Izzy stormed out of the kitchen past Beau and ran back upstairs. When she got back into her room, she tore open the bag of chips. Why had she believed that smile on his face? Why had she thought they were sort of bonding down there in the kitchen, about snacks and being up in the middle of the night and whatever else? Why did she feel almost disappointed in him now?
As she ate her chips, she replayed in her mind everything she’d said to him. She’d been frustrated with her job for so long and had been on the point of giving up on it. But she’d just given Beau Towers a full-throated defense of publishing. And the wild thing was, everything she’d said to him had been the truth.
Those things she loved—those were the things she’d held on to during the hard times, the times when Marta had said something casually cutting, the times when she’d tried to speak up about something important and everyone ignored her, the times when she’d lost hope about her own talents and abilities as a writer.
That’s why she did all this. Because she wanted to shepherd the kinds of stories she truly believed in through the publishing process; she wanted to advocate for the kinds of authors who mattered to her; she wanted to really work with authors on their books and make them the best they absolutely could be.
Was she ready to give up on this dream? And was she ready to give up on the dream of being a writer herself? She hadn’t truly asked herself that.
Was it all worth it?
She had no idea how to answer that question.
She stared down at the bag of （wildly delicious） chips. Thank goodness she’d at least grabbed them on her way upstairs.
Izzy woke up the next morning, groggy and covered in crumbs. She immediately turned and grabbed her phone. She always had work emails by, like, five a.m. here in California—how did people live like this all the time?
She sat up with a jolt when she saw it was ten a.m. How did she sleep so late? Why didn’t she have any emails? Oh, right, today was Saturday. The good thing about publishing was that not even Marta sent emails before noon on Saturdays—or even, on most Saturdays, at all.
The house felt so still. So silent. It had been nice this week, to be away from her parents, from the office, where people were around her all day. But Michaela was the only person she’d really talked to all week; her short, weird interactions with Beau Towers barely counted. And now it was Saturday, and Michaela wouldn’t be around today or tomorrow. That meant she’d be all alone, with Beau Towers. She had to live through two full weekend days in this house with him and with no work to keep her occupied and no Michaela to talk to.
How depressing was it that she was sad that Michaela wouldn’t be there? As nice as Michaela was to her, she wasn’t really her friend; she worked for Beau Towers, after all.
She suddenly missed her parents, Priya, home. All she’d wanted at home was to have space, and now that she had it, there was too much of it. She felt…lonely.
Coffee. She needed coffee. She really didn’t want to go back down to the kitchen, but she also didn’t think there was a way she could hide up here away from Beau Towers for the next few days, so she might as well get it over with now.
Though this time, she put a bra on first.
Thankfully, the kitchen was empty, though there were zucchini chocolate chip muffins on the counter. Michaela must have left them for the weekend. Izzy brought two back up to her room, along with two cups of coffee—she didn’t want to go downstairs again until she had to.
When she got back to her room, she ate one of the muffins while she drank her first cup of coffee and scrolled through her phone. Priya texted right when she reached for the second muffin. Oh thank God.
Are you still alive?
If you text blink I’ll fly out there and destroy you
Izzy laughed. She started to text back, but she was tired of texting. She’d been communicating almost solely via email and text all week.
“She’s alive!” Priya said when she answered the phone.
Just hearing Priya’s voice made her feel better.
“Yes, of course I’m alive,” she said. “I texted you yesterday.”
Priya scoffed. “I mean, barely. I need details. OTHER than about the bathtub and the pool.”
Izzy laughed. She’d sent Priya many pictures of the bathtub, it was true.
“Unfortunately, the bathtub and the pool are all I’ve got.” She sighed. “I don’t think I’ve really accomplished anything here. Beau Towers doesn’t listen to a word I say; he’s absolutely never going to turn in this memoir.”