Page 45 of The Write Off

“Is that our lunch?” Anna asks as she watches me pour the honey ginger marinade into a ziplock bag containing four raw chicken thighs.

“If it is, I’m not eating it,” Travis says with a look of disgust.

“Noted,” I tell him, then return my attention to his sister. “No, I’m having a friend over this evening for dinner.”

“Stuart?” she asks, poking the plastic bag with a morbid fascination.

“No, her name is Rilla.”

I might as well have blasted an airhorn in the small kitchen.

“Is she your girlfriend?” She gets her blue eyes, along with the majority of her features, from her mom, and right now they’re as round as saucers. Travis, who takes after our side of the family much more, does not turn his attention away from the ship repairs.

“No.” Not yet, anyway. Rilla and I are certainly something, but I don’t think I can assign a label to it. But I also can’t say that because I know it will cause Anna the Analyzer to ask questions until her voice gives out.

Her small shoulders slump. “Oh, that’s too bad. Mommy says you need one of those.”

Thanks a lot, Shannon. On more than one occasion my sister-in-law has offered to set me up with her single friends and colleagues.

“How do you know her?” she asks. I know that Anna won’t be satisfied until she knows everything she possibly can.

“She’s a writer. We work together.”

“What kind of books does she write?”

“Fantasy.”

Her brow furrows. “Like fairytales?”

“Sort of.” I wash my hands in the sink and dry my hands on a dishcloth. “She made up an entire world, with different types of people and creatures and then she wrote a story about them.”

Anna lets out a squeal and runs out of the room. I exchange a puzzled look with her brother before pouring myself a fresh cup of coffee and going to look for her. I find her in the spare room, pulling a large notebook from her suitcase. She clutches it to her chest and beckons me to follow her to the living room where I join her on the couch.

“I want to write fairytales,” she says, putting the notebook in my lap. “But I want to change the things I don’t like.”

“You have to learn how to spell first,” Travis calls from the kitchen.

“Those are called re-imaginings and they’re very popular right now,” I say, ignoring her foul-humored brother. She starts to turn the pages for me. Each page contains brightly colored illustrations of different well-known stories.

I point to a drawing of a blonde woman in a bright blue dress. There is an older woman next to her, a pumpkin that looks more like an orange beach ball, and several hat-wearing mice. “What would you change about Cinderella?”

“I would get rid of the part about the glass slipper. My friend Aislyn and I have the exact same size feet. Probably a lot of people could have fit their foot in the shoe. And besides, if he loves her enough to marry her, he should remember what her face looks like. Right?”

“One hundred percent. Keep going.”

She turns the page to reveal what I assume is Snow White, judging from the short black hair and red, blue, and yellow dress. There are several short stick men around her. I’m guessing that Anna got tired and didn’t want to illustrate all of the dwarfs.

“You know how the Evil Queen is always trying to hurt Snow White? Well, what if instead of being mean, she just like, tried to be nice to her? Aislyn’s got a stepmom and she takes her to the mall and lets her stay up late on Saturdays.”

“I love it. Next.”

The next page is filled with animals and you can tell she put a lot of effort into it. There are zebras, elephants, and monkeys. The focus of the drawing is two lions, standing side-by-side on a rock. My stomach sinks when I realize what she’s illustrated.

“I was thinking that maybe Simba’s dad didn’t have to die.” Her voice is small and her eyes are instantly wet.

I set the book down gently and open my arms to her. She lets me gather her against my chest, resting her head on my shoulder as she quietly cries.

“I think a lot of people would really like to hear that version of the story,” I tell her as she sniffles against me. “All of them, really. Why don’t we work on getting some words down on paper? When we’ve got enough, I’ll have it made into a book.”

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