Last-Minute Love (Year of the Chick series) (20 page)

Chapter
Eighteen

A few days later after a grueling workout (which I planned on doing every day until my trip to see Erik), I was checking my latest book sales with a smile. I couldn’t figure out exactly how it had happened, but through better visibility across the site, I was experiencing big bursts in sales. Sometimes I was selling nearly eighty books a day. As expected, that meant a lot more positive reviews and some harsh ones as well, which was usually the case when reaching a mass audience.

I did the calculations, and realized that my royalty checks from December to
February would total up to three months of salary, which would all be in my bank account by May. Being the Indian math nerd that I was, I continued my projections and realized that even if my March and April sales were half as much, in August I’d have enough money saved (along with my regular savings and bonus) to survive six months in Paris. As long as I lived conservatively.

By the time I’d return
, I’d be a totally broke thirty-year-old with no savings to her name. Unless of course I released and published a sequel while I was there…
it’s possible!
There was no guarantee that a sequel would sell as many as my first, but that’s why I cherished my Facebook fans so much. Each new fan seemed excited for the sequel, and for that I was incredibly grateful.

I closed my laptop with my smile still on,
putting no thought into how I’d break the Paris news to my parents. It was all just a dream right now; maybe a “two years from now when I actually have balls” kind of dream. On the other hand, could I actually wait two years, without jumping from my cubicle window screaming profanities? It was debatable.

For now I couldn’t sweat the details, I jus
t knew I needed something to look forward to, in the likely event I lost Erik in a couple of weeks.

Likely event or CERTAIN event? I’m screwed...

***

With my network of three close
friends now down to two, I was cruising through the mall with Eleanor and Amy, for some last-minute shopping before my trip to see Erik. As for Laura, neither she nor I had made any move to re-connect, and there was no way in hell I could tell her I was going to New York. Not when she’d already lost so much respect for me. It was upsetting, but for now I had to focus on the very-near future. 

The girls and I stopped in
at a typical women’s clothing store, which supplied the usual paradox of business suits and nightclub wear. The club beats blared throughout the store, as unfazed moms watched their teenage daughters try on halter tops.
Gotta love those easy-going white parents.

“Nothing too fancy,” I told the girls
, as we browsed a rack of strapless dresses. “Are you sure?” said Eleanor, as she held a black mini-dress against her perfect frame.

I smirked. “Trust me w
e’re casual people. I already know we’re going to a hockey game...and the museum!” Eleanor seemed bored already, but I knew how to snap her out of it. “Plus there’s a ‘secret trip’ outside of Manhattan,” I said. “But he hasn’t even given me any clues!”

Eleanor’s eyes lit up but it was Amy who
grabbed me by the shoulders. “Is he taking you on a Caribbean getaway?”

I laughed. “I’m
only going to be there for three days. Well...three and a half.” I thought about my seven a.m. return flight, on the Monday once our weekend was over. I’d lied and said there weren’t any Sunday night flights, as a selfish way to spend the maximum amount of hours in his presence. This of course assumed that we’d have such an amazing time together we would need all the hours we could get.
That’s not a big assumption, is it?

My eyes came back into focus an
d I realized Amy was gone. Seconds later she re-appeared, only now holding two sexy tops. One was black and sequined, but the other was purple and low-cut. “Huh? Huh?” She moved her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

“Hmm…” I said. “Well in case we go dancing, I guess.”

The tops fit perfectly, so I paid and we started strolling around the mall again.

Eleanor surprisingly
stopped in her tracks, facing me now with her hands on her hips, in her usual domineering way. “What kind of bras are you taking with you?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “T
he usual push-up ones?”

Her eyes widened.

What’s the big deal?

“Okay,
” she said. “But you know...this isn’t a first date situation...I mean...he’ll probably feel you up.”

I was suddenly blushing. “Huh?”

“Like remember when you were about to meet James last year?” she went on. “That was the first time you were meeting him...EVER. Plus he’s all conservative and British, so we knew he wouldn’t feel you up.”

“But this is like a first date too!” I insisted. “And a last one.” I sighed. “I think that’s why he’s planning all these activities. So we don’t get distracted by…each other.”

“But dude,” said Amy. “IS IT like a first date though?” She stopped in front of me too now, her hands on her hips just like Eleanor.

I was literall
y being cornered by girly wisdom in the mall, whilst standing in front of a “Buy and Sell Video Games” store. The incidence of twenty-something gaming nerds was high.

“She’s right
,” added Eleanor. “Your first date was probably on that boat nine months ago. THEN you talked endlessly…THEN you gave him song lyrics…THEN he made you a song…”

“Stuff’s gonna happen this weekend Romes,” concluded Amy. “Deal with it.”

I shook my head quickly. “No really, we already had that talk. This cow is not for sale so he doesn’t get any milk. Or something. I mean he already has a cow back home in the barn. Or a girl. Whatever. Trust me it’s not happening.” I nodded with conviction but only for a moment, as I started to have a thought. “Except…”

“Except
what?” Eleanor looked at my slyly.

“I just…I mean after he’s gone, I don’t know when I’ll meet another guy. And I mean…how long can a drought last?”
Years. Fucking YEARS. Well no-fucking years, to be exact.

“
You guys are totally gonna do it!” Amy elbowed me and laughed.

“’Do it
’?” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be thirty in less than two months, so let’s not call it ‘do it.’ God I’m gonna be thirty…” I was veering off track by the second.

Eleanor grabbed me by
the shoulders. “Focus!”

“Okay
, but can we please have this talk AWAY from the video game store?”

She nodded, and ushered me forward several steps, until we stopped in front of a con
servative old ladies’ store. It was the kind of store that sold sweatshirts with screen-printed cottage scenes on the front.
I will shop there one day.

Eleanor cleared her throat and resumed. “My point is, even if you don’t have sex, that doesn’t mean stuff won’t happen. Which is why I asked what kind of bras y
ou’ll be wearing. Because you, like me,” she scowled at her not-huge chest, “are fans of the padded technology.”

I smiled. “I know right? Thank god for double push-up bras.”

“Yes, they’re great. But they’re not the kind of bras you wanna be wearing when you’re getting felt up.”

I
looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh my god, it’ll be like he’s groping foam…”

“Just take it
off right away,” suggested Amy. “That’s what I always do!”

I looked at her amazed.

“If the lights are off,” she went on, “he won’t even notice half your boobs are still in the bra. Then put it back on when he isn’t watching, and voila!  They’re back!”

“Okay…”
I said.

“But what if they’re in a
cab or something?” said Eleanor. “She can’t go topless in a cab in winter.”

“A cab?” said Amy. “What is she
, a college girl?”

I watched two wisdom-givers unravel
right in front of me.

“Guys,”
I said. “Guys! Maybe we’re over-thinking this.”

“Really, Little Miss F
oam-Boobs?” said Eleanor.

I
gasped and started blushing again.

“The po
int of this entire topic was to find a solution,” said Eleanor. “And the thing is, you don’t have to look huge to him, right? Like he doesn’t need to gawk at melons with a sexy shirt over top. So you just have to wear a push-up bra with like five-percent padding. Big boobs? No. Cleavage. YES. Now come on. We’re going to ‘Victoria’s Secret.’”

Before I could even weigh in, I was now bei
ng steered in the direction of sexy-lady central.

The only thing
I’d learned from this entire exchange was that I envied all women with big knockers. I really did.

***

With one week left until my weekend with Erik, my parents had been informed so I was home-free.

Until a totally different topic came about.

I was nearly done clearing the table when it happened. 

M
y mother started it off, by standing in front of me with arms crossed.

“Did you sell a million
books yet?” she said.

I
wiped a broad section of the table and tried not to laugh. “How many people have ever sold a million books? I’m selling a lot though. By May I’ll have twelve thousand dollars made.”

She snorted
. “That’s it? You started this SIX months ago. If you worked harder at your job and got another promotion, you would’ve made more money from that.”

My dad
turned away from the television to weigh in too. “A better job title will help you find a boy at your age. But we can’t tell him you write books! What will his parents think?” He laughed to himself.

I stared at him incredulously. “What?”

He rose from the couch. “Writing is a nice hobby, but you’re not a kid. It’s time to stop this now and get serious. This will never be a career for you, and don’t you want to save money to buy a house?”

I dropped the cloth I’d been using on the table. “But I AM making money. And I’ll make even more with the next book I write.”

“WHAT?” said my mother, her glare burning straight through me now. “You think you’re going to waste six more months sitting in your room writing…BOOKS?” She made it sound like a book was a Playboy magazine. “What is wrong with you?”

By now I was dumbfounded
so I stayed silent.

“Your sister found a boy,
” she went on, “got married, and works hard every day to make money for her future.”

My father nodded. “
That’s all we need you to do! Married...job...settle down. So why are you doing these different crazy waste-of-time things?”

“It’s YOUR fault.” My mother pointed accusingly at my father. “Y
ou were never strict enough with her.”

Never strict enough?
Excuse me while I die of laughter.

“MY fault? You always blame me! What should I do? Lock her inside?”

My mother shook her head and stormed off. “I don’t care what you do. But now you pay the price!”

My father muttered to himself then sat back down and started flipping channel
s angrily. This left me alone in the kitchen, holding back tears with a half-cleared table to deal with.

One thing was certain
from this latest parental shit-fit: if I did end up going to Paris, it would tear my family apart.

***

With the family drama from a few nights earlier deflating my excitement to see Erik, I realized that just as important as my family, were the people who understood me best. Like my friends.

With that in mind I
finally bit the bullet, by texting Laura and telling her about New York. I wanted to clear the air with her in person, so I asked her to meet me for a drink and she agreed. I chose a different place this time, since I was still quite embarrassed by my outburst at our favourite hangout.

This bar
had a swank-factor of seven with its art-deco bar stools and black and purple booths. Everything else was shiny and stainless steel. I sat hunched at the bar and ordered a cosmo, since a vodka and Diet Coke seemed beneath this place. I also chose the bar so we could both look ahead, if eye contact became too much.

Laura
was running a bit late so I nervously waited, straightening my sparkly headband that didn’t need straightening, and occasionally adjusting my skirt. There’d been no office reason to dress up, I just wanted to feel good with my Erik-reunion quickly approaching.

I spotted
her blonde curls out of the corner of my eye, and my heart started beating fast. Before doing anything else, she hung her coat over the empty stool beside her. Then at last she finally faced me.