Page 74 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

There’s a snort of laughter. “Are you all right?”

“That depends on your definition.”

“Sorry. You’re the one with all the definitions in your head. I just right-click for synonyms.”

It’s my turn to snort. And just like that I’m smiling. “So how’s Spencer?”

“Good. Possibly too good for me.”

“He’s definitely too good for you,” I shoot back. “But I wouldn’t mention it. Maybe he won’t notice.”

“Ha!”

“Ha yourself!”

Silence descends. I wonder if Lauren’s as surprised by the reappearance of our old rhythm as I am.

“So are we still on for dinner Wednesday night?” she asks.

“Yes. Are you sure you don’t mind coming to the conference hotel?”

“I think I can handle it. There’s a small Italian place near there that I thought you might like.”

“Sounds good.” I’m shocked that she’s been thinking about me or where I might like to eat. “You’re sure I won’t be intruding on your writing time?”

The snort that follows is not quite as happy as the ones that came before it. “Not a problem.”

“Thanks.”

“So did you call about anything special?”

I sort through all the things that are weighing on me and am surprised that even a two-minute snortfest has lessened some of it. She warned me about Clay long ago and she knows where things stand now. I’ve already told her that I’ve made fidelity a requirement for staying married. Can I trust her not to laugh at my writing worries? There’s only one way to find out.

“I, well, I sent proposals to five agents and I’m going to be seeing two more at the conference. I’ve been working on my pitch. But...” My voice trails off.

Her silence on the other end is unnerving. She’s been a bestselling author so long she’s probably forgotten what rejection feels like.

“I’m scared to death I’ll get rejected,” I say finally. “I’m not sure I can handle it.”

Another silence. Even longer than the last. I wait for her to tell me not to worry. That she knows how good a writer I am. That all the horror stories about rejections in the publishing industry are greatly exaggerated.

What I hear is laughter. It goes on long enough to make me consider hanging up. I’m about to put down the phone when the laughter slows to a stop.

“Sorry,” she says. “But you’re definitely going to get rejected, Bree. So you might as well get ready for it.”

“Is that right?”

“Unfortunately, it is.”

“And how would you know?” I infuse the question with every ounce of indignation I feel. “It’s not like you’ve read anything of mine in the last twenty years.”

“No, but I do have plenty of experience with rejection. In fact, I have a master’s degree in rejection. And a PhD inTake that!I’ve lived through way more than I ever wanted to or thought I could. And I don’t know a single successful, working writer who hasn’t.”

“But...”

“Sandcastle Sunrisewas rejected twenty times before it sold.”

“Really?”

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