Funny You Should Ask(80)

“Gabe says that you’re working on a novel,” Lauren says to me.

“Not quite,” I say. “I’m still mostly doing nonfiction.”

“She’s extremely talented,” Gabe says. “She could write whatever she wanted.”

I can feel a blush spread upward from my chest.

“Gabe,” his mother says. “You’re embarrassing the poor girl.”

“Oh, I know,” he says.

He holds my gaze while he takes a big bite of lasagna, grin affixed to his face. I roll my eyes, but the heat lingers.

I catch a knowing glance being exchanged between Lauren and Elizabeth. They’ve been nice, so nice to me. I like them.

Like with Ollie, I’m worried I’m going to disappoint them.

It isn’t until we’re halfway into our meal, and I’ve just put a very large forkful of very good lasagna into my mouth, that Lena says something directly to me.

“I know who you are,” she says.

It’s an accusation.

“Lena,” Gabe says.

“What?” She shoots him the look that all teenagers have in their arsenal.

The look that says that if you were to drop dead right there, she wouldn’t even care.

Even though I don’t have a teenager of my own, I have stood in front of a room of mostly men who, despite having never written a book in their lives, were convinced that they were destined to become the next great American novelist, and who didn’t have a question, really, but more of a comment.

I can withstand a baseline of disrespect from virtual strangers—I’ve practically trained for it.

“You’re the reporter,” Lena says.

“I am,” I say.

“I read the article.”

“What did you think of it?” I ask.

I can sense everyone at the table sucking in a breath.

“Lena,” Lauren warns, but I wave her off.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Gabe didn’t like it either.”

“That’s not true,” Gabe says as his mother and sister turn to glare at him.

“Trust me,” I say, “I’ve heard far worse. One time I was signing someone’s book for them and they told me I was overrated. A reviewer once wrote that I wasn’t pretty enough to be so angry. My favorite, however, was the ten-paragraph email I got that broke down everything that was wrong with the first essay in my first collection and informed me that I should expect more of the same type of criticism for each following chapter. He had also attached an invoice for the work he’d done and an address where I could send the check.”

Gabe coughs back a laugh.

Lena’s eyes are round, surprised.

“You can’t hurt my feelings,” I tell her. “And it’s okay if you didn’t like it.”

“It wasn’t terrible,” she says, her face red. “Just, like, whatever, okay?”

She pushes away from the table and her chair falls back on the floor. Teddy is immediately on her feet, tail between her legs.

Lena is out of the room before anyone can say anything.

I feel terrible.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s not you,” Lauren says. “After her dad died, people were calling the house all the time. Lots of reporters. Not all of them were nice.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

Lauren shrugs. “It’s part of the trade-off, I guess. Gabe gets paid a bunch of money to do very little and people want to know about him and his life.”

“Excuse me,” Gabe says. “I do not get paid a bunch of money to do very little. I get paid a ridiculous amount of money to do very little.”

Lauren reaches over and puts her hand on his.

She looks tired.

There’s a buzz and both siblings check their phones.

I watch as Lauren reads the screen, her cheeks growing pink.

Gabe stabs his dinner as she shoves her phone back into her pocket.

“Again?” he asks.

“It’s fine,” she says.

“I’ll tell him to stop.”

But she shakes her head.

“I don’t…mind,” she says.

I can tell this surprises Gabe, but he doesn’t say anything—he just sits back, arms crossed.

“Gabe,” she says. “I can handle this. I am older than you, remember?”

“And he’s younger than you,” Gabe says. “Younger than me. Probably younger than Chani.”

Now I’m very, very curious.

“Who is this?” I dare to ask.

The siblings exchange a look, before Gabe makes a “tell her” gesture.

Lauren lowers her head and her eyes.

“Ben Walsh,” she says.

My eyebrows go way up.

“Ben Walsh,” I say. “Benjamin Walsh?”

Lauren’s cheeks have gone bright red.

“He’s…” I struggle to find the words.

“A decent actor,” Gabe offers.

“Very handsome,” I say. “Like, painfully handsome. The kind of handsome where you can’t even look at him directly without feeling a little light-headed.”

Lauren lets out a choking little laugh.