Write Before Christmas, page 16
She shook her head, weary, and motioned for me to follow her to the end of the hall, away from Matt’s door. “He’s in full writing mode and has asked that no one bother him until he’s done.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“He received some tough news this afternoon, and he needs to be left alone with his manuscript,” she whispered.
“But he already turned it in,” I said.
“They have notes.” She rolled her eyes. “Now he’s in there trying to fix as much as he can before they all get here for the premiere.”
“Oh, no!” I glanced back at his door. He’d been so relieved to be done. Now he was back in his office, pounding out more words. “What can I do?”
“Just let him write,” Jane said, raising her hands to the sides of her head. “He’s got to keep his head down, blinders on.”
“I swear.” I said, “I will not bother him. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Weary, Jane shook her head. “Just keep working on the premiere party.”
As she headed back down the hall and downstairs, I glanced again at Matt’s door, worried about him. He’d gotten bad news, which meant this wasn’t the time to hole up in a small, dark room, alone. He needed someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off, someone who’d be there for him with two welcoming ears. I understood that he needed to write, obviously he did, but he wasn’t a supercomputer. He had to take breaks and get exercise, generally care for himself. He would need to blow off some steam.
But it wasn’t my place to butt in. He’d come find me, if and when he wanted to unload.
I went back down to the kitchen and continued my work, cleaning up, getting breakfast ready for tomorrow. At six o’clock, I left a tray of food outside his door with a brief note of support hidden under his plate. Jane stood at the top of the stairs, watching me, probably making sure I didn’t try any funny business. Then, satisfied I wasn’t about to go rogue and knock on his door, she beckoned me to follow her back to the first floor. “Time to go,” she said, standing next to the front door.
“Okay…” I was being perp-walked out of here. “You’re sticking around?” At least someone should be here for him.
“I have to go to a Christmas party.” When she saw the concerned look on my face, she said, “He’ll be okay. He’s got this.”
Jane folded her arms and watched as I gathered up my things and shrugged into my coat. I felt like I was a bystander character in a book or movie, one of those gothic dramas or mysteries where a visitor knew something fishy was going on in the house, but they couldn’t get close enough to confirm their suspicions.
I was being silly, reading too much into it. Matt was working, and Jane was only making sure he had his space. That was her job, as much as making dinner and cleaning the bathrooms were mine.
I grinned brightly as Jane pulled the door open for me. “See you tomorrow,” I said.
She gave me a tight-lipped smile back. “See you tomorrow.”
I left the house and started heading up the walk, glancing back a few times to see if Jane was watching. I couldn’t be sure, but I felt eyes on me. Maybe it was just the eeriness of the dark evening, the way the moonlight made shadows through the tree branches.
The pit in my gut would not subside. I remembered back when my ex and I had first separated. I told everyone I was fine, that I wanted my space. And, honestly, it was what I thought I’d wanted at the time. But then I’d find myself alone in the house while Kelsie was out with her friends, living her life, and I’d sink into a profound loneliness I’d never experienced before.
Back then, I hadn’t known how to ask for it, but I’d longed for someone to talk to, someone who’d go out of their way to make sure I was okay, but I’d been so focused on appearing “fine” that I’d fooled everyone in my life into thinking that was the case.
Maybe that was where Matt was right now, emotionally, and I knew him well enough to know he’d never even consider asking for help from anyone.
When I reached the edge of my parents’ driveway, I paused for a moment, weighing my options. I could do what Jane asked and leave Matt alone, or I could do what I wished someone would’ve done for me and show him I cared.
I opened up my phone and sent him a text. “Hey, Matt. Just making sure you’re okay. Let me know if you need anything, like company.”
There. That’d do it. Now no one could say I didn’t at least try.
I let myself into my parents’ house, which was empty. Everyone had gone out somewhere. I patted Ralph, made myself a snack, and sat down in the living room to try to read a few pages of Matt’s book. The words blurred, and I couldn’t focus.
I checked my phone. No new messages.
Maybe he’d left his phone in another room or he’d turned it off to shut out distractions like my text message.
I attempted to read again.
Jane would be heading out soon for her holiday party. That would leave Matt all alone in the house with no one to fetch him food or tea. Someone should be there, simply to be on call if he had any requests. He needed to focus on his writing, and he shouldn’t have to waste time boiling water. Besides, I had plenty of work to do over there. I could get a head start on the food prep I’d planned for tomorrow. I wouldn’t be going over there just for him.
That settled it. I snapped the book shut, set it on the coffee table, and headed confidently back to Matt’s house. This was the right thing to do. He needed to know he wasn’t alone.
By the time I returned, Jane was already gone, so I let myself in and paused in the foyer, listening. Nothing. No sound at all. So I headed upstairs and knocked on Matt’s office door.
He didn’t answer. I knocked again. “Matt, it’s Dani. I’m just making sure you’re okay and letting you know I’m here if you need anything.”
For a few moments, he didn’t respond. Then the door opened. He looked tired, haggard, wearing the same T-shirt he wore under his sweater yesterday and a pair of wrinkled jeans. His hair was a mess, and I knew he’d been running his hands through it. I had to hold myself back from pulling him into a hug and telling him it’d be okay. “Dani, I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” I said. “Jane told me you had a tough conversation with the show people…”
He looked past me, at some spot over my shoulder. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“Can I get you anything—?”
“No.” His eyes snapped to me. “No,” he said again, softer this time. “Seriously, I just need to write.”
“Okay…” I kept flashing back to the two of us this morning, giddy and anticipating a fun, stress-free day, a stress-free next few weeks together. For Matt, things had turned upside down out of nowhere. Maybe he thought he didn’t need me right now, but I wouldn’t abandon him. “I only wanted to tell you that I’ll be here all evening, getting ready for the party, if you need me to make you tea or if you want to talk—”
“No, Dani. Thank you,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I noticed the full tray of food on the floor behind him. “Eat something, Matt,” I said. “Please. You have to take care of yourself.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he said brusquely, still not looking at me. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “You’re distracting me,” he said. “You’re a distraction.”
“Wow. I’m sorry,” I said, fighting tears with my eyelids. I smiled brightly, trying to convince myself that this wasn’t about me. He was under a lot of pressure, and he simply needed to be alone right now. “I was only trying to help.”
“I know.” Running his fingers through his hair, he nodded back toward his office. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, but I found out this morning that I have to completely redo the manuscript by January fourth.”
“Oh, no.” I reached for him, to pull him into a hug, but he stepped backward, away from me. I attempted to play it off like nothing had happened. “That will be tough, Matt, but I know you can do it. I believe in you.”
“Thank you,” he said, blinking.
“I’ll be like a mouse, leaving your food outside your door. Eat it, don’t eat it, my conscience won’t allow me to let you starve. You won’t even know I exist.”
“But I will, though.” His blue eyes met mine. “I’ll know you’re doing all this for my benefit, and that will stress me out.” He pointed to the room behind him. “I have to lock myself in there and work. I can’t worry about how I’m neglecting you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I don’t expect anything. You know that. I mean,” I said, grinning, trying to lighten the mood, “except for you to show up at your own party and eat my food, but that’s it.”
“Dani,” he said, “I think it’s time to cut our losses.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We knew all along that this wouldn’t last…”
“Wait.” I held up a hand to stop him. “You’re not ending things with me.”
“The manuscript is due right after the New Year, right when we’d have to say good-bye anyway.” He paused. “We might as well end things now. It’s easier.”
I cocked my jaw. “What are you ending?” I asked. “Our romantic relationship or our professional one?”
He didn’t answer.
“Because do you actually expect me to come here day after day and take care of the house after you’ve broken up with me?”
“No,” he said.
“Do you expect me to make all the food for your premiere party but then sit back and watch you have fun with people who are not me?”
“I know that’s a huge opportunity for you,” he said, “so I want you have it. You make the food for the party, and I’ll stay away.”
“Which is really what you wanted anyway, to avoid seeing people and risk uncomfortable conversations.” I folded my arms. “You’re such a coward.”
He didn’t respond to that.
I backtracked. Calling him a coward had been out of line. “You’re very stressed,” I told him. “I get that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’ll make the food for the party, though?”
Anger and frustration bubbled up inside me. “Yes, of course I will,” I said, “because I promised Jane and Gerald, and I honor my commitments.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Dani, we both know this is ending, so let’s not make it more difficult than it needs to be, please.” He retreated into his office and closed the door. I stood still for a moment, waiting, hoping he’d come back. About a minute later, he appeared in the door again, holding an envelope.
“Good. You’re back.” I smiled. “Matt, seriously, I understand what you’re going through, I can stay out of your way while you’re writing, I promise, but why can’t we see each other when you need a break, like we’ve been doing all along?”
“We can’t. Dealing with a relationship right now, even if it’s only temporary, is too much for me.” With shaking hands, he offered me the envelope. He’d scrawled something resembling “Dani” on the front of it. “I want to give you something, though.”
“What’s this?” I glanced under the flap. The envelope was filled with money.
“I know you didn’t ask for anything, but I want to do something to help you,” he said. “It should take care of Kelsie’s rent, for a few months anyway, until you can find a new job.”
“This is a payoff.” I glared up at him, but his eyes stared off in the distance.
“It’s not a payoff,” he said, his eyes softening. “You deserve good things, and this is the money you would have earned through the rest of the year, anyway, plus a little bonus.”
I barely heard him over the blood rushing into my ears. He was attempting to buy me off and send me away, and he was ruining the gift I’d scrimped and saved to make happen for my daughter. I would not let another man swoop in and try to save me financially. This only proved Matt never really knew me at all.
I threw the envelope back at him. “I don’t need your pity or your charity.” I ran down the steps.
From the top stair, he shouted down, “Dani, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was only trying to help. This is your money,” he said. “You earned it.”
I yanked open the front door and paused. I should say something. I should turn around and give him a piece of my mind, tell him how much he hurt me, how bad he was at relationships, and how it didn’t surprise me at all that he had no friends, if this was how he treated someone who truly cared about him. But the words wouldn’t come; they were stuck somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach, under layers of sadness and disappointment and hollowness. I’d never really allowed myself to picture how things would end between us, but if I had, I would’ve imagined a long, passionate kiss and teary good-byes. Instead, I got this. I would not dwell on it.
All along I knew this would end, and now it had.
I slammed the door behind me and ran back to my parents’ house, with all the zingers I should’ve said to Matt echoing around my brain.
…
Matt
December 22nd, two days past deadline
“What are you doing?”
Jane pushed open the kitchen door and found me attempting to clean up the mess I’d created when the water for the steel cut oats I’d made boiled over, covering the stovetop with a foamy white film.
“Making breakfast,” I said.
Her eyes darted around the kitchen. “Where’s Dani? She’s supposed to do that for you.” Jane’s no-nonsense glare landed on me. “And you’re supposed to be editing.”
“I have been editing.” I carried my bowl of oats over to the kitchen table, where my laptop sat open, ready for more words. I pushed the computer toward Jane, who took a seat and started reading.
“You got a lot done,” she said, eyes wide. “Twenty-thousand words in one day.”
“And some of them are, in fact, the word ‘dragon.’” I scooped a spoonful of oats into my mouth. I could barely taste them. They stuck to the top of my mouth like paste. I knew intellectually I was supposed to be hungry, and I had to eat to keep up my energy, but food had lost all meaning for me.
I’d sold out. I was putting dragons in my book.
And I’d hurt the one person who meant anything to me in the process.
I watched Jane’s eyes as they moved left and right, scanning the new words I’d written over the past eighteen or so hours. I’d been up all night writing, blasting instrumental music in my ears, because every time I stopped to use the bathroom or to try to catch a few winks, my mind went right to Dani and how I’d sent her away last night so unceremoniously.
I was a complete and utter jerk. But it had to be done. She was probably at home right now telling her family what an ass I was. And she was right.
Jane frowned as she read.
“What?” I asked, mouth full of sticky, gluey oatmeal.
She took off her glasses and cleaned them on her skirt. “I mean, it’s a first draft.”
Those weren’t the glowing words of encouragement and excitement I’d expected. Jane, as dour and serious as she could be, was usually my biggest cheerleader. “So, you’re saying it sucks.” This was why I never showed anyone my work before it was done.
“No.” Her eyes scanned the screen again. “There’s definitely some good stuff here. I actually really like where the Petrya storyline is going.”
“But…” There was always a “but.” No matter who it came from, criticism always followed the same pattern: “It’s perfect, I love it, now change it.”
“But the story doesn’t feel like you.” She closed the laptop and folded her hands on top of the computer.
I sighed. “Of course it doesn’t feel like me. My main character is riding in on a dragon. I had to have Cassya kill Alyster because she thought he was a threat, even though they were obviously meant for each other.” I shoved another scoop of tasteless oatmeal into my mouth. “Let me muddle through this, and then I can get back to writing what I want. This book is a means to an end.”
Jane bit the inside of her cheek. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“Yes, it does. I have to have the first act finished twenty-four hours from now. I don’t have the luxury of being precious about my writing. I just have to churn it out.”
“There’s another option.” She pushed the laptop aside. “After the call yesterday, Kevin and I talked to Ingrid for a few minutes, and she said the publisher is happy to work out a new timetable with you, if you need it.”
My breakfast turned sour in my mouth. “I don’t need more time.” I’d already had my deadline extended once, which for me felt like an utter failure. It went against who I was. And even if I did need more time in this instance, I couldn’t have it, because the studio was preparing to run rampant over my hard work without me.
“Hear me out,” she said. “You’re fighting a losing battle with the TV folks. You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t. They need to start production ASAP, so you can either turn in this”—she gestured toward the computer—“which I know you’re not happy with, or you can let them move forward without you and do what they want.”
“Right,” I said. “But then I’d have no say over where they take my story.”
“Yes, you’d have to relinquish control over what they put on screen,” Jane said, “but you know and I know that this whole dragon thing is garbage. They’re going to do it either way. Maybe you”—she shrugged—“I don’t know, drop out due to creative differences and then take your time writing a story you can be proud of. Let the TV people crash and burn with these dragons.”
The pit grew in my stomach. “A few problems I can see: one, maybe the dragons aren’t a flop.”
