Page 44 of The Villa

I stand there, staring at her, surprised by the sudden rush of anger that surges through me.

“What?”

“This is nonfic, Em, and it’s a whole other world than your little garden party murder books. This is the kind of stuff that’s on NPR. Reviewed in theTimes. It’s abigidea.”

“And it’s mine,” I say, the words rushing out before I can even think about them, the feeling almost primal.

This ismine.

“I know that,” she says, waving a hand. “But, Em, my name on this could take it even further. And I have some ideas, too, you know, ideas about how we can broaden the story, make it apply to more women.…”

Her eyes are bright now, and I can see it all taking hold of her the same way it’s taken hold of me. I also think of how quickly she gets bored. How this will just end up being anotherthing she throws herself into only to dump it when it gets too hard or too boring.

But what scares me more is… what if she doesn’t?

“No,” I hear myself say, and she rocks back on the sofa, almost gaping at me. “I don’t want to cowrite this, I… I want to keep working on it. By myself.”

Silence.

The tick of the ormolu clock, the creaking of the house.

My breaths, sawing in and out of my lungs.

And then Chess speaks.

“Fine. It was just an idea.”

I nod, telling myself to unclench. “And in the future, please don’t go through my things.”

She gives the most extravagant eye roll I’ve ever seen. “There was nogoing through!”

“I’m just saying, I wish you hadn’t done it,” I continue, talking over her, my voice louder, and Chess stands up, too, grabbing her empty glass.

“Okay, well, I did, and I’m sorry, and now I’m going to bed, so please, feel free to work on your precious book without worrying that one word of it will reach my unworthy eyeballs.”

“Now who’s being dramatic?” I call after her, but she’s already stomping up the stairs, probably muttering under her breath about what a bitch I am.

I sit back down on the sofa with a sigh. Maybe this is why Chess and I haven’t spent that much time together in the past few years. Put us in the same room for too long, we fall back into old patterns, old fights.

But it still bothers me, the thought of her scrolling through what I’m working on, not asking, just taking.

Like she always does.

I should go to bed and hope that by tomorrow, she’ll have sobered up and maybe I’ll get an actual apology.

Jesus, if all those fans of hers who think she’s the most enlightened being since Gwyneth Paltrow’s vagina could have seen her tonight, I think as I stand up.

Powered Path, my ass.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: [no subject]

S-

Almost done with the excruciatingly titledSwipe Right on Life!, so using this time in Italy to think about what’s next.

---