Page 55 of How to Write a Rom-Com

I continue toward the door and don’t bother looking through the window to see who it is. I whip it open and squeal at the person on the stoop.

“Surprise!” Elle shouts, raising her hands in the air. I stare at her, dumbfounded.

“But… I was just on the phone with you,” I sputter, still standing in the doorway like an alien has just rung my bell instead of my best friend.

“I was on the train!” she exclaims. “Best surprise ever?” She throws her arms around me in excitement, and I allow myself to melt into her embrace. I don’t think I realized how much I missed her until this moment. But boy, am I happy to see her, here, in the flesh.

“I missed you,” I say breathlessly when she finally releases me from her grip. “Did you take a few days off?”

“Yeah, I just got the sense that… I don’t know, maybe you needed me? With Josie and everything, and then I saw your last few insta posts and—”

“And our conversation this morning pretty much cemented the fact that I’m losing it, is that it?” I finish for her.

“I don’t know if I would use those exact words, but yes,” she says, taking more than a step into the house. “Oh man, look at that!” she says with a gasp, her gaze fixed on the back windows. “Look at that view! Look at the water! It’s actually blue, not brown!”

“That it is,” I say, somewhat amused.

“Our standards are pretty low, huh?” Elle jokes. I follow her to the kitchen counter. “Wow, look at this,” she says, finding the mess of papers I left in my wake. She picks up my notebook and glances at my laptop, where my HERO/HEROINE table is front and center. My chart is so perfectly color-coded, it could be in a bullet journal. Her fingers roam over some notes I made earlier in gel-pen. It’s all about the hero. About Liam.

“Is this the motherlode? Are you fully infiltrated?” she says, sarcastically.

“Practically a ninja,” I groan, running a hand through my knotted hair.

“Wow, Lucy,” she mumbles, still flipping through the notebook. “This is… more than I expected.” Elle’s tone is serious as she reads through my notes. She looks up at me and immediately frowns. “What’s wrong?”

I fold my hands behind my head and bite my lip. All of a sudden, I feel so tired I could cry. “Elle, I—” My voice croaks and I can’t finish my sentence. I fall into a chair at the kitchen table and place my head in my hands.

Elle puts down the notebook and sits at the barstool next to me. “What is it?” she asks in a gentle tone.

“There’s so much wrong about all of this. It’sthem. It’s him,” I say, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles. “I was here to plan out the series, but I got so caught up in the creativity, I basically outlined an entire book. And—it came out as all the wonderful people I’ve met. I’ve been spying on them. Using each and every one of them. Usinghim.”

Elle slowly turns her head to evaluate the scene in front of her. I doubt she was expecting this when she chose to surprise me today. I sigh and lay my head against her shoulder, defeated.

Elle sighs heavily. “Lucy, I think you got a lot more than you bargained for, coming here.”

“No shit,” I reply, my voice hoarse. I sit up, rubbing my face like it might actually remove some of the sadness from my head. “I came here with a goal, and I achieved it. It just doesn’t feel good… at all.”

“Maybe you should just tell him. It will be better than wringing yourself in knots like this and wonderingwhat if,” Elle answers quickly. “You don’t necessarily have to use all of this, but you’re right. You haven’t been honest. And before you can get upset about the ramifications of this,” she says, picking up my notebook again, “you have to see if there is something worth fighting for.”

I let out a loud exhale and lean my head against my hand. I admire my friend, whose Bohemian-chic overalls and wild curly hair look like they belong on a runway or on the streets of Manhattan, not in my dingy rental kitchen. My heart tugs at how happy I am to see her, though. For all the jokes and digs I make about the city, without Manhattan, I wouldn’t have Elle. I grew up watchingFriends, thinking that one day if I moved to Manhattan, I’d have the same set of supportive, unbelievably loyal friends who would do anything for me. It took me a while to find them, but I did, in Elle.

I pause, wondering if I can believe what Elle is saying.Something worth fighting for, I repeat in my head. Do Liam and I have something worth fighting for? Of course, I wish that we did. But in reality, how long have I known him for, a month? I’ve been working toward becoming an editor foryears. But the real battle I’m having here is with my conscience. Can I live with the fact that once I return to the city—to my real life—I’ll never see these people again, and worse still, I will have used them for a story?

I don’t know if I can answer that question yet.

“I don’t know if I can do that, Elle,” I manage to squeak out. The throb in my throat is threatening to explode. Elle must be able to see that I’m on the verge of tears, which startles her. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes.

“Lucy, take a breath, babe. Everything is going to be okay.”

I wish I could know that for sure.

Chapter Eighteen

Lucy: Hey, thank you for the pancakes. It was just what I needed. Hope I didn’t ruin your day yesterday.

Lucy: PS: Elle surprised me for the weekend and we’re having a cozy night in, so I won’t be by the restaurant.

Liam: Glad you’re feeling better. You could never ruin my day. Have fun with your friend. Talk tomorrow.

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