Secret Desire(11)
“Look, Claire Bear, this was fun. But I think we should talk expectations. Do you know Ann?”
“Yes, she does poetry.” Claire had wanted him to just leave at that point.
She didn’t miss Mike’s raised eyebrow. “Yeah. Anyway, we’re sort of involved. A semiserious thing.”
Cords of disappointment had wrapped around her insides. It wasn’t just that he was involved; it was that he believed she’d be OK with situation. She detested actions that resulted in regret.
“I get it. She’s down the hall at work.”
“Yeah, exactly. We’re all in close quarters. If you’re interested, we can meet here at your place. Maybe Sunday afternoons.”
Oh, hell. Sex with the boss—a new low. In her fantasy stories, seducing the boss was hot, searing; clothes were torn and the sex was deliciously satisfying. Not a lukewarm proposition. If only she could backspace or Control X her way out of that memory.
On the upside, she was glad she’d been given a crude heads up. A couple of dates with Mike without knowing the score, and that situation could have been much worse.
“No one kisses and tells. Not cool.”
She had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him to put a fork in it.
Mike had reached forward as if to touch her hair, but she ducked. She had no desire ever to repeat that performance or sink lower down the maypole of expectations.
After hanging up from Fran and remembering that low point, the house felt even emptier. Plus, she could still hear Dustin’s whistle, reminding her of her biggest romantic failure. Everything seemed too much, especially being here and trying to take care of her parent’s wishes. Claire wrapped her arms around her stomach and rocked back and forth.
Right now, she yearned for a strong shoulder. It would have been the right moment to have someone to share her sadness. Just to feel human arms around her, whispering support, and the warmth of another body. She exhaled slowly to the count of seven.
What she needed was a plan. A focal point to get through what was turning out to be a traumatic experience coming at her from different angles. She slammed her hand down on the window frame.
Instead of giving in to feeling worse, she’d rework her resume, send out more queries, and begin to get serious about writing. Fiction that would be taken seriously. The expiration date was stamped on her job. So far she had the goods in nonfiction and just needed to balance her resume with some longer fictional pieces, picked up for publication in respected journals. Her short stories had gotten noticed and won a couple of prestigious contests. Agents and editors scooped up writers with a track record.
She needed a change and was ready to make her move, get away from her mistake with Mike and that gray city. If only she could find the courage to write what she wanted. Claire wandered around the house and stopped in the den. She was surrounded by memories—family photographs on the walls, the bookshelves lined with books she’d grown up with and the desk where her father worked. She sat down on the sofa and spied the photograph books under the coffee table. A trip down Mill Spring memory lane would be excruciating, but she needed to revisit that road while her parents’ home was still intact. Hours later, dry-eyed, and filled with memories, she phoned her sister. Was she going to come or not?
“Howdy, did you decide when you’re flying out?”
“Not yet. Didn’t we just speak? I’ll check to see what’s available. I’m swamped, but what else is new? You must be at the house and bored.”
Claire broke from her thoughts. “I’m thinking of coming to the East Coast.” She blurted the news.
There was a pause on the other end. “Why the leap?”
“You know, I like to see new sights.”
“If that’s your best story, maybe you better rethink the East.”
“I don’t see any future in Seattle. Too many self-published platforms springing up. I’d like to try a stint in the old-fashioned form of publishing. You know tangibles like newspapers or maybe even writing fiction, longer pieces. I believe they’re called books.”
“Well, you can’t fight the wave of the future. Everything will be online soon. Better get with the program or you’ll be left behind in the e-pub frenzy. Everyone wants easy access. In New York it’s all about what’s rapid and short and exciting. Like sex…you do remember sex?”
She shuddered at Fran’s snarky advice. Claire and writing went way back. Perhaps it was a bit of a romanticized dream; still, it was her dream. Fran was so out of touch with anyone’s dreams but her own. A nagging thought pecked at Claire. Why didn’t she just do what she wanted to do? Write the stories she wanted to write and the heck with anyone’s opinion. What held her back? She no longer had the excuse of trying to live up to her parents’ expectations.