Page 91 of Sleepover

“Smart man,” Jacinda says.

I flash back to that night: the two of us, together at Il Capriccio. I can feel the strength of his interest in what I’m telling him and the depth of his faith in me. I can see his strong, rugged features, his broad shoulders, and when he leans in to earnestly address me, I can even smell his cologne.

I can hear his voice, too, the low rumble of it.

I miss him. I hate that it’s true, but I miss him so much.

“He said, ‘You can talk yourself out of anything.’ And I realized that’s what I was doing.”

“You were shooting yourself down before you could get rejected,” Jacinda says knowingly. “Happens all the time. In fact, it’s one of my jobs not to let authors do that.”

Authors.If my book gets published, I’ll be an author, not just a writer.

“Well,” says Jacinda. “Whatever chain of events led to your sending Splitsville to me, I’m grateful for it. You take your time thinking about my offer of representation. As much as I hate to give you this advice, you might want to check in with some of the other agents you sent it out to, because sometimes if they know someone’s made an offer of representation, that will prompt them to at least read it. But obviously I very much hope you’ll choose me.”

Of course, I’ll do what she’s suggested, but in my heart I know someone else would have to really blow me away for me to choose that person over Jacinda. I don’t say that, though. I just say, “You’ve been really wonderful. I’ll think it over, and I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

And then I hang up and dance like a lunatic around the kitchen.

When I’ve calmed down, I review the conversation in my head. It was so much goodness at once, I’m completely overwhelmed. I dwell first on the things she said about Splitsville—that she loved it, that it had helped heal her, that it would help other women. That it was charming, self-deprecating, and funny.

Whatever chain of events led to your sendingSplitsville to me, I’m grateful for it.

Hattie! I had to tell her.

And Sawyer. I wanted, desperately, to tell him. You can talk yourself out of anything. It’s not talking yourself out of the stuff that matters that’s the tough part. He was part of the chain of events that had led me to Jacinda…

What had Jacinda said?

You were shooting yourself down before you could get rejected.

I freeze, and my hands feel suddenly cold.

You can talk yourself out of anything.

You were shooting yourself down before you could get rejected.

I mentally travel back to that night, trying to see the scene through objective eyes. The journal on the floor, the journal in my hands. My words, and his. What had I said?

You don’t have to explain. You don’t have to apologize. You were honest with me the whole way. I just thought—

When you love someone the way you loved Lucy, you don’t just—two years isn’t very long, is it?

I think it might be too soon. For both of us. You still love Lucy, and that’s okay.

The thing is, Sawyer, I just don’t think I can do it again—be with someone who wishes he were with someone else.

And what had he said?

Almost nothing. He’d answered “no” to my question about two years. And he’d told me he cared about me—even after I told him I didn’t think I could be with him.

He’d told me he’d miss me.

And that expression had flashed across his face, which I hadn’t recognized at the time but which could have—easily—been hurt.

Oh. God.

Oh God oh God oh God oh God.

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