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They show me how much they care by being my biggest fans. My mother and Aunt Joyce are my beta readers, always there to help me improve. My dad won’t read my books, but with each release he’ll buy a box full, have me sign them, then take them to the local hospitals and distribute them to the oncology wards. Both women and men going through chemotherapy often send me thank-you letters for giving them something to concentrate on besides the procedure, others say the books help them get through the pain when the medicine isn’t enough, and then there are the family and loved ones who spend hours sitting by a patient’s bedside; their appreciation often come with tear stains on the paper.
Placing my coffee on my crocheted coaster, I woke my computer from sleep mode. Checking my email, all I had was junk. Bringing up the chat from last night, I noticed Taylor was online. Curious if she was writing later, I shot off a quick message. Seeing the conversation dots appear, Taylor replied she’d probably be doing a few sprints when she returned from the office.
“You were called in too?” I wrote, and it was Jade who replied this time.
“I was called in too.”
“Does anyone know why we’re being called in?”
“Maybe it has something to do with our Winter anthology ranking up again? Maybe we hit USA Today’s bestseller list again.”
“It has to be,” Jade replies, as the shower stops down the hall.
“You’re probably right.”
“Since we’re all heading to Lila’s office, should we meet at Owls for a latte before we walk over?”
“Yes,” Jade replies. “I need all the coffee this morning.”
“Wrestling with insomnia again, Jade?”
“Wrestling isn’t even a question. I’ve barely slept in the last thirty-six hours.”
“I’m not sleeping well either. This impending deadline is stressing me out.”
“Well, I say we find out what Lila has on her mind, and then you two go home and get some sleep. I need my sprinting partners to be in tip-top shape,” Taylor says.
“Shall we meet outside of Owls around one?” Jade asked.
“Sounds good. I’m going to need at least twenty to thirty minutes to get ready.”
“See everyone soon,” Taylor replied before she disappeared offline.
Signing off Messenger myself, I put my computer back to sleep. Entering the hall once I heard the door to my sister’s room close, I caught my reflection in the misty mirror. My hair looks like the birds have had their way with it.
Hopping into the shower, I knew I couldn’t take my time like I normally do. I have places to be. Rushing through my routine, my hair already felt less tangled the moment I ran my conditioner through it.
Putting myself back together, I headed back to my room in search of something to wear. Judging by the looks of the weather, I chose my white and black crop top with a pair of black skinny jeans and my black and white converse.
Once I’m dressed, I brush my hair, do my eyeliner, and add a touch of foundation topped with blush. Observing my appearance one last time in the mirror, I spin my chair around before heading back into the living room.
Looking up from her phone, Ashlynne whistled. “Well, don’t you look nice?”
“Why thank you,” I sang, putting on a show. “Do you think you could help me with my hair? I don’t have time to dry it before I’ve got to head out.”
“Sure. How about a French braid?”
“Yes, I’d love that. Thanks,” I nodded.
Loving the way my sister ran the comb through my hair, I could still remember our younger years when Ashlynne started resenting the extra help I needed. Mom would ask her to help me with my hair in the morning before school, and like the good sister, she would, but she dragged the brush through my hair with annoyance as quickly as possible, not caring about the knots that would catch along the way. She knew she was hurting me, but she did it anyway, hoping our mom wouldn’t ask her for help again. However, my sister usually spent the day feeling guilty over it and made it up to me by dinner time.
“How’s that?” Ashlynne asked, turning the camera around on her phone so I could have a look.
“Looks great Ash. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Drawing my eyes across the room, it was already a quarter to one. “I still need another minute or two to grab my things. You go on ahead. I wouldn’t want you to be late for Dad’s appointment.”
“You sure? I could wait.”
“No need. I will not be the reason you’re late. Go ahead,” I called, from my bedroom.
“Alright. Good luck. Be safe.”
“You too.”
