by Cassia Leo
Now we have a nanny and a housekeeper—who only comes twice a week—and he still complains that I don’t cook or clean enough. Meanwhile, I’m now writing one novel part-time while also promoting another novel full-time. He still doesn’t appreciate how hard I work and it drives me absolutely bananas.
“Of course you and Mike can drop by,” I reply to Mindy. “In fact—”
Once again, I’m interrupted by the doorbell. It has to be Kenny. I glance at Houston and he’s already making his way to the door.
“It’s probably Kenny,” I say, but she doesn’t seem to recognize the name. “My best friend and marketing guru. You two haven’t met?”
I know they haven’t met. I just feel the need to maintain the act that we’re anything more than the wives of two men who happen to be friends.
“No, I’ve never met him,” she says, looking slightly confused. “Rory, this is the first time you’ve invited me into your house.”
Kenny enters the room just in time to save me from my awkward moment with Mindy. “Hey, gorgeous!” he says, and I’m not at all surprised to see him wearing a perfectly fitted gray linen suit, similar in style to the one he wore as the “maid” of honor at our wedding. The moment I stand from the sofa, his eyes widen with shock. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Are you going to a book signing or shopping for a tent to pitch under the Burnside Bridge? We need to get you glammed up, stat!”
I roll my eyes. “The signing isn’t for another seven hours. I have plenty of time.”
He tilts his head and not a single strand of brown hair moves, due to all the extra-strength fiber wax holding it in place. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind? We have to leave in four hours. Hors d’oeuvres are being served at five, then the reading and Q&A at six. Signing at seven. Hop to it, Miss Soon-to-Be New York Times Bestselling Author.” I open my mouth to protest and he holds up a finger to stop me. “Don’t sass me, young lady.”
I turn to Mindy and she’s biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Mindy, this is my best friend, Kenny.” I turn to Kenny and he’s beaming as he approaches Mindy with his hand outstretched. “Kenny, this is my neighbor, Mindy. She’ll be at the signing tonight.” I shoot him a stern look as a warning, though I know perfectly well that Kenny’s personality and honesty cannot be restrained.
Mindy shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Kenny.”
Kenny envelops her hand in both of his. “The pleasure is all mine, Mindy. I can’t believe we haven’t met sooner. Will you be arriving at five for the refreshments or later for the reading?”
Mindy looks to me for guidance, but she turns back to Kenny before I can say anything. “We’ll be there at five.”
“Marvelous!” Kenny proclaims, and Mindy looks like a geek who has just been invited to sit at the cool table. This is why Kenny is my marketing assistant.
I place my hand on her arm. “I’ll see you tonight. Thanks for dropping by.”
“And thanks for the bourbon,” Houston adds.
Mindy flashes me a genuine smile. “I’m so excited,” she says as Kenny and I follow her to the door. “See you at five!”
Three hours later, Kenny is satisfied with my hair and makeup and gives me the seal of approval on the outfit he picked out for me. The kids have been showered and fed, and Karen is more than happy to stay with them until Houston and I return from the signing.
I stand next to Kenny by the front door and call toward the second floor, “Houston! We have to go!” I turn to Kenny and shrug. “I don’t know what’s taking him so long. It takes him about thirty seconds to get ready for work in the morning.”
Kenny’s eyes widen as his gaze is fixed on the top of the stairs. “Houston, we have a problem. This is what they mean when they say gays are going to hell.”
Houston shakes his head, though he’s barely able to contain his grin as he descends the stairs looking hot as fuck in the navy-blue Hugo Boss suit he bought for my parents’ wedding last year but never wore because they decided to have an outdoor wedding in the middle of summer.
I tap my foot on the floor like Thumper as I make googly eyes at him. “I’m officially twitter-pated!” I basically rush him, grabbing his lapels as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. “Are you blushing, Houston Cavanaugh?”
“Come on. Don’t give me a hard time. I would never dress like this if it weren’t for you.”
My eyes practically roll back in my head in utter bliss. “You’re just too perfect,” I reply, shaking my head. “I can’t even. I just…I can’t.”
He kisses my forehead and pries my fingers off his coat. “Okay, you’re forgiven. Now let’s go watch you charm the shit out of some teenage girls.”
Kenny insists on bringing the bottle of bourbon for a post-signing celebration, then we set off in separate cars. Houston tries to take my mind off the signing by holding my hand and talking about the new sous chef he hired for the brewery restaurant, but it’s not working. By the time we arrive at Powell’s on Burnside, my nerves are buzzing and I’m pretty certain I am going to fuck up tonight.
As we step through the main entrance, my gaze locks on a pedestal sign near the door, which reads:
OPENING NIGHT
Join us for a conversation
with local author
RORY CAVANAUGH
August 25th in the
ROSE ROOM
There’s a picture of my book on the sign, the cover that was chosen for me. I initially hated the cover the publisher went with—an overhead shot of a generic teenage girl lying on the city sidewalk, staring blankly at the sky as crowds of oblivious people walk around her—but now it looks perfect. Somehow, just seeing this sign has managed to calm my nerves a bit.
Houston looks down at me. “That’s pretty fucking rad,” he says, nodding toward the sign, which stands in front of a stacked display of at least a hundred copies of my book. “My Scar is a big-time author now.”
As he says that, a girl in a pink T-shirt walks by, does a double take when she sees the sign, then plucks a copy of The Distance Between Then and Now off the display. It takes her a moment to read the back before she heads inside, the book still in hand, and begins browsing the New Arrivals section.
I try not to smile as a chill courses through me, lifting the hairs on my arms and neck. “This is so weird,” I whisper, my voice cracking with emotion.
Kenny shakes his head. “Oh, don’t you two start. I don’t need you crying before the signing. Come on, kiddos.”
We follow Kenny inside and make our way past the New Arrivals and up a flight of stairs to the Rose Room. We find Joanna Christopher, the publicist assigned to me by my publisher, helping a couple of Powell’s staff members set up chairs in an open space between the Early Reader and Young Adult sections.
Joanna is a slight woman with shiny jet-black hair and impeccably modern fashion sense. Nothing like the dowdy book lover I imagined when I heard her raspy Brooklyn accent on the phone last week. I’ve only spoken with her once, but in that one conversation, I got the impression that she was one of the few people I’d met in the New York publishing world who got where she is by working her way up rather than knowing the right people.
“Rory! The star of the evening. You look gorgeous,” she says, holding out her arms and bumping her sharp cheekbone against mine as she embraces me.
I try not to squeeze too hard for fear I’ll crush her. “How about you? You look so chic. It’s so good to finally meet you.”
I introduce Joanna to Kenny and Houston and she introduces me to the two bookstore employees who will be assisting with the event, Garth and Andrea. Joanna and Kenny hit it off immediately, with Houston and me looking on in amusement as she attempts to teach him how to speak like her.
As we’re munching on hors d’oeuvres of bacon-wrapped shrimp bruschetta and grilled artichoke hearts topped with lemon aioli and toasted almonds, Joanna informs me that preorders for the event were a huge success. They expect a huge turnout for both the reading and the signing.
I’m called aside by Garth so we can make sure the microphone at the podium is the right height. After a few minutes of Garth, Houston, and Kenny fiddling with the mic and sound-testing, I look up to find Mindy and Mike have arrived, each of them carrying a copy of The Distance Between Then and Now. The sight of them side by side makes me uneasy. The difference in age is more pronounced than I’d previously noticed. Is that what Hallie and my dad looked like together when they were having an affair?
As if by magic, my mom and dad arrive on Mike and Mindy’s heels. They both smile at us from across the rows of chairs as they make their approach. This is about to get awkward.
I clutch Houston’s hand to stop him before he sets off to greet the four of them. “Please don’t introduce them to my mom and dad.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Why?”
My eyes widen as I try to communicate my thoughts, but he doesn’t catch on. “Because of the age difference,” I mutter through closed lips.
He rolls his eyes. “Rory, if I can handle being friends with Mike, then your parents can handle spending a few hours with our neighbors, who were so gracious as to come to your book signing and buy two of your books to support you.”
“Ouch. That was a third-degree burn,” I reply with a smile. “Thanks for putting me in my place.”
“That’s my job,” he replies with a smug grin.
Kenny snaps his fingers and purses his lips. “You go, boy!”
I resist rolling my eyes as Mindy and Mike arrive at the podium. “Hey, Mindy! Mike. Thanks for coming!”
As Houston expected, there is no awkwardness when I introduce my mom and dad to Mindy and Mike. In fact, Mindy probably gets along better with my mom than me. They’re busy discussing the perils of the upcoming leaf-blower season in Portland when I inform them that the guests are arriving for the signing.
After everyone takes their seats, I open up my copy of The Distance Between Then and Now to chapter three, clear my throat, and begin reading. The adrenaline coursing through my veins constricts my throat and my voice cracks a few times in the first couple of sentences. There are a couple of snickers as I clear my throat again. I take a deep breath and remind myself that most of these people paid money to see me tonight. I have nothing to be nervous about. Letting out a stale, hot breath, I remember a quote I once saw on a sign in one of my college professors’ classrooms: When a smile seems the least achievable, that is when a smile is the most needed.
I force myself to think of Austin and Dallas and a natural smile forms on my lips. The reading is smooth sailing after that. Then we do a short question-and-answer session, and one girl asks a question about the main character that completely stumps me.
“Do you think Maddie would have done everything different if she knew how it would affect her family?”
I think back on how my childhood best friend Hallie—my inspiration for Maddie—had an affair with my father when she was eighteen and then, rather than confess this to me, took her own life. Hallie’s death changed me and Houston in more ways than I could account for in a young-adult novel. But Maddie doesn’t take her own life in The Distance Between Then and Now. Maddie tells her best friend about the affair, then she gets counseling for the sexual abuse she endured as a child, which led her to have an affair with an older man. I don’t know how to answer the question of whether Maddie would have done everything differently.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I think keeping that secret would have been more destructive than telling the truth. I think Hal—Maddie made the right decision to speak out and seek help. But there are always consequences to our actions.” I glance at Houston and the smile on his face fills me with warmth. “Ultimately, I believe honesty is almost always the most courageous course of action.”
The crowd applauds while I make a mental note to be honest with Houston about feeling underappreciated for the things I can and can’t do around the house now that I’m working full-time.
The signing is surprisingly more relaxed and casual than I imagined it would be. Readers who’ve read the book before tonight gush over the things they loved. They appear way more nervous than I am, which oddly enough helps set me even more at ease. The raven-haired girl who asked the question about whether Maddie would do things differently is the last person in line to have her book signed.
She flashes me a bashful smile as she hands me the book. “Hi, I’m Jessie. I just wanted to thank you for writing this book,” she says, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. “My mom is the one who bought this for me and I didn’t think I would like it. I…haven’t read a book in a few years. But she bought it for me and…I really identified with Maddie. Thank you for writing this story and thank you for setting it in Portland. I…felt like I was reading a book about me. No one ever writes books about people like me.”
I swallow hard and blink a few times to keep from tearing up as I sign her book then look up to address her. “Thank you, Jessie, for coming out to see me. You know, this is my first book signing and I was terrified I was going to come off like a total newb.” I laugh with her and the sight of her smile warms me just as much as Houston’s. “But you’ve changed that. You’ve officially lessened my fear of book signings. So thank you, for coming here to the most magical place in all of Portland and sharing your story with me.”
Her cheeks flush pink as she smiles proudly and takes the book back. “No friendship, no love.” As Jessie walks away, Mindy and Kenny approach the table, and her parting message could not be any clearer.
Kenny holds up the bottle of bourbon. “Time to celebrate!”
My mom and dad gush with pride over my first book signing, but I finally convince them to head home by promising to bring their grandkids by the next day. Houston and Mike abstain from drinking any bourbon so they can drive us home, and Kenny has to drive back to the apartment he shares with Pedro. It’s just Mindy and me left, and between us we polish off half the bottle of Paddy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve in the back of the stationery section in less than an hour.
I nudge Mindy’s shoulder. “You should come to the yoga studio with me tomorrow.”
Mindy pushes her golden-brown bangs out of her flushed face. “Only if we bring the rest of that bottle,” she slurs.
We both burst out cackling, which elicits a synchronized eye roll from the men.
Kenny shakes his head. “Honey, you are a hot mess,” he says. “The only part of you that will be stretching out across a yoga studio will be the stench of your bourbon breath!”
Mindy and I continue to cackle at Kenny’s retort as we make our way out of Powell’s bookstore. But as we pass through the Young Adult section, where all the chairs from the reading have been cleared away, I can’t help but think of Jessie. Her appreciation for Portland seemed almost as important as her appreciation of my main character. I think of how difficult my transition to Lake Oswego has been and how I haven’t been 100% honest with Houston about why I’ve been spending so much time in Portland lately.
As we’re walking through the café toward the exit, I grab Houston’s bicep to stop him. “Wait. We need to talk.”
Mike, Mindy, and Kenny sport dire expressions as they nod and take their cue to head out without us. Houston and I retreat to a dimly lit corner of the Romance section in the café. There, among the paperbacks of some of the hottest and greatest love stories, I realize it’s time to once again fight for my happy ending.
“We can sell the apartment,” I say, pausing to take in his reaction.
“Really? Why?”
I sigh as I adjust the shoulder strap of the canvas bag I’m carrying with one copy of my book and about a dozen books I bought for personal reading. “Because I miss you and the kids when I’m away, but I felt like getting away was the only way to show you how much you need me. I know. It’s stupid.”
He looks confused. “Have I ever made you feel like I don’t ne
ed you?”
I nod adamantly. “Every time you complain about something that hasn’t been cleaned or how hungry you are but there’s no food to eat, it makes me feel like you don’t appreciate how hard I work all day. You go to work and when you come home at the end of the day that’s it. Work is over. But my work never ends, whether it’s writing or taking care of you and the kids and the house. I don’t think you understand how much pressure you’re putting on me.”
He scrunches his eyebrows together in a worried expression. “I guess I didn’t realize I was the one driving you away.”
I lay my hand on his gruff jaw. “You weren’t driving me away. I just wasn’t being honest with you. I’m sorry.”
He lays his hand over mine then turns his face to kiss my palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice what was going on. We don’t have to sell the apartment.”
“No, we should sell it. There’s no reason to have it if we can just stay at my parents’ or Kenny’s whenever we’re in town.”
Houston’s blue eyes widen. “We’re keeping the apartment. We’ll just…spend less time there and more time at home. Deal?”
I smile as I remember the couple of times we stayed at my parents’ and Kenny’s before we got the apartment, how traumatized we were by the sex noises. “Deal.”
He kisses my forehead and grabs my hand to leave, but I resist.
“You go ahead. I have one last thing I want to do.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you gonna take a dump in the Romance section?”
I smack his arm. “Get out of here!”
He laughs as he hurries out of the café. Once he’s gone, I reach into my canvas tote bag and pull out the last copy of The Distance Between Then and Now. I set aside this copy so I could have a memento of this glorious evening, but I think I know a better place for it.
