Kiss Her Once for Me (90)

It took me a while to track down your email address, and I hope you’ll forgive me for being so aggressive. As an editor, I’m always looking to work with new authors and artists, and I’m especially interested in the possibility of seeing your work as a longer project. I think the market is ripe for an adult romantic comedy in graphic novel form. I’m not sure The Perpetual Suck has quite the tone we’re looking for, but The Arrangement and Snow Day could make an incredible romance (as long as we can give the characters the happy ending they deserve). I would love to set up a time to chat with you more.

Do you already have an agent? If so, I’d be happy to connect with them moving forward. If you’re not currently agented, I would love to help you find someone who would be a good fit. I’m excited to hear from you (and to see what happens between Lucy and Joe).

Sincerely,

Samantha Clark



“Holy shit!” I put a hand over my mouth and stare at my phone, reading the email a third time.

“You’re freaking me out here a bit,” Jack says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “What’s going on?”

“It’s—it’s an email from an editor! She found my webseries on Drawn2 and she loves it!”

“Your what?”

“I—I—” I’m not thinking clearly, not thinking at all. “I started creating webcomics after I got fired from Laika, and this editor read The Arrangement and she… she wants to publish it. She asked if I have an agent? I have no idea what an agent does! Oh my God, I should google it!”

I don’t even know what I’m saying, know what I’m thinking. This mess—this absolute messy webcomic that I made just for myself… this thing that actually brought me joy. “She loves my work! My work!”

“Of course she does!” Jack pulls me into a hug, lifts me off the ground, and spins me around until I’m all warm and fuzzy again. “You’re incredible, Elle! This is incredible! Oh my God! Like Alison Bechdel!”

“I know!” I look down at my phone again, chewing on my bottom lip as a gnawing doubt seeps in. “Well, maybe. I mean, I’m sure it’s not a guarantee or whatever. She’s just expressing interest.”

“Still! Interest is huge!”

The thought of responding to the email turns the hope bubbling inside my chest into something bordering on panic. Jack gives my arm a playful shove. “We’re going to celebrate this,” she says. “Before we start panicking about what this means and what comes next, we’re just going to exist in this moment and fucking celebrate it!”

I feel dizzy and giddy and hopeful. “Yes! Yes, we have to celebrate it!”

“But first…” Jack points up ahead, to where the cabin is visible through an outcropping of trees.

But first, we have to deal with the Kim-Prescotts.



* * *



“You’re safe!” Katherine opens her arms and promptly bursts into tears the second we walk through the front door.

“Yes, Mom, we’re safe.” Jack allows herself to be hauled into a hug and kissed excessively on the face, then I do the same, secretly loving Katherine’s kisses. Paul Hollywood flings himself at Jack next, jumping up and down and licking every inch of her exposed skin.

“Merry Christmas Eve!” Lovey gushes. “We thought you two might be dead!”

“Not dead,” Jack clarifies.

“I didn’t think the two of you were dead,” Meemaw says, nudging me with her elbow and actually winking. Alan lurks in the back of the little semicircle that’s forming, offering a running commentary about the deficiencies of Jack’s truck, her driving abilities, and the decrepit state of the Singhs’ cabin.

“Oliver!” Someone shouts across the house, and then I’m violently accosted by Andrew as he pulls me into his arms. What I assume is a performance as my doting fiancé feels surprisingly genuine as he hugs me tight. “We were so freaked out when you didn’t make it back.”

Dylan is there, too, wearing their penis/middle finger Christmas sweater. “Are you okay?” they ask Jack. And then Andrew is hugging Jack, and Dylan is hugging me, and I realize both of their concern is genuine.

“We’re fine.” Then, quieter to Andrew: “Can I talk to you privately for a moment?”

I shoot Jack a look that attempts to convey Don’t worry—I’m all in. Then I haul Andrew upstairs. Before I even close the door to our bedroom, he blurts, “I had sex with Dylan!” He’s his face-scrunching, nose-pinching, mouth-half-open self.

“Yeah,” I say. “I figured.”

“You… figured?”

“Jack and I saw the two of you. At Timberline. We saw you kissing.”

He reaches for both of my hands, like we’re a bride and groom standing at the altar, about to say our vows. “Shit. I’m so, so sorry. I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

“Well, um, so have I, actually….” I take one long, steadying breath and brace myself for the truth. “I slept with your sister.”

The scrunch deepens. “Well, sure, you were snowed in at the Singhs’ cabin. I assumed you slept at some point.”

“No, you hot doofus! Why would I tell you we had a sleepover? No. I’m in love with Jack, and we slept together last night.”