Page 29 of The Now in Forever
“Look, I didn’t mean to be harsh in my critique.”
I nod but don’t look his way. Kyle comes back with Ed’s tall can of Pabst. Ed takes a sip, and the silence stretches in front of us.
He sets his beer down on the bar. “There’s a lot to like in your book. It’s exciting. I couldn’t put it down. Literally. I stayed up late reading it on my phone. And the stuff that needs fixing, that’s easy stuff. It’s only my opinion. Writing is so subje?—”
“I swear to God if you say subjective, I will throw this lemon wedge in your eye.”
Ed laughs. “Okay. I’m just saying sometimes it’s easier to let the negative sink in and the positives slide off. Let some positives sink in.”
He has a point.
Kyle brings over Ed’s sandwich and gestures to my empty soda glass. “Want a refill?”
“I’ll take that Cab now.”
Kyle brings my wine over. Ed holds up his can in a cheers. “To the positives.”
I clink my glass, the contact with his half-empty can making a dull thud.
“Easy for you to say, Mr. New York Times bestseller.”
Ed laughs. “Yeah, how many years ago? You're only as good as your last book, and mine wasn’t great. In fact, one Goodreads reviewer called it a ‘shameful waste of trees.’”
“You look at your Goodreads reviews. Oh, you’re bad.”
He smiles, that devilish twinkle in his eye. “Do you like bad boys?” He says the last part in a mock breathy voice.
I sip my wine to hide how wide my smile is and how undoubtedly pink my cheeks must be. “Mmm-hmm.”
“It’s on my phone. I can’t help reading them. Literally, all I have to do is go to a little app, and I can see what people are saying about me.”
“Your writing.” I correct.
“Same difference.”
“I can see how it would be hard. Not that I would know, but I can imagine.”
Ed puts his hand on my leg, his palm warm against my bare thigh. “You’re a good writer, Hattie. You’re going to get published.”
Instead of deflecting or making a snarky comment, I let his words sink in.
He moves his hand, and my leg feels cold in the spot where his hand is now missing.
“This is what I think we should do. We should sit with each other’s critiques, let them percolate, throw them against the wall, see what sticks.”
“Are the crits coffee or spaghetti in this analogy?”
He shrugs. “Take your pick. We’ll sit with them for a week then getback to work. In the meantime, I think we should get a little day drunk and play that pinball machine in the corner.”
I look past the pool table to theTwilight Zonepinball flashing neon. I turn back to him and steal one of his French fries.
Ed looks at me expectantly. When I still haven’t agreed, he says, “Drinks on me.”
“Let’s do it.”
Ed buys some quarters from Kyle and orders himself another round. We take our drinks over and set them on the sticky little table by the machine. Ed puts the quarters in and presses the button twice for two players. He motions to the table with an exaggerated sweeping of his arms, and for a second, it’s like I’m back on the beach with him. I’m stunned still.
“Unless you want me to go first?” he says with a confused wrinkle creasing his brow.
