Page 397 of Seasons of Love
Despite the foggy mist of my grief and alcohol-induced self-pity, I managed to get home and crash in my own bed.
What I didn’t manage to do was set my alarm for the next day, so when Gabe knocked on my door, sounding like he’d just run a triathlon and was ready to start a marathon, I was ready to grab the closest thing to me, which was my phone, and throw it at him.
It wasn’t until I noticed the time that I jumped out of bed like it was on fire.
My head was killing me, and I felt queasy, but it was nothing a shower couldn’t fix.
“Hey, Gabe,” I shouted from the bathroom. “Can you make me a coffee to go? I’ll owe you.”
“I'll go one better, big bro. I’ll take you to work too.”
I wasn’t sure if he felt bad because we got drunk last night, or if he was still pitying me over the reason we always got drunk together on the same day each year, but I didn’t care. Coffee and a ride to work were like my birthday and Christmas thrown together at this point.
Please let Mal not be in the office. Please let Mal not be in the office.
I gave a sigh of relief when Mal was indeed not in the office, but my already delicate stomach sank when I saw a note on my computer to meet him in the conference room.
“What time do you call this?” he said.
“I’m sorry, Mal. I didn’t mean to be late, but—”
“I didn’t call you to hear excuses. You said you wanted to learn the ropes and one day run this place. Well, you just missed the opportunity to sit in on a conference call with me and the general managers of Silver Palms and Silver Springs.”
My head felt like it was going to explode, but it was the disappointment in Mal’s voice that really got to me.
“I don’t know what to say, Mal. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“I hope not.”
He stood up and left the room.
If it were possible to feel any worse than I already did, I would, but in my uncle’s words, we can’t change the past.
I filled my coffee cup to the brim and took an Advil before turning my computer on.
8
GRIFF
As I typed the last words on my manuscript, I felt that familiar rush that always came whenever I finished a book. It was only the first draft, and I’d do a revision before sending it to my editor, but reaching the end was an accomplishment in itself, and it didn’t matter how many books I’d published, ten or a hundred, that feeling would never go away.
I saved the document and made a few copies, making sure to also email a copy to myself, and then closed everything down.
It was close to lunchtime, so I made myself a sandwich and considered what to do for the rest of the day. I didn’t have a routine for when I finished a book, but I knew once the euphoria passed, I’d feel low for a few hours until my brain reset itself.
Today, I didn’t want to feel down. I wanted to look forward to the next stage in the production of this book. I wanted to look forward to starting the series I’d been thinking about and researching ever since we moved to the west coast.
I picked up my phone to call a friend I hadn’t seen in a while, but when I saw the photo I had on my locked screen of Mal and me on the beach, I had to do something else first.
Griff: Finished another one.
Mal: Wow, baby. Well done! I’m so proud of you. Celebrate tonight?
Griff: Definitely. How does naked sound to you?
Mal: Naked…you want to expand on that?
Griff: Naked…anything naked. Just naked.
