“It’s hell writing and it’s hell not writing.
The only tolerable state is having just written.”
-Robert Hass
The signing had gone well. My current situation in life left me feeling less than most days, but seeing my readers always made my heart happy. It was still surreal to me that anyone would want my signature. The signing and lovely people I met had refueled me somewhat, motivating me to try harder on my manuscript. Even if I was close to losing my muse. I also got to hang with my peers, fellow writers I respected. That was always inspiring. And I tried to feed off of that.
I’d been back two days and hadn’t heard from Wren. My eyes felt heavy from lack of sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I couldn’t stop replaying the look on his face before he left. It haunted me and kept me up at night, staring at my ceiling, hating myself. Pulling him up on Facebook, I scrolled through his page, but he hadn’t posted anything in days. Glancing at my phone, I huffed. I should call him. I wanted to. But what could I say? I’d hurt him and somehow saying sorry didn’t seem like enough.
I missed him.
I missed his stupid beard, and the way he made his coffee in a French press and made it way too strong, but had somehow made me like my coffee that way, too. I missed how he teased me and kissed me, and the way my body fit against his.
Ugh, I missed him.
My phone vibrated on my work desk. My heart skipped, hoping it was Wren, only to deplete. It was Brigham.
Brigham: Coffee after game tonight?
Brigham had text me several times over the last few days. Mostly pictures of random things like a photo of him as a baby and a shot of him at a club with a woman that looked young enough to be his daughter. I had no idea why he did this, but I didn’t bother asking, even though I thought I was weird.
Me: Maybe…
Brigham: Worried your boyfriend will get jealous?
I rolled my eyes. I decided to stop denying I’d been seeing someone. Brigham wasn’t going to let it go.
Me: Don’t think we’re seeing each other anymore. Been MIA.
Brigham: He already moved on, huh?
I wanted to throw my phone. What a shitty thing to say. Instead I put my phone down and decided to ignore him. I hated he’d touched on something that had been eating away at me—might Wren already be onto someone new? Hadn’t heard a thing while at my signing or after. It’s like he dropped off the end of the earth. At least anywhere within my vicinity. I loathed how much that thought bothered me. And more so, I loathed that if he was moving on, it was my own fault. My insecurities and doubts, combined with Brigham’s words had me on edge. The last night I’d spent with Wren in my home had been incredible, and there had been a shift between us—I’d felt it. And I felt that he felt it. When he’d showed up unannounced and acted jealous, I was done. I loved it. I loved seeing that he cared. I felt awful for the poor Uber driver that looked like he was about to crap himself when Wren was talking to him, but I absolutely loved everything else.
Jealousy, within reason, can be a beautiful emotion. It’s often named the ugly one; the voice of irrationality. But if we stepped back and looked at it from a different view point, we’d see it’s one of the rawest of vulnerabilities. It’s an emotion mixed with love and fear. Wren had always seemed so in control of his emotions around me. Reserved. But that night I’d seen how he really felt. And it had meant something to me.
The next morning I’d left him sleeping peacefully in my bed and hunkered down with my laptop and wrote. He refueled me. Every time I was with him I felt inspired. Then he pushed. He had to ask about why I had no furniture, which I’d already explained. I didn’t understand why it mattered. I mean, I knew it seemed odd, but really, why did he care?
“What’s with the mug?” Taz asked as he sat on the edge of my desk.
“Is my expression that bad?” I snorted.
“You look…lost in thought.”
I let out a long breath. “I’m just over here trying to solve the riddle that is me.”
He chuckled. “I can’t imagine the brain power that’s requiring.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. He was probably the only person in the entire world that would ever be able to tease me without me taking it to heart. One of the crew members came in to ask him a question and while they chatted, I watched him. Talk about a stellar guy. I knew I was partial, being his sister and all, but he was. I was sitting in an office in my brother’s prominent business, something he’d built from a small family business into a corporation. Taz was so put together. He’d built an amazing career had an awesome spouse whom he adored, and great kids. We’d had the same shitty things happen to us as kids—how had he managed to become this amazing grown-up and I was…me?
When the employee left, I asked, “How are you so…together and I’m like a walking train wreck? I mean…look at what you’ve done here.” I motioned around the room.
He tilted his head, his mouth flattening. “Just been fortunate.”
My heart broke a little with his words. It wasn’t just good fortune. He’d earned this. And he should be proud of himself. But we’d learned early in life you should never grow too big for your britches. Our father’s name carried weight and in many ways still did. He was the high school football star, Vietnam war veteran, and the guy everyone loved to be around. He’d earned the respect he was given by so many.
Bircham was a name people recognized.
Everyone wanted to be us.
Oh but how hard the mighty hit the ground when they fall.
“No. You earned this, Taz. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you, too.”
I snorted. “I hope to make you proud of me. Some day.”
“I’m not worried, Hannah,” Taz said as he stood. “You’ll make a comeback, kid.”
He left my office. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. We were veering into the past. We were too sober for that journey. And I respected that. I smirked a little, thinking of what he’d said about making a comeback. He’d said that to me before. My smirk turned into a grin as the title of my WIP came to me.
The Comeback Kid.
My brother was a genius.
I had the title.
Now all I needed was to write.
But my inspiration was dwindling the longer I went without my muse.
I needed Wren.
Reaching for my handy pen, I wrote another reminder to myself.
Say you’re sorry.
There were two hours until I got off, but I decided to ask Taz if I could sneak out early. I needed to go and get my muse back.