After Dark
Page 38
“Fine, the … legal stuff … even if that weren’t an issue. What about the rest?”
“Let me just—” He rubbed his mouth. “Let me get this straight. You expect me … to refrain from publishing Last Light … because it’s true?”
“Uh … yes?”
“Ha…” He cocked his head and half-smiled. “Ah—I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. The…” He shook another cigarette from his pack. Ugh, I really wanted him to quit. My angry text at work probably sent him on a smoking tear, and just when he was tapering down. “The answer is no.” His expression grew calm and almost haughty. He turned away again.
I stood there, staring at his back in a daze.
The answer … is no? I wasn’t asking him not to publish the book; I was telling him not to. It couldn’t happen. Fucking wouldn’t happen. All day at work I’d tormented myself with the possible ramifications of Last Light seeing the light of day. Legal … social … familial ramifications. Was Matt suffering some sort of disconnect from reality?
Not to mention the awkward-as-hell situation he’d put me in with Pam.
I threw the manuscript at him.
As I twisted away, I saw a page lick into the air and go sailing out over Denver.
“Hannah,” he growled. He snatched at the stray papers.
I stalked inside and locked myself in our bedroom.
That douche-canoe could sleep on the couch. Again. Fuck, we needed a bigger place.
I booted up my laptop and sat on the bed, simmering. I expected Matt to come storming down the hall, banging at the door, but I heard nothing.
God, he could be so infuriating! And this wasn’t a joke—wasn’t up for discussion.
I listened to angry music (Eminem), hopped off the bed and paced, and finally opened Gmail and sent a message to Matt. Deep breaths …
Subject: Ultimatum
Sender: Hannah Catalano
Date: Monday, June 30, 2014
Time: 5:11 PM
Matt,
I don’t know how to reason with you right now. You’re being crazy. You absolutely CANNOT publish Last Light. Your aunt already seems to hate me. How much more do you think she (and the public) will hate me when they know I helped plan and execute your fake death?
Do you want people to hate me?
And don’t tell me people will think the book is fiction, because they won’t. Also, don’t you DARE compare Night Owl to Last Light. This is so different. My reputation is at stake here. So is Nate’s. The book portrays me doing drugs, hooking up with your brother, and basically letting you risk your life.
You would have to be seriously unfeeling to even THINK of publishing it.
That said, I know full well that I can’t stop you from doing what you want. You always do what you want. You’re a spoiled brat, do you know that? Golden boy with green eyes. It’s really hard to love you sometimes.
If you continue the publication process with Last Light, if you’re so hell-bent on blowing the lid off everything, I’ll finish and publish MY story. Fair’s fair.
Hannah
P.S. Enjoy the couch tonight. We obviously need a bigger place, because you need a proper doghouse.
P.P.S. Quit smoking. That’s a new stipulation.
Attachment: UNTITLED.doc
Chapter 18
MATT
I sat in my office, reading the first chapter of Hannah’s story. MY story, she’d called it. I smiled and shook my head.
Mm, my little bird with her very own version of events …
How charming. Was I supposed to feel threatened? The poor girl had no leverage.
She’d written only one chapter of her supposed story. It recounted our appearance on the Denver Buzz, her anxiety about the proposal, and our argument when she caught me house-shopping. I skimmed the text, remembering, until her words stopped me.
The smile died on my lips.
My desire to carry a child, Hannah had written, could be described as less than zero.
“The hell?” I mumbled. I tracked back and reread.
Holy shit. Matt wanted kids?
Again, I reread the chapter. And again. I needed more, but there wasn’t more.
I clicked on her Word document and forced a page break. I stared at the new page, my mind tossing and turning. Then I centered the words “Chapter 2, Matt” and began to write.
Mike kept a framed picture of his family on his desk …
Three hours later, I finished my chapter. I proofed it and replied to Hannah’s e-mail.
Subject: Stipulations, ultimatums, lions, tigers, bears … oh my?
Sender: Matthew R. Sky Jr.
Date: Monday, June 30, 2014
Time: 9:10 PM
Baby Bird,
“Keep writing with me.” Wasn’t that one of your stipulations? Yes, I think it was, along with “marry me” and “no more lies” and “see your shrink.”
I mean to do all those things and more. I’ll add “quit smoking” to the list. I’m trying, you know …
When you finish your story (when we finish it?) you will understand the pains of bringing a book into the world. You will understand how I feel about Last Light. I’m not publishing it to hurt you. In fact, I don’t get where all this apprehension is coming from. You’ve known for a while that I planned to publish it. Did the possible consequences just dawn on you?
Whatever the case, I’ll set up a meeting with Pam and we three will discuss it. Do you like the sound of that?
Love,
Your Night Owl, Certified Spoiled Brat & Resident Golden Boy
“Let me just—” He rubbed his mouth. “Let me get this straight. You expect me … to refrain from publishing Last Light … because it’s true?”
“Uh … yes?”
“Ha…” He cocked his head and half-smiled. “Ah—I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. The…” He shook another cigarette from his pack. Ugh, I really wanted him to quit. My angry text at work probably sent him on a smoking tear, and just when he was tapering down. “The answer is no.” His expression grew calm and almost haughty. He turned away again.
I stood there, staring at his back in a daze.
The answer … is no? I wasn’t asking him not to publish the book; I was telling him not to. It couldn’t happen. Fucking wouldn’t happen. All day at work I’d tormented myself with the possible ramifications of Last Light seeing the light of day. Legal … social … familial ramifications. Was Matt suffering some sort of disconnect from reality?
Not to mention the awkward-as-hell situation he’d put me in with Pam.
I threw the manuscript at him.
As I twisted away, I saw a page lick into the air and go sailing out over Denver.
“Hannah,” he growled. He snatched at the stray papers.
I stalked inside and locked myself in our bedroom.
That douche-canoe could sleep on the couch. Again. Fuck, we needed a bigger place.
I booted up my laptop and sat on the bed, simmering. I expected Matt to come storming down the hall, banging at the door, but I heard nothing.
God, he could be so infuriating! And this wasn’t a joke—wasn’t up for discussion.
I listened to angry music (Eminem), hopped off the bed and paced, and finally opened Gmail and sent a message to Matt. Deep breaths …
Subject: Ultimatum
Sender: Hannah Catalano
Date: Monday, June 30, 2014
Time: 5:11 PM
Matt,
I don’t know how to reason with you right now. You’re being crazy. You absolutely CANNOT publish Last Light. Your aunt already seems to hate me. How much more do you think she (and the public) will hate me when they know I helped plan and execute your fake death?
Do you want people to hate me?
And don’t tell me people will think the book is fiction, because they won’t. Also, don’t you DARE compare Night Owl to Last Light. This is so different. My reputation is at stake here. So is Nate’s. The book portrays me doing drugs, hooking up with your brother, and basically letting you risk your life.
You would have to be seriously unfeeling to even THINK of publishing it.
That said, I know full well that I can’t stop you from doing what you want. You always do what you want. You’re a spoiled brat, do you know that? Golden boy with green eyes. It’s really hard to love you sometimes.
If you continue the publication process with Last Light, if you’re so hell-bent on blowing the lid off everything, I’ll finish and publish MY story. Fair’s fair.
Hannah
P.S. Enjoy the couch tonight. We obviously need a bigger place, because you need a proper doghouse.
P.P.S. Quit smoking. That’s a new stipulation.
Attachment: UNTITLED.doc
Chapter 18
MATT
I sat in my office, reading the first chapter of Hannah’s story. MY story, she’d called it. I smiled and shook my head.
Mm, my little bird with her very own version of events …
How charming. Was I supposed to feel threatened? The poor girl had no leverage.
She’d written only one chapter of her supposed story. It recounted our appearance on the Denver Buzz, her anxiety about the proposal, and our argument when she caught me house-shopping. I skimmed the text, remembering, until her words stopped me.
The smile died on my lips.
My desire to carry a child, Hannah had written, could be described as less than zero.
“The hell?” I mumbled. I tracked back and reread.
Holy shit. Matt wanted kids?
Again, I reread the chapter. And again. I needed more, but there wasn’t more.
I clicked on her Word document and forced a page break. I stared at the new page, my mind tossing and turning. Then I centered the words “Chapter 2, Matt” and began to write.
Mike kept a framed picture of his family on his desk …
Three hours later, I finished my chapter. I proofed it and replied to Hannah’s e-mail.
Subject: Stipulations, ultimatums, lions, tigers, bears … oh my?
Sender: Matthew R. Sky Jr.
Date: Monday, June 30, 2014
Time: 9:10 PM
Baby Bird,
“Keep writing with me.” Wasn’t that one of your stipulations? Yes, I think it was, along with “marry me” and “no more lies” and “see your shrink.”
I mean to do all those things and more. I’ll add “quit smoking” to the list. I’m trying, you know …
When you finish your story (when we finish it?) you will understand the pains of bringing a book into the world. You will understand how I feel about Last Light. I’m not publishing it to hurt you. In fact, I don’t get where all this apprehension is coming from. You’ve known for a while that I planned to publish it. Did the possible consequences just dawn on you?
Whatever the case, I’ll set up a meeting with Pam and we three will discuss it. Do you like the sound of that?
Love,
Your Night Owl, Certified Spoiled Brat & Resident Golden Boy
