How (Not) to Fall in Love(97)
Charlie will visit Dad, too, bringing used books from his store and pastries from Liz. From what Charlie tells me, he and Dad have really long talks. Sometimes Dad cries, but he laughs, too. And Charlie says each visit brings them closer.
Dad’s treatment time is almost up at the inpatient mental health facility, so he’ll be coming home soon. Mrs. Hamilton, his secretary from Harvest, insisted on setting up a desk and tiny office in the basement of our new house. She’s convinced the next chapter of Dad’s story will be a bestseller, if he’s willing to tell it. A lot of other people Dad knows have reached out to Mom, some of them famous, some of them not, but all of them expressing love and support for Dad, and us.
We hear from trolls and haters, too, of course, but we ignore them.
Lucas and I don’t say much as we drive down from the mountains. Toby snores from the backseat, exhausted from chasing rabbits. We listen to one of my favorite songs because the lyrics have propped me up for a long time now, lyrics about bending, not breaking. About the redemptive power of love.
I don’t know what’s next for my family or me. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other, and sometimes that takes more courage than facing down the fiercest dragon. But I’m not afraid anymore, and I’m not alone.
And in the end, that’s all that matters.
Acknowledgments
It’s true that it takes a village, and I love mine:
My writing tribe: the Wild Writers critique group members (past and present) for their collective brilliance, laughter, and snacks! I couldn’t have done it without you. Special thanks to Julie Anne Peters, who invited me to join and cracked her metaphorical whip until I “finished the damn book.” I’m grateful for new friends from the Heart of Denver and Colorado Romance Writers RWA chapters, YARWA, and the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers.
Entangled: Heather Howland for pulling this book from the slush pile and believing in the story. Liz Pelletier, my patient and encouraging editor and grand wizard of Entangled: because of you, this book is finally what it was meant to be. Heather Riccio, Debbie Suzuki, and Anita Orr: a million thank-you hugs for championing this book and answering all my questions. Thank you to Julia Knapman for laser-like copy edits.
Nicole Resciniti, agent extraordinaire, for cheering me on with phone calls and emails full of exclamation points, and for being a ninja editor!
My teachers: Kathy Scott for her shoebox of story ideas, Sally McCabe for “One, two, three. Breathe.” Nancy Fehrmann for introducing me to Robert Cormier as a “budding author” in high school.
Finally, to my family: my book-loving parents who nurtured me as a writer, my extended “out-law” clan for love and support, my husband who always makes me laugh and whose support never wavers, and my son, who cringes over the kissing scenes, cheers me on anyway, and cooks me awesome dinners.
Don’t miss Vivi Barnes’s funny and romantic Paper or Plastic, available now!
Read on for a sneak peek…
Paper or Plastic, by Vivi Barnes
Welcome to SmartMart, where crime pays minimum wage...
Busted. Alexis Dubois just got caught shoplifting a cheap tube of lipstick at the local SmartMart. She doesn’t know what’s worse—disappointing her overbearing beauty-pageant-obsessed mother for the zillionth time…or her punishment. Because Lex is forced to spend her summer working at the store, where the only things stranger than the staff are the customers.
Now Lex is stuck in the bizarro world of big-box retail. Coupon cutters, jerk customers, and learning exactly what a “Code B” really is (ew). And for added awkwardness, her new supervisor is the totally cute—and adorably geeky—Noah Grayson. Trying to balance her out-of-control mother, her pitching position on the softball team, and her secret crush on the school geek makes for one crazy summer. But ultimately, could the worst job in the world be the best thing that ever happened to her?
Chapter 1
It was just a cheap tube of lipstick in a shade I would never wear, if I wore lipstick at all.
Which I didn’t.
So I couldn’t believe I was sitting here, staring at the frosted square of glass in the door, holding my breath every time a shadow moved past.
Court shifted slightly, but her expression was bored. Her mom had already appeared, popping her head in for a few seconds to click her tongue and say, “Courtney Ann,” in that slightly disappointed way that made me wish I were going home with her instead of my own mother.
Why did I do it? All I knew was that Mom’s pinched expression this morning as she looked from my superstar sister, Rory, to me, the meh daughter, had been fixed in my mind. Her words, Why can’t you be more like your sister, were familiar enough by now. Then she had to add in the fact that I was throwing away my future on some ridiculous pipe dream when I could be so much more. And all because I asked to go to Space Coast Fastpitch Softball Camp at the end of summer instead of joining her boring League of Southern Women group. I remember my sole thought as I slipped the lipstick into my pocket: Take that, Mom.
Still. The first really wrong thing I did in my entire life, and I got caught.
The annoying ticks of the wall clock reminded me that we had been sitting here for an hour. I wanted to take the stapler off the desk and throw it at the clock as hard as I could.