Page 70 of Philippa Flynn’s Year of Panic and Piracy

“Actual rent. More than a token amount like a dollar a month.”

Goddammit. Am I that transparent?

“We’ll talk about it,” I concede, though I have no intention of ignoring Grams’s wishes.

“And if you get one of these teaching jobs, you take it. You give it a couple of years before you assume you’ll be miserable. And you don’t quit again without a new plan in place.”

My neck muscles tense, and my teeth grind together. I don’t want to make this promise, but I also understand her point. If I’m willing to try becoming a novelist, why am I not willing to try a new academic job, especially when I’ve put so much into my academic career already, and when I still have no answer for where all of that time and effort goes if I walk away for good? Money is also getting tighter as the weeks pass, and I can’t keep relying on my siblings to bail me out. I need a job. Why not pursue one I know I can do well, one I might even flourish in if I find a department that allows me to set boundaries on my time, colleagues who genuinely want to work together, and students who are invested in their education, not just their grades? Do I really want to give up that possibility, when I might be able to teach and write the novels?

“Okay,” I say. “Anything else?”

She takes my hand into her lap, wrapping it tightly with both of hers.

“I won’t say another word about the house while you’re living there,” she tells me. “Just don’t throw away your money. Think carefully before you invest more into the place. Okay?”

I nod, reluctantly, and she gives my hand a squeeze.

“I’ll call Kate Monday morning,” she says. “I’ll clear the allowances, on the condition that my mother’s publishing team thinks the manuscript you send them is the right next step for the series. They need to be on board for the estate to be on board. Deal?”

“Yeah. That’s fair. Thank you.”

We share a complicated smile and sit quietly for a few minutes, hand in hand, while I wrestle with a gut-churning tangle of emotions. Part of me feels relieved. I got what I came for. Dylan and I can finish our manuscript and send it to Kate. With her guidance, we have a real chance of selling A Siren Calls, maybe even the other five books. Another part of me feels like I just bargained away my soul, committing to a plan I don’t want so my safety net looks like my mom’s safety net. So my life lines up with someone else’s expectations. So I maintain the illusion that plans never fail, that life isn’t full of surprises, disappointments, and reasons to reboot or reinvent ourselves. So I pretend I never saw that sinkhole.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been good at pretending.

Especially to myself.

Chapter Twenty-Four

By the time I exit the security area at the Portland airport on Wednesday afternoon, I’m exhausted from two long days of meetings, question-and-answer sessions, teaching someone else’s syllabus, presenting my research, and otherwise attempting to demonstrate my value to four people who might’ve made up their minds about me before I even set foot in Idaho. My phone pings with several texts as soon as I take it off airplane mode. My parents, asking how my interview went. Eleanor and Haley, asking how I’m doing. Louisa, sending a sexy pirate meme with hopes that I have a good week . And one more . . .

Michael: How do you feel about grant writing?

Philippa: Not my strongest skill, but I’ve done it, and with some success

He sends me a job link for a part-time grant writer and editor. It’s not a perfect fit for my skills and interests, but it’s remote, I have the necessary experience, the pay would help enormously, and I’m not in a position to be particular.

Philippa: Amazing. Thanks! I’ll get an application together as soon as I’m home

Michael: You’re still in Idaho?

Philippa: Just landed at PWM

Michael: How’d it go?

Philippa: Good overall. But also . . . it’s not Maine?

Michael: I’ll keep an ear out. Or is it an eye open?

Philippa: Either? Both? Feel free to throw in a nose for good measure

Michael: Not sure I have one of those to spare

Philippa: Probably for the best. Imagine the teaching evaluations

Michael: At least they’d be entertaining

Philippa: True enough. Great to see you Sunday. Thanks for the job lead