Page 113 of The Perfect Rom-Com

What is going on?

Melinda’s voice comes out loud through the screen. “And here to welcome us on this bright and beautiful Thursday morning. You all know her. You’ve all heard her name. The queen of fiction herself. Let’s all give a warm welcome to Amelia Benedict!”

The camera pans to hundreds of fans standing, cheering, whistling all around. Multiple people are wearing the show’s “signature colors.” It’s a room of bright pink and pearls. I squint. Is that . . . is that Yun Hee?

The camera pans over to Amelia, who is now standing, leaning forward, hugging Melinda like they are dear, dear friends.

“Oh my goodness, how long has it been since you’ve been on?” Melinda says as she squeezes Amelia. “So good to have you on again.”

“I have thought of nothing else all week,” Amelia says brightly. It’s her classic “welcome on” line. The one I heard repeated a dozen times at every location we went to.

“Come. Come and grab a seat and tell us, how are you doing?” Melinda grabs her mug of coffee someone has just repoured and sits down. She crosses one leg over the other. “The Seven-Year Holiday has just launched.”

“That’s right. Three weeks ago.” Her face is one massive grin. No one would connect the jab Amelia just took, but the reality is, the team had been trying to get her on The Bright Show for launch day and was denied (something about Martha Stewart showing people how to pot tomatoes), and Amelia was, in a word, furious.

“It’s just such a pity we couldn’t have connected on the big day.” Amelia flashes a bright smile.

“Isn’t it?” Melinda grins back, looking not sorry at all. “Anyway, you are here now.” She gives Amelia’s knee a big pat. One that starts with a hearty pat and morphs into a stronger body-jiggling shake. “Tell us how it’s been. I hear you have a riveting story about a rogue”—and she turns to face the cameras with a get a load of this look—“squirrel that entered a bookstore during an event. Apparently you fed it from your hand?”

And for several minutes I sit there in tense silence beside Jack, watching as Amelia talks and laughs about all the various menial aspects of her life that she fluffs up with bogus details to sound interesting. She did not, in fact, save the squirrel’s life at the bookstore. The squirrel ran in through the open door before the start of the event, and her response was to scream and throw peanuts at it until it ran away.

Melinda is chuckling like this is the best, most fabulous story of her life as Amelia finishes. “Well, look at that, folks. Amelia has captured even the hearts of woodland animals with her fabulous books. Now about those books, I’m wanting to hear more.”

And here’s the pivot.

I’m waiting for the elementary-level question. The “Tell us all, what would your characters drink in the morning? Coffee? Or tea?”

Which is why I’m stunned when her voice suddenly changes, and she says very seriously, “How specifically does the incident of 1942 affect the way Rose’s grandmother related to her granddaughter during the cup and saucer moment in chapter 12? Would the outcome have been different if her grandmother had not experienced these issues?”

“What?” I bite my lip. This is absolutely not what I was expecting and, from the look on Amelia’s face, a surprise to her as well. I mean, last time she was on, Melinda had her play the “tube of lipstick game” and pick color ranges that were most suited to her characters (alongside a free lipstick bag for every person in the studio).

“Well,” I begin, thinking rapidly. It takes a moment. I have to admit, my brain has been swirling with thoughts of Meet Me Under the Bridge the past week; it’s hard to think back three books ago. But after a few seconds, it clicks. “I guess I would say,” I begin through the mic, assuming I’m speaking directly into Amelia’s ear, “Rose’s grandmother offered up that specific cup and saucer during that scene because the Patricia saucer related to her time in Japan, when her husband was stationed in the air force during World War II—which is how Rose’s mother, Patricia, got her name. It symbolized her reminding her granddaughter how precious her mother was to her and simultaneously symbolized letting go of toxic habits in order to put more attention toward cherishing her granddaughter. Though they had lost their mother and daughter, Patricia was the bond that united them.”

Jack has muted the screen while I speak, no doubt so I can focus, and I watch the screen as I speak. There is a screen behind Amelia’s head with moving text of what I said. I can only see the bottom half of the screen, but it’s obvious someone is typing out what I (through Amelia) say.

Amelia is gesturing widely with her hands, smiling and laughing with the perfect entertainer face as she always does.

“Oh,” I add after a few moments, “and yes, that scene would have been entirely different if Rose’s grandmother hadn’t had those experiences in life. The entire book would be pivoted, in fact.”

I watch in silence as Amelia’s mouth moves with confidence, her lips and hands moving in rhythm as she gives her answers with grand expressions.

Melinda nods. Nods again.

Jack unmutes as Melinda talks again. He’s a bit slow on the clicker, and her words come in after she begins her sentence. “—so interesting, Amelia. Thank you for sharing this with us. And a follow-up question: When Rose is in the bookstore seeking information about the history of the cup, she gets an unexpected answer about her grandmother’s tumultuous past. What do you think this says broadly about the creation of storytelling? Do you feel like she should have found the cup?”

I frown. “What cup? I’m sorry, but I think you are mistaken. In A Room for Rose there is no scene about discovering a cup.”

It’s muted again.

And I can see Amelia splaying her hands out, speaking, and Melinda leaning forward. Nodding intently. Oddly, grinning.

I mean, this isn’t that exciting of an answer.

Jack unmutes again.

“Fascinating,” Melinda says. “And do you think Bill’s love for Rose is why she holds that cup so dear?”

My brows shoot up. “Who’s Bill?”