Page 85 of Just a Distraction

It wasn’t like the whole summer was perfect. We had our disagreements. There were tense moments when we argued over conversations we had with family members and times when caring for Callum felt overwhelming and our patience would run out.

In those moments, the way Rose looked at me seemed to convey a sense ofI told you this isn’t meant to last forever.

Some lesser-connected agents reached out to me these last few months, offering their services after seeing my success on Turnip. But I turned them all down because I believe in my stories too much to settle. I need someone in New York, someone who can helpZehmabecome a household name.

Except now, here at Rose’s table in her empty apartment, that all feels like an illusion I’ll be chasing forever. A stupid notion. I should probably go back to those agents and ask them to represent me. Rose’s rejection, the big players at the literary agencies’ rejections—it’s all combining in my head into a glob of unworthiness.

I don’t remember the last time I felt so helpless.

The quiet settles over us in a loud and uncomfortable way. Rose jumps up from her chair and goes to the freezer. When she opens it, I see there’s only one item left in there, a small container of Rocky Road ice cream.

She places it on the countertop, then turns to one of the few remaining boxes in the apartment that contains only the essentials she’ll need to access during her trip. Rummaging through the items, she pulls out a plastic sack, revealing two waffles cones.

“Finally, the mystery shall be revealed!” She says with a laugh. “I’d say you’ve waited long enough.”

“Need some help?” I ask. I feel the corners of my mouth twitch, despite myself, as she fishes out a large spoon from the box and proceeds to scoop up the ice cream into the cones.

“No, no. I got it.” Her eyes sparkle at me before she turns back around to finish scooping.

Thorin must smell the cones because he lumbers up from his bed in the living room and joins us, his gaze trained on each of us in turn, as if to sayWhich one of you is going to take pity on a cute dog and feed him a treat?

She hands me my ice-cream cone and we eat in silence, our only conversation halfway through being about what a skilled beggar Thorin is. Neither of us can resist searching through the one remaining kitchen box for some dog biscuits for him. When she’s nearly finished with her ice cream, she jumps up and stands near the tall kitchen garbage can.

“I think it’s funny you don’t know about this old wives’ tale,” she says, rooting around the bottom of the cone with her tongue for any last bites of ice cream. “But basically, it’s a superstition that if you eat the tip of the ice cream cone, you’re much more likely to get pregnant.”

I can’t help my laugh.

“What? It’s true!”

“It’strue?” I mock, cocking an eyebrow.

“Okay, not true necessarily, but it’s a thing.”

“It’s not a thing.”

She lifts her chin. “Well, it’s folklore in my circles, and I happen to take it seriously.” She dumps the tip of the cone in the garbage.

“If you guys consider it a form of birth control, things are starting to make sense.” I’m finished with the whole thing, thank you very much, and I stand to join her near the countertop. Even though my resentment and heartache are rising, I don’t want to miss out on these last opportunities to be close to her.

“Things? As in my family’s voracious fertility?” She laughs and wraps her arms around me, going on her tiptoes so she can gather in closer to me.

“Yes.” Feeling her in my arms is torturous.

“I assure you it’s not a form of birth control for us, but it never hurts to take it seriously. It’s like throwing a bit of salt over your shoulder when you spill it. No harm in doing it.”

“And yet, you haveninenieces and nephews.”

She squeals in frustration. “I’m not saying it’s foolproof! It’s just what I’ve always done, so . . .” She shrugs and brushes her lips against mine.

I freeze and she pulls away, her mouth turning down in a frown. “I love you, Milo.”

Surprise zips through me. We’ve never said it before. Doesn’t it break her rules to say it?

Still, I have to. “I love you, too, Rose.” I know my voice is bitter. “I really thought I could change your mind.” I can’t meet her gaze, but I walk slowly to the table and sit on a chair, my arms hanging down my sides. Finally, when she doesn’t say anything, I look up.

Her face and body are still—her jaw set.

“I shouldn’t have pushed for something you obviously don’t want.” I hate the bitterness in my voice.

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