“I’ve never thought about it like that before.”
“You can pursue more than one thing.”
“What made you want to be a writer?”
I shrugged. “I never wanted to be a writer. I just had an idea, and I wrote it down. There’s no such thing as wanting to be a writer—you either are or you aren’t. It’s a solitary activity. People who say they want to be a writer usually mean they want to be a successful writer, and that’s impossible to achieve unless you write something. My imagination comes from the possibilities of my work, the machines I build to get humans to space, and I decided to write them down. I never dreamed it would be popular, that more than ten people would read it, but I have fans…and that’s pretty amazing.”
“That’s so cool. You’re the most successful person I’ve ever met.”
“Success is an arbitrary thing. It’s different for everyone. Don’t measure your success against someone else’s because they aren’t comparable. Look at your grandfather. His idea of success was walking to and through the park with you guys. And that’s a success he should be proud of.”
She chuckled. “I feel like I’m talking to a fortune cookie when I talk to you.”
“Am I spitting out random lines that are meant to look like wisdom?”
“No. You’re just…really interesting. You’re so young, and you’ve already lived an amazing life. It’s really cool.”
My eyes softened at her comment. “Thanks.” Most of the time, people just called me a nerd. I didn’t really think of myself as a cool person.
Emerson knocked before she stepped inside. “I’m here.”
Lizzie sighed like she was disappointed to leave. “Hey, Mom.”
“How’d it go?” Emerson walked to the table and watched Lizzie pick up her backpack.
“Good.” She slipped her arms through the straps of her backpack and put it on. “I got all the answers right.”
Emerson smiled at her daughter and brought her in for a hug. “That’s great.”
“And Derek was telling me about him being a writer. He’s, like, the most interesting person ever,” Lizzie said. “By the way, can I have his number?”
Emerson cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you need it?”
“Just so I can ask him questions about homework and stuff during the day.” Lizzie looked confused. “What’s the big deal? I asked Derek, and he told me I had to ask you.”
Emerson turned to me. “It’s okay with me…if it’s okay with him.”
It was a little weird at first, the idea of Lizzie having access to me whenever she wanted, but if she just asked about homework, I didn’t see the harm in it. I wanted to be there for her if she needed anything. “Sure.”
“Cool.” Lizzie headed to the front door.
Emerson looked at me in my chair, her eyes filling with affection. “You’re sure?” she whispered, her daughter across the room and at the door.
I nodded. “I’m sure.” I rose to my feet so I could walk her to the door.
She smiled. “Alright. And speaking of being a writer…when am I going to get my signed books?”
I continued to put it off because I had no idea what to write. It was easier for me to sign my father’s book on the spot because I knew how I felt about him. But with Emerson, she’d changed my life in a way no one else had…in many ways. What did you say to the person who was so significant that it couldn’t be put into words? “Soon.”14EmersonIt was my favorite day of the week—Wednesday.
I came to Derek’s penthouse, and we went out to breakfast.
All I wanted to do was go to bed and enjoy our time together, but I would also be starving afterward, so it was smart to eat first then do the good stuff later.
He drank from his mug of coffee before he set it down. Then he grabbed his fork and took a few more bites.
It was nice to have these moments with him, a sense of normalcy when our lives were anything but normal. It made me feel like it was just the two of us. We weren’t at his office doing work, and I didn’t have a daughter who would be a teenager very soon. Time was paused. “How’s your food?”
“Not as good as yours.” He nodded to my plate, which was a stack of chocolate chip pancakes smothered in syrup.
“You’re welcome to eat as much as you want.”
He shook his head and kept eating, the light hitting his face perfectly, highlighting that nice complexion along with the shadow of his jawline. He was so breathtakingly beautiful, in the darkness in his bedroom or out in the open like this.
“Has Lizzie texted you?”
“A couple times.”
“What did she say?”
“Asked about some stuff with her math class.”
“Good. I’m glad she’s not bothering you with other things.”
“I don’t mind, baby.” He took another drink of his coffee.