you too, Willa. Have a goodnight."
I hung up the phone and descended the stairs to the subway platform.
Maybe the group was right and my writing did need some work. Maybe they were also right about their spouses.
But, I also knew that my mom was usually right about everything. Justin and I did have honesty, trust, and support. If he didn't support my writing, he wouldn't have bought me the desk or offered for me to move in with him and spend less time working in the bakery.
As I stepped onto the subway, I found myself smiling as I sat down. Maybe I wasn't the best writer in the world, but I did have a support team of writers that were willing to help me.
And I had a boyfriend. One who I love and loved me back. Maybe in a few years he'd get sick of my writing constantly and we'd have to discuss it. But I wasn't going to dwell on it. I was going to live in the now, and right now, I had to go home to that boyfriend and show him how much I appreciated him.