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Skylar agreed it was best for me to stay with my family for the evening and I immediately invited her to come with us to Lamberts, a restaurant known for throwing yeast rolls at customers. She smiled slightly and agreed to come early enough for us to get in line for a table.
I secluded myself in my room and then pushed my chair up against my desk. I took out my notebooks, perused over the notes, and started writing down additional things, like what had happened since the day after we arrived. Lastly, I fired up my laptop.
“Spencer?” My dad said as he opened the door. Our condo was the same as the others: the doors seldom had locks and also my family never knocks on doors.
“Yes?” I asked without looking at him—I was a man on a mission to try to write as much as I could in a few hours or face plant on my keyboard.
“I hear you spent a little bit today.”
“Yes. And I’d do it again.”
“I heard.”
“And you think it was stupid of me, right?”
“No,” he replied as he closed the door. “You could have put a down payment on some exotic car.”
“That’s next month’s frivolous spending spree.”
“Mercedes?”
“I was thinking Lamborghini, but the roads in Memphis would destroy it as soon as I drove it off the lot.” I replied as I pushed my chair away from the desk. “What’s up?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one putting you on the spot?”
“Mom’s already done that.”
“I’m not here to monologue.”
“Okay,” I replied—feeling that the other shoe was going to drop.
“You invited her to come with us tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ll pay for her.”
“Money’s not the issue here, son.”
“Okay, everyone’s thinking it but no one will say it: you all do not like her.”
“It’s the “her” part, Spencer. She’s not a real girl.”
“What makes her fake?”
Dad looked at the ceiling and then to the floor.
“I’ve haven’t cared about anything like that. We connect on another level. Yeah, I think she looks cute. Yes, she. What if she had some tragic accident or maybe if I had one and had to amputate most of my body? Would I be “real” anymore?”
“Not the same, son.”
“Let me tell you. Her sister did that on purpose. Katie is a real bitch.”
“Language.”
“Oh, I thought of a lot of colorful words I could call her.”
“What happened?”
“She went full inquisition on us this afternoon. We were by ourselves and she barges in.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Yeah, when Katie starts going off on her sister. I got tired of it and asked her why she was being a bitch. And the grandparents came home.”
“What were you doing?” He asked with a stern squint in his left eye.
“Standing in the living room, Dad. Seriously. Nothing happened.”
“And what did they say?”
“The grandparents? They were a lot more open to Skylar than mom is.”
“Mom’s just worried about you.”
“I’m fine. We are taking this as slow as possible. I do plan on maybe visiting her in Georgia or maybe have her come to Memphis. We haven’t really talked about any of that yet.”
“There’s always calling on the phone,” he said as he pointed to my cellphone.
“Too nineties.”
“And you told her you love her?”
“I do.”
“Okay.”
“Yes, I am aware of the word’s connotation. I have three books that are all about it. Soon to be four. I have a whole slew of new directions to go. So, if it’s okay, can I get back to my writing?”
“Just let me know if you want to talk about this.”
“Yes, sure. Of course,” I replied as Dad walked out and closed the door.
I pulled my chair back into position and stared at the monitor.
Yes, I could take the final story into new heights by starting it the lows with a lost soul trying to get up from the doldrums and he meets another who is trying to o get away from the heavens. Angels and demons, relationships, zombies, that magical dead necromancer-thing Skylar mentioned.
I would have to ask her more about that.
I also had to wonder if I could give her a side credit. Would my publisher frown on the fact thar I was pushing into something else?
Soldiers and zombie girlfriends? Maybe that would work as a subset of the story? Like the dream of one of the main characters? The storyline that becomes the catalyst of their relationship—as she talks about the story and that’s how they get together, so much that as the story becomes real life around them they have to fight to survive. A love is war kind of thing.
I burned through four hours with very little to show for it as my mind wandered into different types of fiction: like what I was doing to do before the end of the week. I thought of packing up everything, getting my own condo for just the two of us for the last three days.
Three days.
I wanted them to go by slowly.
I wanted us to be together so much in that limited time that we would never need a picture to remind us as the memories would be ingrained into our brains forever. That being said, a picture of us to put on her Facebook would make our relationship “official”in the eyes of the world. Would we just do a simple selfie pose or go all out with matching jeans and shirts?
“We’re going to have go to shopping,” I whispered to no one.
I stretched out a bit, left the room and went out to the balcony. A few days earlier, I wanted to throw myself off of the balcony. The feeling was still kind of there but Sky’s face kept those feelings at bay. I looked at the moon as the clouds enveloped it and hoped that she was up looking at it as well.
“Probably not,” I said as I leaned on the railing. “She’s probably asleep. Dreaming. Hopefully. I hope I will to.”