My bedroom door opens, and my four-year-old godson Sammy comes running out with a glass clock from the set of the pilot of the TV show Mario and his uncle wrapped filming last month; fingers crossed the show gets picked up because it sounds amazing. Only fifty of those clocks were made, so I’d really appreciate it if Sammy doesn’t break it like he did my Nintendo controller.
“Sammy, hey, bud,” I say. “Can I see that clock?”
Sammy stares up at me with his mother’s blue eyes that glint with his father’s mischief. “You can buy it.”
“Buy it? It’s mine.”
“But I have it.”
“That’s not really how that works, but okay. How much do you want? A dollar?”
“Eleven dollars and seventeen cents.”
“Eleven dollars and— That’s so random. Where did you even come up with that number?”
“I don’t know.”
I do. Genetics.
Dylan and Samantha come out of the bedroom, sneaking up on Sammy. I discreetly lift a finger, telling them I got this.
“How about if you give me that clock, I’ll take you to the bookstore tomorrow morning.”
Sammy makes duck lips while considering this. “Zoo. And I want cotton candy.”
“Deal.”
We shake on it and he hands me the clock. Then he runs off to terrorize my father.
“Don’t bring him home until the sugar has worn off,” Samantha says.
“Or leave him at the zoo with the other snakes,” Dylan says. His phone buzzes and he lights up with a smile. “It’s Patrick. One second—Patty! How’s Cuba, you sexy bastard?”
Samantha shakes her head as Dylan walks off to talk to his Third Best Friend. “Please let me move in, Ben. I’m so tired. I know Beauregard doesn’t use his bed.”
I laugh and offer her a hug.
For the longest, Dylan kept calling the fetus Cider. It actually grew on me a little bit, I’m not kidding. Samantha didn’t have any name she loved, but when Dylan saw everything she did to bring their son into the world, he said they should name the baby after her. It’s funny how she never lets anyone but her mother call her Sammy, and then she named her son that. Maybe it’ll become some new tradition.
One hour in, I think everyone who’s going to be here has arrived.
I squeeze through the crowd and take Arthur’s hand. “Excuse me,” I say to all our parents and lead him to our bedroom. “We should probably get started before our neighbors complain.”
“I don’t understand why they can’t enjoy the show,” Arthur says. “I’m practically bringing Broadway to Brooklyn.”
“Sometimes Broadway should take a night off,” I say, kissing his cheek.
“Blasphemy,” he says. “Also, Mondays.”
We go into our bedroom, and I grab the cardboard box with my manuscript that Arthur printed and bound at Staples. I couldn’t believe that I was holding a physical version of the book when he brought it home. We return to the living room, where Arthur gets everyone’s attention. He stands on the ottoman and speaks into a prop microphone that’s off.
“Welcome to Part Two of the Arthur and Ben Special,” Arthur says. “Thanks to everyone who made it out to the show tonight, and thanks for coming today to hear about Ben’s big news . . .”
“Did you get another dog?” Sammy asks, petting Beauregard.
“Nope. Just Beau for now.”
“Get another.”
Dylan points at Sammy and turns to his wife. “Control your namesake.”
“Control your DNA,” she says.
My legs are trembling as I realize everything that’s about to happen. How differently I’m about to be seen in front of all my loved ones. How this day has finally arrived and everything I went through to have a moment like this.
“So I’ve been keeping really quiet about something. I’ve been writing something so personal that it scared me. I didn’t want to talk about it because I was really humiliated when my fantasy book didn’t sell. But . . .” I reach into the box and pull out the manuscript.
“You finished!” Ma says.
Everyone is clapping. And I turn to Arthur, who is giddy with excitement.
“I didn’t just finish writing the book,” I say. “I got a book deal . . . I’m going to be a published author.”
My parents lose it. Dylan and Samantha cheer louder than anyone, and Sammy is just yelling to yell. Everyone is so happy for me, but I’m still shaking because of what comes next.