He falls back and I stretch to meet him, pushing my hips forward and then back down and repeat, repeat, repeat. I bury my face in his neck and the creaks of his mattress come closer together. He wraps his arms around my waist. I moan and he begs.
When he stills and comes he says, “Fuck, Maddie,” and I almost cry.
* * *
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Subject: Untitled Manuscript
Dear Maddie,
I hope you’re well.
I understand you’ve now been told you weren’t selected for the Carrow Books Mentorship Program. I hope you weren’t too disheartened because I was the literary agent assigned your sample and I found it to be raw, compelling, and extremely emotive for such a short passage. I did wonder if you’d sent it in its earliest form because it did feel rushed and incomplete, even for that style of writing. This was mainly why you weren’t selected for the program. However, I think there is something there. Your application stated that this was currently an ‘Untitled Work In Progress,’ but Jess, your protagonist, intrigues me, as does her relationship with her father. I’d be happy for you to submit to me when this manuscript is ready.
All the best,
Eloise Forrester
Epilogue
We didn’t get to choose where in the cemetery Dad was buried, but he’s under the branches of the largest tree. So although I don’t always recognize my path, I always recognize that tree.
I jog when I get closer and kneel when I reach him.
“Hi, Dad.” I pull out some weeds and brush away loose rubble; I’m used to the insects now. “It’s just me today. Sam says hi; he wanted to come, but he needs to finish off some artwork samples and I told him he doesn’t have to come with me all the time.” It’s a little windy, but the sun is out so I pull a small blanket from my bag and sit on the grass. “He’s a good egg, isn’t he? That means a good person, by the way. I don’t know how familiar you were with British idioms. I don’t know where that phrase derives from, actually; I might google it later.
“Work’s good,” I continue. “Penny tells me I’m four to six months away from making assistant editor if I stay on track. I’m also … I’m also writing something about you.” I pull out my printed 971 words and Eloise’s email. “I don’t know why I brought this with me,” I say, waving the papers. “Just wanted to show you. Anyway, I drafted the first three chapters and Eloise wants the entire thing now, so I’m kind of … making us into a book. Nothing’s been promised and maybe nothing will happen, but it would be nice, wouldn’t it? To immortalize you here, somehow.” I shrug and return the pages to my bag. “It’s probably nothing but worth trying, right?”
Mum said I don’t need to keep visiting Dad’s grave except to tidy it up and lay flowers out of respect. “If you want to speak to him,” she said, “then you look up. You must speak to his soul, not his empty body.” This I can agree with, but if I’m here anyway, I like to sit and talk to Dad about a lot of things.
“Sam took me to a really nice restaurant the other night where I had the best risotto and apple tart I’ve ever had. Also, Shu and Lydia spent the weekend with Nia and me; Nia and Shu are quite different, but they get on well enough, and it helps that Lydia is loud enough to fill any silences. James is currently in Manchester, but we spoke on the phone this morning. He likes to call even if he hasn’t got much to say. Mum’s flight back to Ghana is coming up and I’ve booked to go with her for three weeks. I’ll spend two in Accra and one in Kumasi. It’ll be nice to see where you both grew up.”
Mum calls at that very moment. “I’ll call her back. She also calls me a lot now; usually after I’ve been to therapy, to ask what I spoke about. She doesn’t agree with everything: ‘Always childhood, childhood. Is no mother safe from criticism?’ But she doesn’t disagree with everything either, and that’s something. She’s also started talking to me about Grandad and her childhood. Of course, Ghana was more challenging than the UK, because she had to walk hundreds of miles to school in sandals, through jungles with tigers roaming free and snakes in the trees. Apparently.” I roll my eyes. “But she listens and that’s new. Sometimes I talk and there’s silence and she’ll say, ‘Go on, I’m just listening.’ I can tell when she’s biting her tongue and sometimes she can’t help herself, but that’s fine. Baby steps. Oh, now she’s sent a text.” I read it out loud.
Mum LONDON
Do you think Sam will propose soon?
Does he know he needs my blessing?
I will give him my blessing but still he must ask.
* * *
After a while I say, “Dad, I should go. Sam’s mum’s coming round for lunch and she prefers it when everything is homemade, so I need time to reheat and convincingly plate the food Mum made the night before.” I pull my knees to my chin and look at Dad’s headstone a little longer before getting to my feet. “See you soon, okay?”
The sun gleams against his marble headstone and throws a strip of light onto my face. I laugh and look up to a patch of blue sky.
“Subtle, Dad,” I tell him, squinting in the sun. “Really subtle.”
Acknowledgments
I will attempt to keep this short, because if I don’t, I run the risk of this being pages long, and you’ve already read an entire book. If I don’t succeed, know that I tried.
Every author says this （perhaps because it’s true）， but I couldn’t have done this without three special people. First up, we have literary agent extraordinaire Jemima Forrester, who had nothing but love, laughter, and I think a few tears for Maddie the moment she read my manuscript in its earliest stage and rawest form. My U.K. editor, Olivia Barber, who loved Maame so much that during the submission and auction process the words “She won’t go down without a fight” were uttered more than once. To Sarah Cantin, my U.S. editor, whose personal, soft spot for Maddie and her father resonated with me so deeply, I knew she was the one as soon as our call had ended. I love your ebullience and how whenever you tell me you’re excited to read Maame again, I believe you each and every time. I’m not sure it’s often an author enjoys a lengthy editing process but as I’ve mentioned many times （one particularly long email I sent on the 28th of July comes to mind）， I loved it. The three of you make an unrivaled team in my opinion, and I love that this is only the beginning for us.
And of course, to my U.S. agent/matchmaker, Michelle Brower, thank you for introducing me to the wonder that is Sarah, and for voluntarily joining online meetings at what I imagine felt like the crack of dawn for you.
To Sallie Lotz and Drue VanDuker because I know well enough by now that there is no such thing as being “only an assistant” and I don’t need to be sat in the office beside you to know how hard you both must work. To Jen Enderlin, thank you so much for falling in love with Maame and to everyone else on the Maame team who I’ve met virtually and have yet to meet:
Lisa Senz, Anne Marie Tallberg, Dori Weintraub, Erica Martirano （I wildly appreciate that favor you cashed in）， Austin Adams, Kejana Ayala, Alexandra Hoopes, Tom Thompson, Kim Ludlam, Olga Grlic, Lena Shekhter, Lizz Blaise, Kiffin Steurer, Jen Edwards, Robert Allen, Mary Beth Roche, and Emily Dyer.