Page 17 of Riesling with My Roommate

While I’ve been super productive with the videos, I’m not actually seeing much in terms of results. Sure, I’ve got an uptick in subscribers and Patreons, but nothing as drastic as I’d hoped. I need something catchy, something viral, that will help me gain the numbers I want to see to make this more sustainable.

Although, now that I’ve agreed to live here with Chris, that number is a lot closer than it would have been. Plus, the refund for the mycelium-filled apartment hit my bank account yesterday.

Visiting Rome means paying for a flight and a hotel. After our trip to Paris, when we accidentally walked in on Tessa and her solo session, we agreed we should at least get two rooms.

Plus wine, dinners out, tours, transportation . . .

This is what I agreed to, though, and one reason why I came to Europe. And this week, Tessa and Luc had a crisis, one that finally got Tessa to admit that she wants Luc to be more than a fake relationship. We need to celebrate.

A knock interrupts my thoughts. Chris stands in the open doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, dressed in his usual band shirt and lounge pants.

“What do you think?” he asks, voice still thick with sleep.

I’ve just unrolled my yoga mat and am kneeling at one end. I smile up at him from the floor. “It’s perfect.”

He nods and pushes off, wandering away, presumably for coffee and a smoke outside like usual. My stomach rumbles, and I think I’ve missed lunch, busy moving and thinking unproductive thoughts.

Chris makes coffee in the kitchen. I hang back by the table, giving him the space to do his own thing. I flip open my content planner next to my laptop and run my fingers along the upcoming week. There’s a circle the weekend Zoe’s going to come in big, red ink. I see it every time I open my monthly calendar, a reminder of why I’ve got to make my business profitable.

“It’s justthat my friends are all going, and it would be a lot of fun. I should have realized that it would conflict with our weekend together,” Zoe says. I can picture her giving me puppy dog eyes and pressing her palms together, pleading with me.

It’s Tuesday, the day Zoe is supposed to take the train to visit me, and I’m outside at the table having an al fresco lunch.

“That’s okay,” I say, swallowing back my disappointment that Zoe is canceling. Her schedule at school may be fairly open, but her social calendar has gotten remarkably busier. Back home, I saw Zoe at least two or three times a month—she would come home for a weekend, or I would do something in Austin, so I’d take her out to lunch or coffee. Now, it’s going to be over a month by the time I see her.

Granted, this weekend I am the one not available, but still.

And there’s a festival her friends are going to, and I can understand wanting to attend. She’s young, I remind myself; these years are supposed to be about independence and fun.

“Are you sure?” she says, and the barely-constrained hope in her voice has me fake-smiling and infusing as much enthusiasm into my words as I can.

“Of course. Have a great time and be safe, nena.” The term of endearment is from her father, and I’ve kept that part of his memory going.

“I will. I totally will.”

She gabs for a little while in excitement, telling me about her plans and some of the artists performing at the festival. I haven’t heard of any of them.

“Maybe I should come to Munich?” I suggest.

“Oh. Uhhh . . .” That uh kills me, and a sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

“No, I can’t do that. I have to record videos to publish this weekend. Ha, silly me,” I say, totally backtracking. It’s a lie—I’ve already filmed enough for this weekend so I could take it off.

“Okay,” Zoe says too quickly. “We’ll plan something else. I promise. I’ll get out there soon.”

“Sure,” I say, trying to keep the shakiness out of my voice.

“I watched your latest video yesterday.”

“Oh?” I say, achingly pleased for any little sign of interest from Zoe. “Did you follow along?”

“Of course,” she says and fills me in on how her yoga practice is going. We talk for a few more minutes, and then she has to go.

I hang up and slump onto the table. I’ve been getting up later and later lately, and aside from my phone call with Zoe and eating my overnight oats, I have done nothing productive.

And I don’t really want to.

But I do, anyway. I slog through filming a few short videos for my patrons, but I have a suspicion they’re all crap. I guess I’ll find out when I go to edit them this afternoon.

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