Page 19 of Female Fantasy
Tey shakes his head slowly, like he can’t believe the hand he’s been dealt. “No, Joon. I didn’t tell him. The whole town saw Job Pesce crying into his ice cream on Main Street this week. Apparently, you really did a number on him.”
I frown. Job couldn’t be a little more discreet?
“And to answer your earlier question, Mom FaceTimed me this morning. They just reached Cape Cod last night.”
I nod, but my dinner churns in my stomach. Why didn’t they call me? Are they disappointed that yet another one ofmy relationships was a failure?
In a sense, I’ve long since accepted that Tey is the favorite, the kid my parents trust. I’m the baby of the family, the child they always worry about. But sometimes I worry that they see me as more of a burden than an adult. They’ve never gotten over the childhood bullying, the unflappable optimism as a coping method, so they sort of coddle me. If Tey knew I felt this way, he’d tell me I’m being ridiculous. So I keep that intrusive thought locked deep inside my brain in that box I only tap occasionally, when I need writing inspo.It’s nestled between body-snatching narwhals andHigh School Musical,but everyone’s gay.
“So, Nico. What’s new with you? Still making money off of hurricane survivors and tragic house fires?” I ask, my voice casual. “Hey, when we enter hurricane season, do you cream your pants? Or just hearcha-ching?”
Nico works in crisis insurance, which Tey has repeatedly told me mostly involves crunching numbers in Excel and making conversation with geriatric men. But I still like to make fun of him for it, mostly because it’ssohim. I’ve never met anyone as cynical as he is, as anxious, as disaster-obsessed. Forget glass half-empty. In Nico’s head, the glass has shattered on the carpet and he has stepped on it with bare feet. He’s been that way ever since we were kids. I call him a pessimist; he calls himself a realist. One time, when we were in middle school and high school, I told him that our parents were considering letting us get a puppy. He informed me that most dogs have lifespans of ten to thirteen years and that I should avoid getting too attached.
Naturally, I started to cry.
“And you, Joonie? Still LARPing inside a romance novel day in and day out?”
I clench my fists. He has successfully struck a nerve.
“First of all, it’s afantasyromance series. Romantasy. Big difference. Second of all, romance is a billion-dollar industry. Publishing relies on romance readers to make ends meet. But sure, make fun of romance because the majority of its readers are women. Everyone loves a misogynist, right? Hey, I have an idea! You should join my book club!”
“Sure thing. Do you guys actually read books or just drink wine and scroll on Reddit?”
“All three! Plus, I bet the genre could teach you a few useful skills. Like open and honest communication. Boundary setting. Empathy. How to please a woman.”
His eyes narrow. “Believe me, I don’t need an instruction manual for that.”
Once again, my stomach stirs. But this time, I don’t think it’s the food.
Why am I suddenly picturing Nico in a very compromising position?
Tearing my gaze away from his, I desperately try to change the subject. Anything to take attention off of Nico, his nighttime activities, the color spreading up my neck.
“Tey, I need to borrow your truck,” I blurt out. “I mean, please. Please may I borrow your truck?”
“Wow. Nice attempt at manners!” Tey cocks his head. “And why is that?”
“I have to drive to New York next week, and my car isn’t going to make it. You were right. I should’ve asked that Craigslist guy who sold it to me more questions. You remember the dude with the top hat? Anyway, it’ll never survive the trip. So, pretty please, can we car swap? Just for a few days?”
“Sure.” Tey shovels another spoonful ofkhoreshtinto his mouth. “Why do you have to go to New York?”
I freeze.
Fuck.
I totally forgot to come up with a good excuse for my New York trip. There’s no way I can tell my brother,Oh, so you know that fictional character I’m obsessed with? Well, as it turns out, he’s based on a real person. His name is Ryan, and he lives in New York, and I’m curious about whether or not he’s my soul mate. So I’m going to drive to the city, track him down, and try to seduce him. I promise I’ll pay for gas!
Yeah, I don’t think that’ll work.
Instead of committing, I’ll get committed.
“I got into a creative writing workshop,” I lie. “Yup, a prestigious one. Run by NYU. It’s a three-day intensive course. Full of lectures and workshops. I’m finally going to take a stab at writing that novel. You know, turning my fanfic side hustle into something legit.”
“Really? That’s awesome, Joon!”
Tey beams, and I swallow the acidic bile of guilt in my throat. My brother is always encouraging me to take my writing to the next level, to put myself out there more. It’s not that I don’t want to. But between my copywriting gig, my SaltyGirls community, keeping up with ATOSAS, and dating a few times a week, my schedule is pretty packed. But I hate lying to him about this.
Nico, on the other hand, doesn’t look convinced. “What’s the course called?” he asks, an eyebrow raised.
