Page 68 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

The only cockroach in here is me, enjoying this banter way too much. While I love this shared-romantic-room circumstance, I’m not sure Delilah’s ready for it. She’s still playing the engaged card. I refuse to ask her about Hugo and why he’s not here, making her feel worse for lying. With only one option, I drop my bag and sit on the edge of the bed. Definitely unicorn fur. “I don’t have to stay on the couch. If sharing this room is too uncomfortable for you, I’m sure I can crash on Shawn’s floor.”

She firms her grip on the suitcase handle, studying the splendid room. Then she slackens. “Shawn smokes pot twenty-four-seven. If you stay there, you’ll be high the entire time. He’ll hot-box the room.”

“It could be fun. I haven’t been high in a while.”

“You hate being high, E. It makes you feel like your tongue has shriveled and fallen out of your mouth, and you get super paranoid.”

God, I love how well she knows me. “I could sleep by the lake. Hope no bears come to mate with me.”

“Just shut up and unpack. You’re staying here.”

I don’t argue the point. I offered to leave; she declined. The rest, as they say, will be history. “I can unpack your bag if you want. Lay your undergarments next to mine. Let them commingle.”

“Child,” she mumbles, marching to claim her drawers.

TWENTY-TWO

The welcome dinner has started, but I’m in my room alone, having an uncomfortable conversation with my agent. I’ve avoided Margot’s calls the past week, but another “send to voice mail” wouldn’t have been kind. Hence my tardiness.

“It’s not me,” she says for the second time. “The publisher’s pressuring Josh. He’s in a tight spot, as is Sathya.”

After Sathya called me, she spilled her guts to Margot, told her she wants to cancel the contract for the prequel. Understandably, Margot is hovering at DEFCON 3 stress levels. Canceling the contract reflects poorly on her. She loses money just like us. She asked me to talk to Sathya before she makes such a rash, irrevocable decision, but I did no such thing. Sathya is of sound mind. Gates of Ember is her baby. She birthed the world, grew every plot point and character in her brilliant head. I’m simply the vehicle through which her visions come to life.

I scoured my finances and have enough savings to cover my end of the canceled contract. It will hurt. I’ll need a day job on top of finding another illustration project, all while finishing my book, which has been pouring out of me faster every time I sit and focus.

I’m okay with Sathya’s decision, but I get a feeling this “tight spot” she’s in isn’t a reference to her mother’s illness. “If something else is going on with Sathya, she didn’t tell me about it.”

“She feels bad enough about this contract. She didn’t want to worry you with other issues, but her mother’s bills are more than expected. If she pays the advance back, things will be tough. I didn’t mention anything to her about your original offer—your new graphic novel—but if you give the publisher your story, I think I can convince them to publish that first and rework the rest of the deal to include another new project from you as a team, which Sathya is keen on exploring. Something fresh on a looser timeline.”

I picture Sathya buried under bills, worrying about affording proper care for her mother, and the rocks in my heart catch. I picture her and her family stressing over their everyday expenses, and those jagged edges scrape. In seconds, I’m not gradually giving in. I’m caving so hard I’m practically a professional spelunker.

“If this is even a possibility,” I say, rubbing my chest, “and I mean a huge if, I can’t do anything without talking to some people first.” My mother. My brothers. Delilah most of all. “The publisher would also need to hire outside colorists. I won’t have time to add color with this deadline.”

“It can be arranged.”

And this is all happening way too fast. “When would Josh need an answer?”

“If I tell them you’re considering it, it’ll buy us time. A month. Maybe two.”

“I’ll speak to Sathya and think about it. I’ll let you know.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

I send a quick text to Sathya, asking about her mom and telling her we need to chat, then I’m rushing to the welcome dinner, dark jeans and a dress shirt on, stressed about that call but excited to spend the night with Delilah. Except I don’t get to spend the evening with Delilah.

As stunning as the dining room is with its massive wood beams, cathedral ceiling, rustic-chic decor, and charming wagon wheel chandeliers, there are no free seats next to her. She’s beside Maggie and a woman I don’t know. Avett waves at me, inviting me to the free chair next to him, on the other end of the massively long table from Delilah. Such is my fate.

But it’s cool. I’m sharing a room with Delilah. We’ll have plenty of alone time in our fairy-tale suite. This way I also get to make Avett uncomfortable by gossiping about him to his wife.

“So, Naomi,” I say when I sit. “Do you remember that time the fire alarm went off in school and no one could find Avett for, like, three hours?”

Avett angles his big body, trying to block me from seeing his wife. “You are not telling that story.”

“Oh, he definitely is.” Naomi shoves Avett back and leans in front of him. “Do tell.”

“Leo Whitaker decided to mess with your boy and stole all his clothes after gym, along with the towels. Avett got out of the shower and—”

“I think we’ve heard enough.” Avett pushes forward again, attempting a human shield.