My proposition is met by a look of childish indignation and disappointment.
“But you promised!” my niece accuses me.
“Sophie, I’m sorry. I’m very tired, and I need to rest. I promise we can go tomorrow.”
“I don’t believe you,” she yells with wobbling lips. “You promised we would go as soon as he got here. You lied! And you always want to sleep, and never play with me. You are the worst aunt ever. I hate you!” With that, she turns on her heel and runs away.
I lie back on the pillows and stare at the ceiling. Perfect! Now my niece hates me, on top of everything else. I try to ignore the argument and go back to sleep, but to no avail. Sophie’s accusing pout haunts me every time I close my eyes. There’s nothing worse than a broken promise to a child to give you a major guilt complex.
“Okay, okay!” I say to the accusing ceiling. “I’ll go.”
With one last exasperated move, I free myself from the coils of fabric messily wrapped around my body and I’m up. Coffee, I need a coffee. I should probably eat breakfast too, but at the thought of food my stomach churns unpleasantly. Eh, right. Caffeine will have to suffice. But first I need to put Sophie out of her misery and mostly out of her hate for me. So I wrap myself in a cotton robe, slip my flip-flops on, and get on my way to the main house.
I try the main door, but it’s locked. I take a quick detour around the house and let myself in from the kitchen’s side door. The room is empty. I shuffle across it, and I’m about to call out when I hear voices coming from the living room. I tiptoe in that direction and recognize Judith’s voice.
“…so you don’t think she’s depressed?”
“Did you talk to my mom?” Matt asks, irritated. “She enjoys giving a clinical label to everything.”
“Matt, your mom’s just worried. Your sister didn’t get out of bed for weeks, she prefers her pajamas to clothes, and she doesn’t shower!”
Her description is mostly accurate if you exclude my little escapade of yesterday, which they are probably unaware of. In my defense, not showering for five months raises your hygiene bar by a great deal. Mmm, at least they don’t know I lost my job along with everything else.
“Judith, you are exaggerating things.”
“Am I? Matt, she doesn’t eat. She reluctantly nibbles less than one proper meal per day—she’s getting so thin that if she keeps going like this she’ll disappear altogether. If that’s not depression, I don’t know what is, and for her to upset Sophie that way…”
True again, I’m afraid. But food seems gross lately.
“Would you please cut her some slack?” Matt demands, somewhat irate. “How would you feel if you were in a terrible accident and came home five months later to find me married to a Brazilian model?”
“Matt, I’m not saying she shouldn’t be depressed. I’m just saying that if she is, maybe she should get some help. The way she’s coping, or not coping, isn’t good for her, it’s not good for us, and now it isn’t good for our kids either. I think you should talk to her. We should do a family intervention or something.”
I don’t wait for Matt’s answer and slowly retrace my steps out of the kitchen and out of the house. I run back to the shelter of the guesthouse and take another long, hard stare in the mirror. I have become the crazy aunt! The crazy relative everyone in the family pretends they’re not related to. I am going to become the old cat lady the neighbor’s kids mock and the sensible wives pity and look at with gratitude, secretly thankful it’s not them living my life. I’m going to end up alone, rejected by my family…a recluse of society with the sole company of my ten cats and possibly a monkey.
Jo, snap out of it! If your own family is planning an intervention, it’s time you did one yourself. No one is coming to save you. This time you’ll have to save yourself. Right! Screw Liam, screw Ada, and screw everybody else. I will not be the sad aunt whose house stinks of cat pee.
“I need a plan,” I say to my reflection.
“No, you need to shower and to eat a massive breakfast,” she says back.
I make a gagging face.
“I am not having any of it, missy,” the reflection continues. “From now on you are going to shower every day, get dressed as soon as you are out of bed, and eat three solid meals a day. Are we clear?” She raises one eyebrow bossily.
“Ok, you win.” I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Shower it is, then.”
I stroll into the bathroom, turn on the tap, peel off my clothes, and jump into the shower. I let the hot water wash away my alleged depression and scrub my entire body with purpose. I comb conditioner through my hair for the first time in six months and let it absorb the nourishing cream. Afterward I even blow-dry it. I use makeup to conceal the bags under my eyes, and apply a fake, healthy blush to my cheeks. I look in the mirror and I see the old Joan staring back at me. Well, thinner and with longer hair, which isn’t bad, actually. I give myself a nod of approval and I am ready for breakfast.
28
Price Publishing
In the kitchenette, I prepare a gigantic pot of coffee and open the fridge to mull my options. Judith stocks it full every day, and judging from the quantity of food available in here, she must be seriously worried about me. There is no way one single person could eat all this. I look at the vast assortment of fruit, undecided. Fruit reminds me too much of “The Island,” so I settle on organic milk and cereal plus peanut butter and jelly on some toast. I make the peanut butter sandwiches, put the cereal in a bowl, and lay everything on the island’s countertop. I sip some coffee and stare at the food. Okay, Joan, you can do this. I force myself to start with the peanut butter sandwiches. Solid items seem more promising. I take a bite. Mmm, it’s not bad actually, not at all. I take another taste.
Twenty minutes later I sit on the kitchen stool, ready to explode. After I overcame my initial resistance to the concept of eating, I remembered just how much I love it. In the past fifteen minutes I have stuffed my mouth full with six or seven slices of toast splattered with a ridiculous amount of jam and peanut butter, and had two refills of milk and Special K. Mmm, hopefully it wasn’t too much and I won’t get sick. I put all the dirty plates in the dishwasher, and I’m ready to get a head start on my new project—yes, I have one, I had an epiphany in the shower—when I hear a faint knock at the door.
“Come in,” I yell.
My brother enters the house with a worried expression. Hmm, so Judith managed to talk him into giving me a pep talk. This should be interesting.
“Hi big bro,” I chirp.
He takes in my clean, made-up, dressed appearance, and seems slightly disconcerted. I’m not the train wreck he was expecting.
“Hi Sis,” he says, uncertain. “You look good,” he adds, even more dubious.
“You seem surprised.” I play innocent.
“I am a little bit,” he confirms. “Sophie came back to the house crying like mad, saying you didn’t want to bring her to the zoo because you were too busy sleeping.”
“Oh, really? She must have misunderstood me.” Ok, I feel bad for throwing my niece under the bus like this, but it will spare a lot of worry for everyone, so... “I told her that today I was busy, and asked if we could go tomorrow. But if it’s a life or death situation we can go this afternoon. I just have to do some work stuff first.”
“You do? Are you going back to work?” He seems hopeful.
“Eh, no. They fired me,” I inform him.
“They what?” He’s in shock.
“Apparently they don’t want any awkwardness around their star author—my ex-husband, or never-was-husband—and they had already replaced me because they thought I was going to have said annulled-husband’s babies soon enough and never come back to work anyway. But the icing on the cake is that they made me train my replacement before I got married without telling me.”
“You seem awfully calm about it.”
“I had my fury rampage yesterday, but today is a new day and I have moved on,?
?? I reassure him. My brother—my entire family—has had to worry about me enough. They’re the ones who came through for me, and the last thing I want is to give them another headache. My brother found me, he gave me my life back―ok, with some missing bits―but I am not about to waste my second chance pining after a lost job or after a man who doesn’t want me.
“So what are you going to do?” My big bro seems perplexed.
“I’m starting my own publishing company,” I state proudly. “I know the business, I know the people, and I may already have a few future bestsellers on my hands.”
He rounds the kitchen island and engulfs me in a bone-cracking hug. “You’re back,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ve missed you, Sis.”
“Now, now, let’s not get all weepy. I did enough crying already.”
“You think?” he jokes.
“So what’s it going to take to be back in the good graces of my niece, besides bringing her to the zoo in the afternoon? Can I give her a kitten?”
“No, no kittens,” Matthew dictates. “But after you’ve visited every single animal at the zoo and you’ve bought her the most giant tiger plush that ever was, you can bring her to Let’s Spoon and let Sophie have as many toppings as she likes.”
“Deal.” I smile.
“Deal,” he agrees. “I’m going to go deliver the good news to the little minx now. See you later, Sis.”
“See you at lunch,” I add for good measure.
Once my brother is gone, I switch on my laptop and leaf through the unpublished manuscripts I’ve read on the island. In total there are five I think are worth publishing. Three will be bestsellers, and I am utterly in love with one of them.
I open my email and compose five proposals for the authors. I essentially tell each of them that I loved their work and that I would like to publish their book. I also inform them that I no longer work for Bucknam Publications, and that the publication contract would be with a new company created by me. As a final note, I add that if they feel uncomfortable with my proposal, I will recommend their book to my former boss, who would most likely publish it in the more traditional sense.
I know it’s a long shot to ask new authors to jump on board with me on this adventure, but they were fans of my work before. They sent their manuscripts directly to me, after all. I make my pitches as convincing as possible by adding some personal notes and comments on their writing, plot, and flow to each email to let the authors know the work approach I use and the level of attention to detail they can expect from me. So, despite the odds, I am confident.
29
Monkey Business
“Get it off me, get it off,” I shriek in a frenzy.
“Oh gosh! I’m coming,” Michael shouts.
“Sophie! Don’t you dare take a picture of this! Ouch, can somebody please help me?” I screech.
“Don’t worry, Auntie, it’s a video,” Sophie says, delighted. Me, not so much.
We’re at the zoo in the macaque compound. Up until a few seconds ago everything was going fine. More than fine—super. Before we came here I called the zoo to let them know we would be visiting, and they gave me an appointment with Michael, the guy in charge of the macaques. When we arrived, he was super nice and gave us a tour of the forest exhibition, even letting us inside a special room closed to the public where the curators interact with the monkeys to train them on the basic etiquette of monkey sociability. Manny was there training with a couple of other monkeys, and he immediately recognized me. As soon as we went in he abandoned his training and jumped on me, wrapping his legs around my torso and neck in his favorite hugging position.
That’s when things went south. The moment Manny hooed at me, a crazy monkey decided to attack me. She came at me baring her teeth and jumped on my shoulders, while Manny bared his teeth in return. So now I have two angry monkeys on top of me eeking and ooking at each other, the insane monkey is pulling my hair like crazy, and my terrified shouts are only adding to the mayhem.
“Here, take this,” Michael says ten minutes later while handing me a tissue soaked in rubbing alcohol. He and another girl came to my rescue and managed to get the monkeys off me. “I’m sorry, I should have anticipated that could happen.”
“You mean this is normal behavior?” I press the cool tissue to my cheek where I have an angry red scratch courtesy of crazy monkey.
“Only when it’s mating season,” Michael says nonchalantly.
“Pardon me?” I ask, appalled.
“Manny was trying to mate with you, and the other monkey got territorial. She had already selected him as her mate,” he explains.
“But I’m his mom, so to speak!” I protest.
“Manny has hit puberty. You went from mama to possible baby-mama,” he jokes.
“Ew.”
I don’t think I like his humor. Anyway, it figures that the only one who wants to have babies with me is a monkey.
“Auntie Jo has a monkey boyfriend! Auntie Jo has a monkey boyfriend!” Sophie chants, skipping around the infirmary. At least she’s enjoying herself.
“You’re lucky Macy didn’t bite you…that could have been nasty,” Michael adds.
“Yeah, lucky me!” I say sarcastically. I don’t exactly regard the marks on my face and shoulders as a blessing.
“Let me see those scratches.” He leans his face a bit too close to mine. I can smell his aftershave.
“These look good— just superficial scrapes,” Michael delivers my prognosis. “They will be gone in no time, and no scars for you.”
“Good, I guess,” I say, not completely convinced. “So what now—we can’t come visit anymore?”
“I suggest you wait until mating season is over,” Michael confirms. “And next time we will give you some solo time with Manny.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Is that another bad joke? “How long is it until mating season is over?” I ask.
“About a month,” Michael says, scratching his head. “You know, if you wanted to learn more about macaques we could have a coffee or something and I could give you the basics.”
Is he asking me out? I eye him for a second from under my tissue. He must be my age, or a couple of years younger than me; twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight. He’s tall and handsome in a boyish way. With floppy light-brown hair, hazel eyes, five o’clock shadow, thirty-two teeth smile…I’m tempted to ask if this is mating season for him too. Anyway, way too soon to start dating, so I pretend I didn’t get the underlying message to “let’s have a coffee and I will explain to you all about macaques”.
“Sure, why not? Sophie would love to learn something new,” I offer.
“Great.” He grimaces, unable to hide his disappointment.
Boom, hit and sunk. No better turn off than the prospect of bringing a child on a date.
“I want to go see the tigers!” Sophie squeals.
“They are safely behind bars, right?” I ask Michael. I’ve had enough one on one time with wildlife for today.
“Yep, they don’t let you pet the tigers,” he reassures me.
“Tigers it is then,” I say to Sophie. “Thank you again for everything, and see you in about a month for that coffee,” I say to Michael.
“Sure,” he replies a bit awkwardly, shuffling on his feet uncomfortably.
***
“Auntie?”
“Mmm?”
We’re walking back to the car after our afternoon at the zoo. Sophie is holding in her arms her new, natural-size tiger plush and she’s almost completely hidden behind it. Only her eyes and forehead are visible. I offered to carry it for her, but she adamantly refused.
“Why didn’t Uncle Liam come? Was he busy working?”
“Aw, um…he ummm...” The question hits me like a punch in the stomach. “Probably, yeah. But he’s not Uncle Liam anymore. We are no longer together.”
“But I liked him,” Sophie protests.
Me too, I silently agree.
“Is it because he wanted to be with that other la
dy?” Sophie asks after a while.
Kids, they pick up on everything the adults say. You can’t have secrets from them.
“I’m not sure.” I’m trying to keep it together for my niece’s sake. I can almost hear the new cracks spreading through my already broken heart.
“Are you sad?” she asks, genuinely concerned.
“A little bit,” I admit.
“Here, you can hold Mr. Whiskers until we get to the car.” She hands me the plush.
I hug it to my chest, trying to avoid crying in front of Sophie. I have to admit this giant stuffed animal does help a little bit. I may have decided I’m moving on from Liam, but as an old English proverb says, “There’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip”.
30
We Fall Together
When we arrive at home, I say goodbye to Sophie and Mr. Whiskers and leave them at the main house to walk back to the guesthouse. As I enter, I check myself out in the hallway mirror to assess the monkey damage. I have red patches on my shoulders and a thin red line across my right cheek, but as Michael said I will heal with no visible scars left. I take my phone out of my bag to check if I have any new messages. I haven’t looked at it all day, and I can’t wait to see if any of the authors have replied to me. I open my inbox, and my heart skips a beat as I see that I have five new messages. They all replied!
I take my laptop from my room to read the emails on the computer. They’re too important to be read on a smartphone. Since I don’t have a proper desk or work table, I sit on a stool at the kitchen island. I nervously bite my lower lip as I wait for the laptop to come to life, and as it does I flutter my hands in the air to ease the tension before I click on the first reply.
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Subject: Re: Publishing Proposal for The Ticker That Did Not Tick
Dear Joanna,
I cannot begin to thank you for taking the time to read my book and for actually considering it for publication. I had reached that point of desperation where I had received so many rejection letters I felt it was time to give up, but your mail gave me hope again…