Page 116 of Not in My Book

We lay back in the bed, Aiden’s warm arms holding me.

We were sitting at Peculiar Pub, our eyes trained on my phone, sitting in the center of the table. Logan and I were on one side, Tyler and Jess on the other side, pressed closely together. They’d been together for a while now, often lost in their own bubble.

No one said anything. Every time Logan tried to break the silence, the table shushed him.

“Are you sure it’s releasing today?” Jess eventually asked.

“The email said todayat the latest. Ithasto be today,” I said. I bit my thumbnail, trying to soothe my nerves.

“God, the waiting is agonizing,” Logan said. He threw his head back and groaned. “I didn’t even apply, andI’mnervous.”

I needed to leave soon to go meet Aiden for dinner at Raoul’s in SoHo. I was desperate for the email to come before I left so I could either drown my sorrows in cheap beer at the pub or force Aiden to sip fancy wine with me in celebration.

“I kind of wish they didn’t send the email to everyone who applied. I’d rather be embarrassed in private,” I said, sipping on my water.

“You might be the only person from our program who applied. Besides, no one knows you applied,” Jess reassured. “If it isn’t you, only we and Aiden will know.”

I picked at the skin around my thumb, staying silent.

I was the happiest I’d ever been with Aiden. Each morning felt like a new start with the whole world in front of me. IlovedAiden—and I wanted to tell him soon. But waiting for the fellowship decision was taking up too much of my focus. I couldn’t sleep some nights from nerves, and I wanted a clear mind when I told Aiden. I wantedhimto be my focus.

When my phone buzzed with the email, we all quickly straightened.

“I’m too nervous, I can’t look,” I whispered.

“Oh God, me either,” Logan groaned.

Tyler gingerly plucked his phone from the table and said, “I’ll read it.” I watched carefully as his eyes scanned every line, waiting for him to break out into a smile. Instead, his eyes flickered to mine. He shook his head only slightly and said, “I’m sorry, Rosie.”

The table was quiet. Everyone was waiting for me to react or move, and I didn’t knowhowto. I was embarrassed and sad, and I didn’t know how to move on from it so quickly.

“It’s okay,” I said eventually. “It’s hard to get into for a reason. Maybe next semester.”

“They’re stupid,” Jess supplied. “I’m sure your piece was the best one. They probably didn’t pick it because it was romance.”

“Probably,” I conceded. “That’s just how it goes. A man writes a love story and it’s considered great fiction and an epic tale, but a woman does it, then it’s cliché. God, y’all, sometimes it feels impossible to exist in the academic world as a romance writer.”

“Rosie,” Tyler said softly. “You might want to read the email … Aiden made it in.”

He laid the phone flat on the table and we all leaned forward to skim it.

Congratulations to Aiden Huntington. A student at NYU’s MFA Creative Program, his mentorship with Ida Abarough has guided him well, as his short story depicts grief in a visceral manner. We look forward to publishing him in the Sam Frost Literary Magazine and adding him to our list of fellowship recipients.

I reread the email, feeling a little dizzy. My first thought wasHow many Aiden Huntingtons are there at NYU?Because my Aiden wouldn’t betray me like this, it didn’t make sense.

“You didn’t mention that Aiden was submitting, too. Or that Ida was mentoring him, too.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, my words thick.

Silence fell over the table as I reread the email. It made sense that Aiden would have been accepted into the literary magazine. I didn’t think he was necessarily a better writer than me, but other academics ate his shit up.

But he said he hadn’t submitted, had he? And the mentorship with Ida madenosense.

How long had it been going on? And it wasn’t like Aiden didn’tknowhow much time I spent at the Writer’s House with Ida. And it wasn’t like Ida didn’tknowthat Aiden and I were together now. How could they both keep something like this from me?

But most of all, Ida was aromance writer. And try as I might to keep them at bay, the words he’d said about my beloved genre ages ago lingered in my mind.

“What a jerk,” Logan said.

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