We’ve been in school for four months now. I’ve been out on my own for three. The warm afternoons have succumbed to the constant chill that usually comes at this time of year. Heath and I have been out a few times, mostly for coffee. Some of those times have been with the kids and some without. The kids seem to be happy, and I can tell they’ve noticed the change that has slowly been happening between Heath and me. We’ve all gotten into a groove.
Trevor and Jenna split their time between us pretty evenly. It seems when they want to hang out with their friends, they tend to crash at my house since I’m closer. The arrangement has been working nicely for us. I feel as though I’m living my own life on my terms and not a way I feel the other person wants me to live it.
I have to admit that there are a lot of nights when I’m lonely, but it’s a different type of lonely from what I felt when Heath and I were together. When I was feeling lonely at the house with Heath either right beside me or in the garage, I felt a sadness creep over me. I felt sorry for myself and the life that I was living, but now the lonely is different. A bit freeing.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by raised voices, signaling that my class is done reading. “All right, class.” I push myself up from my chair. “When was the Declaration of Independence signed?” I ask the classroom as I walk around my desk in order to make my way through the room. There’s a collective groan, and then silence takes shape.
“July 4th, 1776,” Ben answers.
“That’s right, buddy.”
I walk over and give him some ‘James Kash.’ It’s an incentive that I do with the kids to encourage them to participate in the group activities. If they earn enough money, they can trade it in for gift cards to wherever they want, and I’ll go buy them. I try to double up the money this time of year so the kids can buy Christmas Gifts.
“Who was the first person to sign the declaration?” I look around the room, kids squirm in their seats, eyes looking anywhere but to me. They should know this. We’ve studied it. “Come on, class.”
“Benjamin Franklin!” Scott calls from the back of the room.
“No, sorry, Scotty, that’s not right.” I walk down the aisles, hoping to encourage them a little.
“John Hancock,” Ben answers, and he’s right again.
Walking over to his desk, I drop some more ‘kash’ on his desk. “Everyone should know these answers. We’ve read this chapter, and we’ve gone through each section twice. The test is tomorrow, and it’s the last one before the holiday break. The last one before grades are submitted. Please remember that.”
The bell rings turning the classroom into pandemonium. Before I can remind the kids to study, most of them are out the door. Dropping my butt into the chair, I flip on my computer. I was able to finish my book last month. I have to admit, since the split, I’ve been more eager to write. I feel that I have more emotion than I did before. I’m not sure if it’s because I have more time to do it or the fact that I don’t feel Heath’s eyes on me whenever he’d walk into the room. Having the kids gone more than not helps too, but I kinda hate to admit that out loud.
My email pings and I see that’s it’s from my editor. The subject line is DON’T HATE ME. My stomach drops because I really don’t need her to tell me this latest manuscript is crap. Not when I feel so good about it.
Clicking on the link, I open the email.
Whitney,
I have to say, other than a few things here and there, this is by far your best work. The emotions you describe, the hurt and the fear. I felt each and every word to my bones. That’s why I’ve contacted a publisher friend of mine and gave him the first couple of chapters. #SorryNotSorry He loved them. He understands that they’re still in rough shape and nowhere near the final product, but he feels that you have something here. So much so, that he’d like to meet with you. He understands that this latest book is part of a series and that means that if he takes this book on, he’ll more than likely take on the rest as well. The only downside is that this publishing house has their own team of editors, so you’ll need to work with someone who isn’t me. I’m okay with that. This is a chance of a lifetime for you, and I’d hate for you to miss out on it. I hope you aren’t too upset, and I hope I didn’t overstep, but this is great work, Whit, and it needs to be in bookstores worldwide.
I’ll have your edits to you soon, just in case the meeting doesn’t happen, or you choose to stay indie and not traditional.
Keep doing what you’re doing.
Caroline.
Holy shit.
I can’t believe that she gave a publisher part of my book. There’s no way I can be mad at that. Not when it’s such a huge opportunity. My phone vibrates along my desk, pulling me from my computer screen. Heath’s name flashing on my screen.
“You aren’t going to believe what I just found out,” I all but squeal, not allowing him to answer because I’m too damn excited. “Caroline sent my latest manuscript to a publisher friend of hers, and he wants to meet with me. Can you believe it? I might have the opportunity to be traditionally published. This is like a dream come true.” I’m grinning so much, my face begins to hurt.
“What? Wow, babe, that’s really great.”
“I know, right?” My smile tugs at my lips. “I can’t believe I caught a break.”
“Yeah, real proud of you. Look,” he says, totally blowing off my excitement, “I was wondering if I were to make the salsa that you like to make, what would I need.”
“Canned jalapeños, canned tomatoes, onion, cilantro–”
“What if I have fresh and not canned?”
You have got to be kidding me. I take a deep breath, and I drop my head in my hand. “I don’t know, Heath. That’s not the way I make it.”
“Well, I don’t want to use that canned crap. There’s all that salt and shit in there. I’m trying for fresh here.”
“Then dice everything up and make it fresh mex.”
“That’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for the blended–”
“Look,” I snap, cutting him off, “I’m trying to tell you the way I make it because you asked. If it’s not the way you want to make it, then figure it out on your own. I don’t know why you’re even calling me to ask.”
I end the call, tossing my phone on my desk. The feelings of accomplishment have been replaced by feelings of frustration and failure.