Page 22 of Role Play
The familiar ball of lava settles in my gut as shame washes over me, head to toe. I am brokenhearted every time my imagination doesn’t appease a stranger’s preference. But there’s no room for apologies in publishing. The authors who can’t learn to swallow the bitter pill of rejection and humiliation quickly find their cancel button. Those who learn to smile through the pain, weather the storm.
I duck my head, nodding in understanding. So Roxy already read it…or maybe not. But either way, she certainly formed an opinion on my story. “How bad did she roast me?”
“It doesn’t matter. Hot takes are the industry standard right now. It’s just for attention,” Daphne assures me. She shrugs her shoulders, brushing it off like it’s nothing. “How much did that package cost?”
“A hundred and fifty dollars with shipping.”
Daphne bunches up her fists. “I’ll reimburse you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize what kind of person she was when I initiated a collaboration. I just wanted to help you get some views. I’ve already unfollowed and muted her on socials so she can’t tag you in anything else so aggressive. Don’t look at it, Sora. In fact, I’m changing your Instagram password.”
Curiosity tickles my intrigue in a dangerous way. Nothing good can come of me knowing what she said. And there’s no wayDaphne would allow it. She does a better job of protecting my mental health than I do these days.
“Reimburse me?” I ask, lifting one eyebrow. “You want me to take money from my best friend because you tried to help me? Don’t be silly. I don’t know. Maybe I just need to write something better.”
“Lovelyis a fantastic book. It’s my favorite of yours.” She grabs my knee over the covers and squeezes. “I love everything you write, but that one”—she taps against her heart—“spoke to mysoul.”
“Then why do you think it doesn’t sell? What am I doing wrong?” I ask her point-blank.
“I don’t know, babe. I’m trying. I really am?—”
“Hey,” I interrupt, meeting her sad gaze. “I am nothing but grateful for you. You are not the weak link here…I am.”
Social media is the bane of my existence, but it’s an arena in which Daphne thrives. Her personal account, just for shits and giggles according to her, has ten times the following of my author account. She’s full of personality, and knows how to attract an audience.
When I found out authoring meant building a social media presence, I almost didn’t publish. Luckily my best friend jumped in to save the day. Daphne graduated from NYU with me, but didn’t get into Columbia Law like she’d always planned. Since then, she made helping my career her life’s mission between bartending and waiting tables. Of course, my plan was always to reward her richly. Except, after years of sleepless nights, hustling like we’re invincible, we don’t have much to show for it.
My phone rings from the nightstand barely once before I scoop it up. “My mom,” I tell Daphne.
“Take it,” she says as she rolls backward off the bed, landing on her feet, showing off her cat-like agility. “I’ll cut us some cake.”
“Hey, Mama,” I answer, bracing myself for a painful serenade of “Happy Birthday.”My mother is not a talented singer.
“Happy birthday, my sweet girl. Twenty-seven beautiful years of bliss.” Something seems a little off in her tone.
“Twenty-seven years and nine months of bliss,” I correct.
“No. Pregnancy with you was not pleasant, love. Prepare yourself. Chos have terrible pregnancies. Get comfortable with vomiting.”
“Wonderful,” I gripe. “Are we still on for eight tonight?”
“That’s why I’m calling. I’m very sorry, sweetheart, but I’ve come down with a stomach bug. I’ve been lying on the bathroom floor all night. Can we take a rain check for later this week?”
“Oh, Mom.” I pull back the covers, a light breeze chilling my bare legs. “Can I bring you something? Tea? Soup?”
“No, no,” she insists. “I don’t want you catching whatever this is. Very contagious. My whole office is dropping like flies. Plus, it’s your birthday. Go have fun.”
“I’m not leaving you alone to rot over there. I’ll get dressed and come by first thing.”
“Sora,” Mom emphasizes before she goes off in Korean. I was always supposed to learn the language, but never made time. Mom often speaks to me in her native tongue as if it will magically seep into my brain.
“You’ll call me tonight and let me know you’re okay?” I ask once she’s done.
“Don’t worry about me. I just hate to miss your birthday. It’s the first time in?—”
“Ever,” I finish for her. There’s a pang of embarrassment in my chest when I realize how much I let my mom coddle me. Somewhere along the line, I stopped seeing the importance of a social life. I’m loved fiercely by my mother, by Daphne, and evenby Dad in his own way. I’ve been so focused on getting my career off the ground, I never asked if that was enough.
“Maybe it’s good though. I’m sure your friends would like to take you out.” Oh, she’s mighty generous for adding the plural.
“I hope you feel better, Mama. I’m only a call away if you need anything.”
