Page 33 of The Now in Forever

A ll week, I've been trying, without much success, to write. Today is no different. This morning and afternoon, I’ve toiled away, butt in chair, and I have only a handful of words to show for it.

It’s been more of a distraction than anything else.

My brain feels heavy with thoughts of Ed and the bookstore.

I pick up my phone to look up a better word to use but find myself on Instagram once again, looking at Ed’s feed.

I joined Monday night, thinking if I do I open my own bookstore, it’s going to need an online presence.

It seems that I’m always on it now. The last picture Ed posted was on Sunday of a fancy schmancy party at an even fancier schmancier house with a massive aquamarine pool with a waterfall.

A goddamn waterfall. Is it a party at the Playboy mansion or something?

Or maybe all the pools in LA look like that. How would I know?

I texted him back as soon as I left the meeting with Kyle. When he didn’t text back right away, I lay on my bed and Googled “How to open a bookstore.”

The first thing I need, according to the internet, is money.

Thanks to the complete and utter destruction of my previous dream life, I’ll have that soon.

I’m not quite sure it’s sufficient, though.

I need the down payment and enough for the mortgage each month.

I’ll also need some new inventory and to fix the place up.

Definitely paint the porch. The house itself should be fine for a couple more years.

I made a list of all the things I need and researched a ballpark figure of the expenses involved.

Then on Wednesday, I spoke with one of the very helpful people from the FFBIF.

While I can wrap my head around the actual steps involved in making this dream a reality, I can’t quite come to terms with the magnitude of the decision yet.

Ed’s texted a few more times over the week, but honestly, it all felt removed. He’s supposed to FaceTime me tonight at 5:30, which at the moment feels like centuries away. I throw my phone at the bed and turn back to my laptop.

Come on. I can do this. If I write a novel that’s a success, I can do it anywhere and not be tied down to one place. But wouldn’t it be nice to be a part of the community? To have a business I’m proud of? To have a home?

I can have a home and write my own best-selling literary fucking masterpiece that will sell a million copies.

The film rights will sell. Greta Gerwig will direct, and we’ll write the screenplay together and also become best friends.

Ooh, she’ll join our book club, but none of this can happen without the damn book.

Sam looks at June like the first sunny day after endless clouds, like a soft bed after a hard day’s work, like a Big Mac after a green juice cleanse.

A Big Mac? I close my laptop with a little more force than necessary. Garbage. Greta won’t direct a Big Mac–loving hero trapped in a book. Plus, Sam wouldn’t even know about Big Macs or juice cleanses. Food. Maybe I just need some food. I must be hungry if I’m waxing poetic about Mickey D’s.

I grab my bag and head for the bar. After being cooped up in the house all week, I deserve a treat.

It’s already happy hour, so the hummus plate will be half off.

I venture past the office downstairs to see if Robin wants to come, but the door is shut and I can hear voices beyond it—hers and tinny ones coming from Zoom.

It’s beautiful outside, sunny but breezy.

Not too hot. I contemplate sitting outside, but not for long.

I go on autopilot to my usual spot in the corner at the bar.

Kyle isn’t here, but I order my hummus plate and an iced tea from Darla.

Pulling out my phone, I scroll to Instagram again, going immediately to Ed’s profile.

Nothing new. But this time I keep scrolling down, back in time.

Lots of books. Bookstores, Ed hiding behind the cover of friends’ novels, book signings.

As I go further back, scrolling through the years, there’s more skateboarding, still a ton of books, and then I stop.

A side shot of Ed. He’s in profile because his face is directed at the blonde girl next to him.

Her smile is taking over the frame, big soft pink lips, pearly white teeth, mouth wide open as Ed’s nose presses into the side of her face.

A book slides across the bar, and I practically drop my phone. It’s In the Woods.

“I loved it.”

My mouth drops. “You already read it? The whole thing?”

“Yeah. It’s great. I’m on to the second one.”

Kyle’s pulled away by another customer. He pours them a beer then comes back.

“What’s your book about?”

I shrug.

“Is it like this one?”

“No one writes like that except Tana French. She’s the best.” I finish my iced tea, and Kyle makes eyes at it, silently asking if I want another. “Actually, I’d love a glass of red wine.”

Smiling, he picks up one of the bottles that is way too expensive, especially if I really want to sink all my money into the store. I quickly add, “House red is good.”

He shrugs. “This one’s already open. On me. So, what’s your new book about?”

“Love and time.”

He leans on the bar, his brown eyes sparking. “Tell me more.”

And I do. I tell him all about June and Sam.

He asks me my thoughts on the bookstore, but I swiftly change the subject because the truth is I have no idea what to do.

We talk and talk until the bar is too busy for Kyle to chat with me anymore.

He keeps getting pulled away to pour beers or bring people food. I close my tab with Darla.

Before I leave, Kyle yells out, “Wait. ”

I check my phone. Shit. It’s 5:36, and I have one missed call from Ed.

There’s a big line at the bar. I wave. “I have to go.”

Out the door and down the lane, I run to the house. I try to call Ed back, but my FaceTime won’t connect. My flip-flops smack on the asphalt. Once I’m in the house and my phone links to the Wi-Fi. I try again.

The screen comes to life, the phone ringing and showing me my own face as I wait.

Cheeks flushed from the run and the wine, my blue eyes bright, and my hair looks like it was styled by the wind of a convertible.

It’s so frizzy from the humid bar and my run down the road.

I try to smooth it down a bit, when Ed answers.

“Hey, there you are,” he says, and I wonder if he’s annoyed I didn't pick up on the first ring.

“It’s nice to see your face.” And it is.

He looks handsome, with just a light dusting of dark stubble on his square jaw.

His green eyes are covered in sunglasses, and the jostle of the phone tells me he’s walking.

“I can’t talk long. I’m headed to drinks with the director and the actor he’s thinking of for the main part. ”

“Oooh, who is it?”

“Technically, I’m not supposed to say, but he played Elvis and his name rhymes with cutler.”

“No, Austin Butler. Wow. That’s very cool. How’s it been?”

“Amazing. It’s fast. Everything in publishing moves so slow, but this has been like bam-bam-bam. Lots of meetings.”

I want to know when he’ll be back, but I don’t want to be the one to ask.

“What have you been up to?”

I shrug and think about telling him about the bookstore or the interviews I’ve had recently.

The one for the private school in Portland was yesterday over Zoom.

But I don’t. It feels like opening up a bigger conversation about the future that I’m not ready to talk about.

Or, more accurately, I don’t think he’s ready to.

“Writing, running, reading. Same ol’, same ol’. ”

There’s a beat of silence that stretches on and on.

Ed stops and pushes his sunglasses up. His green eyes catch the light.

Sometimes he’s so beautiful, it hurts a little to look at him.

Or maybe it hurts because he’s so far away.

He sighs, like he’s getting ready to say something. But then he waves.

“Shit, I’m here and they spotted me. I have to go. Can I call you later?”

“Yeah. I’ll be here.” Because honestly, where else would I be?

He smiles at me. “Talk soon.”

And then he’s gone. My screen shows me my face again, lips turned down, eyes sad. I plug in my phone. It doesn’t really need to charge, but I’m sick of the sight of it.

Leaving it in the room, I go out onto the deck, where Robin and Nathan are sitting at the table having a drink.

“Hey,” Robin says softly, almost too softly.

I tousle my hair and try to make my face not look like a sad doll in a Mark Ryden painting. “Hey!” I say with a false brightness that I definitely don’t feel.

“Did you talk to Ed?” Robin pours me a glass of wine.

“Yeah, you’re never going to believe this… Austin Butler might be in the movie. Isn’t that wild?”

Robin nods.

Nathan says, “He was so cool in Dune. Bummer he won’t be back this summer though.”

For a minute, I think he’s talking about Austin Butler. I raise my glass to my lips then lower it without taking a drink as it dawns on me. He means Ed.

“Huh?”

“Yeah. He texted me earlier. He has to stay out there. They want him to be available while he writes the script. He already found a long-term Airbnb. Dude forgot his running shoes under the bed. I had to mail them earlier today. I told him it’d probably be easier to buy new ones, but he said they don’t make that kind anymore. ”

Robin is studying my face like there’s going to be a test later.

I don’t want them to know he didn’t tell me.

I don’t want Robin to be mad at Ed. I don’t want them to feel any worse for me than they probably already do.

So, I smile and nod. “Yeah, it’s such an adventure for him, though. An amazing opportunity.”

I try to smile and make chit chat, but I am lost in my thoughts.

That must’ve been what he was going to tell me when he had to run.

I wish he would’ve just taken two extra minutes to let me know.

Maybe he wasn’t sure how I’d take it. How am I taking it?

It’s probably what he wants to talk about later.

After I finish my glass of wine, I stand. “I’m going to get back to writing.”

Robin’s face pinches. “We’re going to grill. Do you want us to throw something on for you?”

Food sounds terrible. “I’ll just grab a sandwich later. I’m at the seventy-five percent mark, and I can’t wait to see how it ends.”

“You don’t already know?” Robin asks. She knows I’m usually a meticulous plotter.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

Propping myself on the bed, I open my laptop and throw myself into the story.

I give my happy couple a problem in the form of a Henry Cavill look alike.

Now June has to choose between the man in the book and a real live man, one who doesn’t live most of his days in a fictional world.

I work past the sun setting outside my window.

I’m still typing as the first stars come out.

I’d like to say I don’t notice at all that Ed never calls, but that would be a lie.