Blogger Girl

by Schorr, Meredith

  “And that about wraps it up,” I said. Feeling the onset of a tension headache, I pressed two fingers against my forehead and closed my eyes. When I opened them, Bridget was looking fixedly at me. “What?” I asked.

  Twirling her linguini around a spoon, she said, “I’m not sure why you’re so upset about this turn of events, Kim.”

  “What do you mean? Were you even listening to me?” I took a bite of my pasta even though I had lost my appetite.

  “Of course, I was. But everything you said implies that Nicholas really liked you. All of your concerns that you were just a distraction, that you weren’t ‘successful’ enough, were figments of your own paranoia. That’s a good thing! And your imagined competition with beach volleyball babe? Lesbian!”

  “Yeah. Way to jump to false conclusions, Kimmie! Anyway, all of this would be great if we were still dating, but I hate to be the bearer of bad news, we’re not. And whether or not Nicholas was embarrassed by my being just a secretary, he still made me feel that way. And he still consorted with the enemy.” I mumbled, “And according to Facebook, he still does.”

  “Well then. I guess that means you don’t like him anymore anyway, so why are we wasting our girls’ night talking about him?” Bridget swallowed a mouthful of linguini and then smiled at me. “Right?”

  “Right.” I shook my head at her and dropped my napkin onto my plate. “I feel sick.”

  “I’m sorry, K.” She reached across the table and placed her hand over mine.

  “I was so angry at him, Bridge. But it was only a fight. I had every intention of talking to him the next morning, but he wanted no part of it. He shut me out hard.” I sighed.

  “Probably his defense mechanism after what his ex did.”

  “But I’m not Amanda. I wasn’t two-timing him with my ex-boyfriend!”

  Bridget chuckled. “Close enough. At least at the beginning.”

  “Which probably explains why Nicholas made me confirm a gazillion times after the reunion that things between Jonathan and me were really over. I wondered if he might be jealous. I kind of hoped he was a little jealous. But I never would have guessed what Amanda did to him in a million years.” I took a sip of wine. “This sure was an informative night out, wouldn’t you say?” I laughed even though I sort of wanted to cry.

  “Never a dull moment.” Bridget lifted her glass and clinked it against mine. “To another great night with my BFF!”

  ***

  Later that night, I sat in front of my computer. Once I checked my email, I would get lost in a book so I could feel the main character’s pain instead of mine, laugh at her missteps rather than lament my own, and cheer for the happy ending that seemed to elude me.

  Among the many unread emails waiting in my in-box was one from Hannah Marshak. My first thought was that Hannah had fabricated the shitter story to secure a good review of Cut on the Bias. I couldn’t think of an ending more befitting of the night. I clenched my jaw and opened the email.

  Hi Kim,

  I wanted to thank you for the great review. Coming from you, I’ll take four stars as high praise. I’m sure your four stars are a taller girl’s five stars anyway.

  JOKING, Long. Lighten up!

  Hannah

  I chuckled. It turned out the mean girl had a sense of humor after all. Had I been told a mere 72 hours earlier that Hannah Marshak would elicit the only genuine smile I’d exhibit all day, I would have deemed the messenger a crack addict, but the truth was in the curl of my lips. I looked over at my closet and took a deep breath. Dismissing the thought with a shake of my head, I picked up my Kindle and flipped the on-switch. Next on my list was the sequel to a Bridget Jones knock-off I had reviewed the year before. My eyes glazed over the first paragraph but I couldn’t concentrate and turned back toward my closet. I threw my Kindle on the couch, grabbed my step stool and a few old phone books, and reached for the cardboard boxes on the top shelf of my closet. I carefully stepped off the ladder and brought the boxes to my midnight blue shaggy area rug, where I sat down cross-legged. I took a deep breath, opened the first book and removed the 56 pages of the novel I’d started my senior year in high school. It was aYoung Adult novel about a shy 13-year-old girl who developed special powers that allowed her to read the minds of her peers. At first she used the power to get in good with the popular kids, but later realized that some of those popular girls were not as happy as they claimed. Well, that was the intended plot anyway. I had only gotten to the part where she helped one of the cool girls barely escape being caught shoplifting to secure a coveted invite to a sleepover party. I’d begun in earnest but put it on the back burner once I started college and never found the motivation to pick it back up. In the second box was the women’s fiction novel I’d started more recently. It was about a woman torn between two men: the secure “good” guy who loved her and who she loved back and the more risky, less solid “bad” guy who she also loved and who loved her back. It was not going to be one of those obvious, clichéd love triangles where you know from the start which guy is better for her. I’d read too many books and seen too many movies like that and wanted to write something more complex and unpredictable. But I’d never gotten past the outline. I had notes on at least three more books tucked away in those boxes.

  To date, I had been incapable of completing a manuscript. I was one of those people who had that “great idea” that amounted to nothing. Rather than set myself up to fail again, I had given up the dream and denied that the dream even existed. Until Nicholas saw right through me. He was right. I was jealous of Hannah Marshak.

  Taking the YA manuscript with me, I returned to the couch, stretched out my legs and started reading. And then I grabbed a red pen out of my desk drawer and began slashing paragraphs and writing comments in the margins. By the time I came up for air and looked at the clock, it was past 2 in the morning. I laid the manuscript on my coffee table and fell asleep right there on my couch.

  As soon as I woke up the next morning, I called Rob. When his voicemail picked up, I wasn’t all that surprised since it was only 7:30. “Hey, Rob. It’s me, Kim. I’m sorry for the late notice, more like non-existent notice, but I need to take a vacation day. Actually, I need to take the rest of the week off. I’ll be back after the weekend. If this is absolutely unacceptable, call me this morning and let me know as soon as possible. You know I wouldn’t do something like this if it wasn’t important. I’ll explain when I get back. And, no, nobody died. Thanks, Rob. I really appreciate it.” I hung up. One call down, one to go.

  “Kim?”

  “Hi, Mom.” I cradled the phone in my neck while I logged onto Expedia on my computer.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “Everything is fine. I’m sorry to wake you!”

  “You didn’t wake me. I’m about to leave for Pilates. What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if you would mind a visitor for a few days.” I ran a search for flights leaving from all NYC Airports and going to Ft. Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport.

  “Of course I wouldn’t mind!” I heard her yell, “Peter! Kimberly is coming to visit!” Back into the phone, she said, “When?”

  I twirled a hair around my finger. “Er, today?”

  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  I heard the shakiness in her voice and wanted to soothe away her concerns as quickly as possible. “I’m fine, Mom. I have a project I want to work on and I don’t want to deal with the distractions of the city. I think the warm breeze of Boca Raton is exactly what I need. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. You sure it’s okay?”

  Excitedly, my mom said, “Of course it’s okay! I can’t wait to see you! Will this ‘project’ leave you time to go shopping with your mother?”

  I smiled. “I think I can arrange for that. Maybe we can do a spa day too? I can use a deep tissue massage.”

  My mom squealed, “Yay!” sounding more like a teenager than a 53-year-old woman.

  Laughing, I said, “I’m b
ooking my flight now.”

  “Good. Let us know what time we should pick you up at the airport.”

  “Will do.” After I hung up, I booked a flight leaving LaGuardia at 3:20 pm and arriving in Florida at 6:45. It cost me $419, which I deemed a decent price considering I reserved it the day of the flight. And I had a feeling my mom would talk my dad into reimbursing at least half of the fee.

  CHAPTER 28

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER, I was sitting at my parent’s kitchen table drinking fresh squeezed Florida orange juice.

  Handing me a cup of coffee and a carton of milk, my mom said, “We just bought the Keurig last month. Do you have one?”

  “Nope. Just a standard coffee pot. But if you like it, you’re welcome to buy me one too.” I looked up at my mother who was standing over me in a pair of black shorts and a red and white nautical inspired shirt. “You look so put together for 8:30 a.m. I feel very sloppy in comparison.” I was still wearing the black yoga pants and soft pink tank top I had slept in.

  My mom kissed the top of my head and sat down next to me. “This is your vacation. You’re entitled. I wake up early every day. I don’t want to mistake early retirement with getting old!”

  I stirred some sugar into my coffee, took a sip and smiled at my mother. “You’re not old.”

  “You bet your ass, I’m not!” she said. “So, what’s this big project you’re working on?”

  I put down my coffee cup and took a deep breath. “I’m writing a book.”

  My mom didn’t say anything. She just examined my face for a moment before standing up and walking over to the refrigerator.

  I stared at her back, awaiting some sort of reaction. “Mom?”

  When my mom turned around with a plate of fruit in her arms, she looked at me with teary eyes. Placing the bowl of fruit in front of me, she said, “It’s about time.”

  My mouth opened but no words came out.

  “You heard me,” she said.

  “It’s about time?”

  “Yes! I’ve been waiting for you to take your writing seriously for the past five years. This secretarial gig is a good one and Rob is a wonderful boss but, Kimberly, you’re a writer. It’s what you love. It’s what you’ve always loved. You should spend your life doing what you love.”

  I swallowed hard. “But what if I’m not good?”

  My mom placed her hand over mine. “You’ll be terrific.”

  I arched an eyebrow and raised a hand in objection. “I’m your daughter. You have to say that.”

  Shooing my hand away, she said, “I don’t have to say that! Erin is not a good writer. She has a lovely singing voice and can cut a rug on the dance floor but she can’t write. And she’s my daughter too!”

  I laughed.

  Her voice soft, my mom said, “Anyway, you’re a great writer. All of your teachers said so beginning in the 5th grade. But even if you don’t write a best seller, you’ll never know unless you try! And I promise you’ll enjoy the process. Much more than you probably enjoy making copies for Rob.”

  I looked down as I remembered Nicholas saying almost the same thing. Popping a grape in my mouth, I said, “It’s not like I’ll be able to quit my day job anytime soon.”

  Nodding, my mom said, “True. But I bet work will seem more tolerable because you have other passions you’re following.”

  “That’s why I started my blog.”

  “I know. And your blog is great. But you should write your own book,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “You’re preaching to the converted! That’s why I’m here, remember?”

  My mom shook her head and smiled at me. “It’s about fucking time.”

  My eyes opened wide. “Mom! What’s with the cursing?”

  Tousling my hair, she said, “We’re all adults here! Now tell me about this Nicholas.”

  ***

  I clicked “save” and closed my eyes, feeling the tropical Floridian breeze on my face. I had only been in Florida since Tuesday night and now, Thursday afternoon, my manuscript was already 55,000 words. Granted I had written about 16,000 of them back in high school, but considering I had changed most of the original content, I was very pleased with the progress I had made in less than 48 hours. More progress than I had made in the last ten years combined, and I owed much of it to Hannah Marshak. The novel dealt with a young girl’s quest to be in the popular crowd by using her special psychic powers. When I was the age of my main character, I had no desire to be in the “in crowd” and until my recent encounter with Hannah, had thought very little of the “it” girls. I still had no desire to be besties with Hannah and it wasn’t as if my feelings for her had done a complete 180, but her behavior that afternoon in Ryan’s Daughter and her reaction to my review made me see her as less of any enemy. It was that openness, I conjectured, that allowed me to create more three-dimensional characters for the book, something I had lacked the objectivity to do before.

  A well-deserved break was definitely in order and my parent’s kidney shaped pool beckoned to me as the turquoise water moved with the breeze. After I double-checked that I had saved my changes, I removed the sarong from my hips, walked to the edge of the deep end, and dove in. I swam back and forth five times, switching my strokes from the crawl to the side stroke to the breast stroke, and then I swam under water from one side to the other without coming up for air. When I lifted my face out of the water to take a much needed deep breath, I almost banged my head into my father’s bare feet as he stood above me. I wiped the chlorine out of my eyes and shielded the sun with my hands. “Hey.”

  “Your mother wanted me to tell you that lunch is being served.” He looked behind him and pointed to the patio and I could see that the table I had been writing on now had three place settings. I didn’t see my mini laptop and hoped she’d put it somewhere safe.

  I lifted myself out of the water and immediately grabbed my beach towel and wrapped it around my body. I knew my father preferred that I wear a one piece bathing suit, and even though I was twenty-eight years old, I still felt like I was misbehaving by running around in a bikini that did nothing to hide my 32 Cs.

  A few minutes later, we sat around the table eating egg salad sandwiches and Taro Chips. As usual, my mother and I chatted animatedly while my dad read the paper and listened to our conversation with one ear.

  My mom swallowed a bite of her sandwich and patted her mouth with a napkin. “Make good progress today, sweetie?”

  “Yes!” I said enthusiastically. “I’m about two-thirds finished with the first draft.”

  My mom beamed at me. “That’s amazing!” Looking at my dad, she said, “Isn’t that amazing, Pete?”

  My dad put down his paper and looked at me from under his sunglasses. “That is quite impressive.” He patted my shoulder and went back to reading.

  My mom rolled her eyes at me and we both giggled silently. My dad wasn’t big on conversation. “Are you going to tell Nicholas about it?”

  At that, my father put his paper back down. “Who’s Nicholas?”

  My mom laughed. “I knew that would get your attention. Nicholas is Kim’s boyfriend.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” I clarified. “And I don’t think we were ever officially girlfriend and boyfriend.”

  “Why is he your ex?” My dad asked.

  Answering for me, my mom said, “Because your daughter likes to do things at her own pace and got snarky when Nicholas pushed her a bit too hard.”

  My dad put down his sunglasses and looked at me sternly. “Nicholas pushed you to do things?”

  “To write a book, Dad!” I said. My face was already burning from the sun but now it was absolutely overheating. If my Dad only knew that Nicholas didn’t have to push me to do other things. He probably thought I was still a virgin.

  “I personally like the sound of the guy. Successful, handsome, and obviously intuitive when it comes to my daughter,” my mom said. I had told her what happened with Nicholas and she pissed me off by taking his side.
<
br />   “Oh, now she’s your daughter?” My dad said.

  “Anyway…” I said, interrupting their mock argument, “I do plan to tell Nicholas. I have no idea if he cares anymore, but I’ll let him know.”

  “Oh, he cares,” my mom said knowingly.

  I shrugged. “I think he has a right to know, considering his role in making it happen. Him and Hannah, that is.”

  Shaking her head, my mom said, “I still can’t believe you and Hannah had drinks together. Did you tell your sister?”

  My dad put his paper down again. “Why would Erin care?”

  “Because Erin has a girl-crush on Hannah!” I said.

  My dad cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  My mom and I nodded.

  I hadn’t told Erin that I had been out with Hannah yet, but looked forward to using it to my advantage the next time she annoyed me. I could almost see the drool collecting at the corner of her mouth.

  “So when do you think you’ll be finished?” my mom asked.

  I had already seen the entire book play out in my mind like a movie and it was just a matter of getting it on paper. Of course, finding the right words to turn the “movie” into a book wouldn’t be easy but I had a goal in mind. “I want to finish the first draft before I leave on Sunday.”

  “Lofty aspirations! How many more pages is that?” my dad asked, his head peeking over the paper.

  “Less than a hundred, I think.” I still had what remained of Thursday, all of Saturday and whatever writing time I could fit in before my flight on Sunday. Friday was a bust because my mom and I had massage appointments in the morning and shopping in the afternoon. And my parents’ over-50 community had a Friday happy hour that, according to my mom, was not to be missed. “I think I can do it.”

  My mom stood up and began clearing the table. “I know you can do it!”

  I smiled broadly at my mom. “Thanks for your faith, Mom!”