All I Want Is You, page 19
Me: I don’t have plans for Christmas Day, actually. Alyssa was supposed to come up before the storm canceled her flight, and my parents are out of town.
Me: But none of that matters to you because we are supposed to be not talking right now.
I type and send the message, but I don’t really feel any truth in the words. If anything, I find myself wanting to talk to him.
Nick: Shit. I’m sorry. You told me you need space and I fully plan to give it to you.
Nick: I just miss you already.
Nick: And I’m sorry, again. For everything.
Nick: Have a merry Christmas, Jess.
Me: Yeah. You too.
My fingers dig into the sides of my phone, and it’s a good thing it’s made of strong stuff because my grip is so tight I’m surprised the whole thing doesn’t snap in half.
He misses me.
It’s easy to believe that part of it, because even though I don’t really want to admit it to myself, I miss him too. Having Nick back in my life, just for a few short days, was enough to remind me how good we were together. And even if I can’t end up forgiving him, or if it does turn out neither of us has grown enough to be able to come back together in a healthy relationship, it doesn’t change the fact that I really loved him.
That I might love him still.
I jump up from my bed, thankful that I am the kind of person who never immediately unpacks after returning from a trip because it means my laptop is still in my bag at the foot of my bed. I grab my computer and bring it with me back under the covers.
Nick and I still haven’t figured out how we want to end our story, but right now, I’m in the perfect mental state to write a devastating third-act breakup.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nick
The moment I’m back in the quiet of my hotel room after saying goodbye to Gina, I take out my phone, but I’m not sure who I want to call. Marcus would be the obvious choice, but we’re not the kind of friends who talk about emotions, not real ones. And part of this is his fault.
I could call Hilary, but technically she is on vacation, and while I’m sure she would listen, and willingly so, I can’t help but shake the feeling that she would only pick up the phone because I’m her boss.
I sink onto the side of the hotel bed, my phone still in my hand. Before I give myself the chance to fully consider what I’m doing, I pull up my mom’s cell number and dial.
“Nicky!” She answers right away, the brightness in her voice genuine. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until Christmas.”
“I hope it’s okay that I called.”
“Of course it’s okay. You can call anytime. You know that.”
I do know that. Even if things haven’t always been great between us, I’ve never doubted that my family would be there if I really needed them. I just haven’t ever really taken them up on that offer of support. Partly because of lingering resentment from my childhood, but also partly because I’ve never wanted to give them the chance to be there for me.
“Is everything okay?” my mom asks after a minute of silence.
I let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure, Mom. Something happened this week, and I was hoping I could maybe get your advice.”
“I don’t know if I have any good advice, but if nothing else, I’m willing to listen.”
She’s willing to listen, and so I talk. I tell her everything, about the breakup from five years ago, the way I’ve never been able to fully move on, what it felt like to see Jess again, the creative spark of writing with her, and most importantly, how it felt watching her walk away.
My mom listens, giving me her full attention and plenty of sympathetic sounds.
“And she asked for space, and I want to make sure I respect that, but I also want her to know how much she means to me, and that I’m willing to do whatever she needs to make it work between us,” I finally finish.
“Is there a way you can give her space and do this grand gesture thing you were talking about?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even have a single idea for a grand gesture as it is.”
She laughs. “You’re the romance writer. I’m sure you can think of something.”
“What if she can’t forgive me? I basically chose career over love—it’s unforgiveable.” I voice my fears aloud for the first time. I know what I did was wrong. I know I would change things if I could. But that doesn’t mean Jess is obligated to forgive me. Even if she can move past it, maybe she won’t want to.
“I think there are a lot of reasons you put your career first in that situation, Nicky, and I think a lot of that is probably my fault.” She takes in a long breath, and I can hear the emotion clouding her voice. “I don’t think I did a very good job letting you know that I love and accept you no matter what, and that you’ve always made me so proud. I don’t care how many books you’ve sold, I don’t care if you never sell another single copy in the future. Your dad and I couldn’t be prouder of you. You’re my son, and I love you.”
I have to blink away my own tears, because even though I’ve never truly doubted the sentiment, it still does something to me, to hear it out loud. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. I know I only met Jess once, but I could tell from the moment I met her that she was the one for you, and I think if you have a chance, you should make sure you don’t waste it.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.” I only hesitate for a second. “I love you.”
“I love you too, my sweet boy.”
It takes me several minutes after hanging up the phone before I’m ready to even think about the next steps. For so long, I thought my family pushed me away, couldn’t accept me for who I was. But maybe in reality, I’ve pushed them to the side because it felt like the easiest thing to do. Maybe I needed to let them be there for me, in whatever capacity.
I know one conversation isn’t going to fix a lifetime of experiences, but it did show me one thing: People can change.
I open my laptop, pulling up the Google doc. I scroll to the end, sucking in a sharp breath when I see Jess has added a whole chapter since leaving the hotel.
Leaning back on the pillows of the bed, with sheets that still smell like her winter jasmine perfume, I read what she’s written.
The breakup scene.
It’s nothing short of devastating, the kind of scene you read with a physical ache in your chest. The characters’ emotions are so real, it’s like I’m experiencing the split right along with them.
At the end of the chapter, Jess has typed two final words: The End.
I guess she wants to go along with a Nick Matthews ending.
But as I read the chapter again, I know that this isn’t right. This isn’t how the story should end, for our characters or for us.
It comes to me in a flash. What I need to do. The grand gesture, so to speak.
I reach for my phone again, this time dialing Hilary’s number without hesitation. “I know it’s two days before Christmas, but I really need your help and I promise I will give you the biggest bonus you’ve ever gotten if you can help me pull this off and make this the most magical Christmas ever.”
Hilary is quiet for a second. “Did you just say you want to make this the most magical Christmas ever?”
I laugh. “Yes.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Nick Matthews?”
“I know this sounds ridiculous, but I really need your help.”
“Oh honey, you had my help at ‘biggest bonus you’ve ever gotten.’ What do you need me to do?”
I explain the plan and what exactly I’ll need from her to make it all, well, go to plan. Before we even hang up the phone, I can hear her keyboard clacking as she furiously googles or emails or works whatever assistant magic she wields so easily.
And so I sit down to do my part. I open a blank document and I write. I write and I write and I write, barely stopping to pee and shove some room service dinner in my face.
I write well into the night, and then into the morning hours. I write so many words I lose count. I write for so long, the words on the screen start to blend together into fuzzy little dots. I save our book, our story, for last, and when I finish it, I know this is the way it was always supposed to end.
That’s when I finally save the document and send it off to the contact Hilary found for me. It’s going to cost me a fortune to get it done on time, and I’ll have to take the first morning train back to the city to make the pick-up window, but I know it will be worth it. It’s the early morning of Christmas Eve and I can’t keep my eyes open for one second longer. I fall into the bed, noticing how much colder it is without Jess there huddled up on the other side, hogging all the covers but giving off so much warmth it doesn’t really matter.
I miss her.
But if everything goes as it should, as it does in the books and the movies that she—that we—love so much, then she’ll be back in my arms tomorrow.
For the first time in my life, I can’t wait for Christmas.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jess
When I wake up on Christmas Eve, I’m actually grateful I’ve been scheduled for the early shift. I need a distraction, and nothing is a better distraction than a line full of customers who need a caffeine boost. Morgan, to no one’s surprise, is extremely cool about my missing the past few days of work. She accepts my apology by tossing me an apron and shooing me behind the counter, where I spend the rest of the morning making more peppermint mochas than even I can stomach.
I offer to stay late, cover the afternoon shift as well, but Morgan practically pushes me out the front door with a wish for a merry Christmas.
And with that, I’m left to my own devices for the rest of the holiday. I decide to take my friends’ advice because, honestly, those bitches are usually right. I take a shower and do my hair and put on makeup before dressing in my cutest Christmas sweater. Bundling up in my coat and gloves and scarf and hat, I head out my front door and straight to the closest coffee shop, which is not the one I happen to work at.
It’s cold outside, the kind that sinks into your bones, but it’s dry at least, and I’m warm in my coat, and once I have a large peppermint mocha in my hands (apparently making approximately one thousand of them didn’t fully kill their appeal), the warmth trickles through me from the inside out. I make my way over to the subway station and hop on a train to Manhattan. I love Brooklyn with my whole heart, but there’s nothing quite like Christmas in Manhattan.
I start my holiday tour at the tree in Rockefeller Center. It’s a classic for a reason, and this year’s tree might be the most beautiful yet. I allow myself five whole minutes to think about all the times I came here with Nick, and surprisingly, the memories leave me with the warm and fuzzies instead of the usual cold and stabbies. I contemplate trying to rent some ice skates, but I want to enjoy my day, and that will be much harder with a broken ankle. When I’ve absorbed the full magic of the tree, I walk over to Bryant Park and stroll the winter market, stopping for some hot chocolate that’s so rich it makes my blood sing in my veins. Honestly, the hot chocolate does more for my mental health than any wine and Real Housewives marathon could, and that’s saying something.
After exploring the entirety of the winter market, I walk over to the Drama Book Shop. There’s nothing particularly Christmassy about it, it’s just one of my favorite places to be and that’s what today is all about. I buy a new book and a croissant and sit for a bit before moving on to my next location, the Macy’s on Thirty-Fourth Street. I mean, there’s a whole classic holiday movie about it, so it’s a must.
I don’t actually go into the store because it’s Christmas Eve and I don’t have a death wish, but I do people-watch outside for a bit, loving how the holiday spirit makes even the surliest of New Yorkers smile.
I grab a late lunch of tomato soup and grilled cheese at a diner before deciding to pack it in and call it a day. Being out among the holiday joy has definitely helped bolster my spirits, but I know we’re rapidly approaching the point when the afternoon shifts into evening, and the day becomes less about errands and more about spending time with family and friends.
So I head back to the subway and make my way home to my favorite borough. When I trudge up the stairs to my apartment, I’m surprised to find a box sitting on my welcome mat. Normally, packages are left downstairs near the mailboxes, and I don’t think I’m expecting any orders, unless I did some dream shopping last night, which is always a possibility.
But the box doesn’t have a mailing label. Instead it says, in bright-red letters: “To Jess, Love Santa.”
Figuring my parents must have arranged this somehow, I bend over to pick up the box, but the thing is heavy, so I end up just nudging it inside with my foot instead. I bound into my tiny kitchen and grab a pair of scissors, cutting into the box like a kid on Christmas. Which I basically am.
It takes a minute to make sense of what I’m seeing in the box. There are six manuscripts piled inside, the kind publishers send out for early reads. They don’t look like real books because the paper is regular letter size, but they’re professionally bound.
I sit down next to the box, removing the first one and running my fingers over the title. It’s Heartbreak Manor, Nick’s first book. But why would he be sending me a weird version of his book? I already have the published version (in hardcover and paperback, if we’re being honest). And this doesn’t look old, the paper is crisp and fresh and smells like it came right off the printer.
I flip through the pages, wondering what I could even be looking for. The words of this book in particular are so familiar to me, I know them as well as I would my own. I must have read this manuscript a hundred times. I run my fingers over the words, and my chest starts to ache. I can practically hear his voice in my head, narrating to me as he wrote his favorite scene.
I keep flipping through the pages until I get to the end of the book.
My forehead wrinkles because something about the last two chapters feels off. Different. I know I’ve read these words before, but they somehow seem out of place.
My eyes widen as the full picture in front of me crystallizes. This isn’t the end of the book that Nick published. It’s the original ending, with his two characters reconciling their differences and ending up together. It’s a happily ever after, the way a romance is supposed to end.
I set the first manuscript to the side and reach for the second. I read this one for the first time the day it was released, just like everyone else. Still, I’ve read it enough times to be familiar with the story, so I skip to the end. In the original version of this book, the heroine ends up leaving the hero to go marry the man her parents chose for her. It’s absolutely devastating—I threw my book against the wall the first time I read it. But in this new version, she ditches her betrothed and runs away with the hero. They live happily ever after.
The next three books are the same. Nick has rewritten the endings of each of his published books so that the couple ends up together. No one dies, no one leaves, no one ends up alone and heartbroken. He’s given all his characters happily ever afters, for me.
I don’t stop to think about how he managed to do this, I’m too lost in the happiness, the joy that’s emanating from these pages.
When I pull the final manuscript from the box, an excited squeal escapes me.
“Just One Thing I Need by Jessica Carrington and Nick Matthews” is inked on the cover.
I run my fingers over the title, and our names, relishing the tiny shiver of joy that darts through me to see them written together.
I hoist myself off the ground, take a bathroom break and get myself a snack and a beverage, because I know once I start reading this book—our book—I’m not going to want to stop.
Curling up in my favorite reading chair, the Christmas tree lights twinkling next to me, I cover myself with my softest blanket and open the book to read our story. I promise myself to read not as one of the authors, but as a reader experiencing it for the first time. I’m not going to worry about typos and plot holes, I’m going to focus on the journey of these characters we’ve created.
I spend the next couple of hours with a smile etched on my face. I think I might love this book, not something I can say about every first draft I’ve ever written, but this one, it has the sparkle. The it factor. We were able to find joy in writing it, and that joy is evident on the page.
What’s also evident is the way Nick and I were able to seamlessly merge our voices, the way they complement each other, never competing or speaking over each other. It’s like we were meant to be writing partners from the very beginning.
When I find myself reading a sex scene, one that Nick wrote on his own and that I haven’t read yet, I bolt up straight in my chair. It’s the spiciest thing Nick has written in a long time, and it heats my blood just reading the words on the page. And then my brain can’t help but imagine me and Nick, and I have to take a short break to go pour myself a glass of wine.
The book is full of banter and wit, and yet my heart aches when the characters think they’ve blown their second chance. I know I’m the one who wrote the breakup, but I read it with fresh eyes and see how it’s not really a breakup, more like a little pause. A chance for these characters to take a breath and really commit before they find their way back together.
And they do find their way back to each other because Nick has written the ending. A gorgeous grand gesture and a reconciliation and an epilogue that clearly proves our couple will live happily ever after.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and swig the last of my wine.
It’s almost midnight, and I don’t want to disturb him or wake him, but the need to talk to him outweighs anything else.
