Page 78 of Not a Strong Enough Word

Her entire expression shifts from shock to horror, and I’m suddenly wishing I could melt into myself again. But I take a deep breath and watch her carefully, readying myself to take on whatever emotion comes next.

“You were having a miscarriage when we handed you that deal.” She states it like a fact, then uses her free hand to cover her red-painted mouth. “Holy shit, Scarlett. No wonder. Why didn’t you say anything?”

I shrug. I don’t have an answer for that. Words escape me yet again.

Trina must realize I’m not going to respond because she drops her hand from her mouth to the table. She still hasn’t let go of mine with her other hand. “Ryan’s?”

I nod.

“Does he know?”

“I told him yesterday.”

“Well.” She laughs without an ounce of humor. “You’ve had quite a couple of days, then, haven’t you?”

The smile that breaks my lips open feels like a rainbow after the rain. I should have known a long time ago Trina wouldn’t blanch at this. She is as steadfast and supportive as they come. But I didn’t think I could trust anyone back then. I’m glad I can now.

“Second time in my life that’s been true.” It’s a dry joke, just like hers.

Trina nods thoughtfully, her warm hand still resting on top of mine. “Lots of parallels, I suppose.” When I blink at her in surprise, she winks. “I can be literary, too, you know.”

I laugh, then, and it sounds crackly, but it feels good. Swiping at my eyes, I realize I’ve been crying. When did I turn into such a weeper?

“So, what are you going to do about it this time?” she asks. And here we are, at the precipice of the question she probably called me here to ask. She knows I don’t want to do this again. Our terms were to never rush a release or have another press tour like that.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I meet her gaze and hold it. If I’m going to say this, I want to be looking her in the eyes when I do, facing it head-on.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

She studies me for a moment, then her red lips twist into a sad smile and she nods slowly, as if she knew already. “I’m so sorry.”

I flip my hand over so I can squeeze hers. “Me, too.”

“I came here with a plan to wiggle out of your contract with Anastasios and pitch this book to a bunch of other houses, but…do you want to hear it?”

Another editor and another campaign and another risk? I shake my head. “I don’t think I’m in the right place for that right now.” I watch Trina try to hide her disappointment for a minute, then I add, “That’s not a never. It’s a not right now.”

“That’s fair,” she begrudgingly admits. “What will you do?”

Sighing, I look out the window in front of me. People walk back and forth, laughing and enjoying the sunshine. Spring in Chicago is wonderful like that. All of a sudden, the cold breaks and everyone sheds their outer layers. For months, people talk about how nice the weather is and how wonderful it is to be outside again after the bitter cold of winter. I want to be those people. I want to walk in the sunshine and talk about simple things and be happy.

Can I be happy without writing?

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. It’s an answer to both of our questions, and it’s the best I can do right now.

“You’ll figure it out,” Trina says.

I hope she’s right.

Trina and I chat for another hour or so. The door is open now, so she asks me more about everything that happened five years ago. I tell her some things, but she reads me pretty well and changes the subject when I get uncomfortable. It’s nice having a friend to talk to. I guess that’s what we are now—just friends. Even if my royalties still pay for her groceries.

When we finish our coffees, we part ways. I check my phone on the way back to my apartment to see four missed calls and no voicemails. Three are from Ryan, but one is from a number I haven’t seen in a long time. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and stare at it for a minute until someone bumps into me, and I move nearer to a building so I’m out of the way.

It couldn’t have been a mistake. She hasn’t called me in five years, whether on purpose or otherwise. I never thought I’d hear from her again, and suddenly, I desperately need to know why she called. With a heaping dose of false confidence in my own ability to keep it together, I touch the number and bring the phone to my ear. It rings once before she answers, like she’s been waiting for me to call back.

“Scarlett?”

“Mandy?” Her voice is unmistakable, but I still can’t believe it. That feeling of watching myself live my life is back because it doesn’t seem real that I could be talking to my former best friend after five years of silence.