Hello, Sunshine

“All the better,” she said.

She returned to her file boxes, dumping things inside.

I tried to not explode, to stay proactive. “I’m going to go and check my email.”

“Probably a good idea. You have some doozies in there.”

I drilled her with a look.

“I’m just saying!”

“Don’t.”

I headed for the laptop on my kitchen countertop—soon to be Meredith’s kitchen countertop—to counteract any additional damage Ryan had done. Fourteen hours ago, Ryan was professing his love to me. Now he was professing it to his wife. Was any of it real to him? It was all a little real, but the only thing that mattered to Ryan at the end of the day was Ryan. And he was going to do whatever he needed to in order to save his own ship. Including sinking mine in the process.

I opened my email to one hundred new messages. Maybe that sounds like a lot, but it was a pretty typical morning. Maybe even a little light.

I wasn’t surprised that there weren’t more emails waiting for me. I’d learned early on that people stay away if they think you’re struggling. They don’t want the stink to fall on them too. It’s a strategic error, though. I always emailed the day after someone’s show went belly-up, after a failure. So I would be the person they turned to, the person they thought was on their side. That individual could be useful.

Which was why when I first saw that I had an email from Louis, I actually felt a little relief. Dear Louis. He was still on my side! If that was true, the rest of it didn’t matter—the rumors, the show cancellation—we would weather this together.

Then I read the subject line:

Notice of Contract Cancellation

I clicked the email open and read the entirety of the two-page, biting email in which Louis informed AUTHOR (Sunshine Mackenzie) that PUBLISHER (COOKING WITH GAS) has decided to cancel the contract for SUNKISSED: LOVE FROM THE FARM and the two additional to-be-named future cookbooks in light of author’s breech of ethical responsibility.

We will need the advance repaid by Monday July 1st to avoid legal action.

My heart started to race. After the apartment purchase and renovation, the book advance was pretty much the only liquid money that Danny and I had in the bank.

I wrote him back immediately (and somewhat desperately):

Louis, Pls don’t do this! At least let’s sit down and talk first?

He wrote back even faster.

I spoke to Ryan. And Danny. There’s nothing to discuss. Be well.

Louis was too professional to say anything personal, but I knew from the undertone how hurt he was. After all, he had learned all these things about me yesterday too. I flashed back to a day in his office, telling him stories of my childhood on the farm: picking tomatoes in the field with my father, stewing over strawberry jam. I cringed, thinking of the postcard I’d given him of a little girl making strawberry jam, which he kept on his desk.

Violet came up behind me, the file box in her hands, reading the email over my shoulder. “That’s not great.”

I sighed.

“What are you going to do?”

I shook my head, anger gathering in my gut. “I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not giving the advance back.”

Violet smiled, impressed. “Really?”

“Without the advance, I’m not liquid anymore. Between the renovation on the apartment, and Danny growing his business . . .”

“So don’t! I have a novelist friend who is like ten years late on his book, and he still hasn’t given a penny back.”

“I doubt you have a friend old enough to have spent ten years working on anything.”

“Maybe it was more like five.” She heaved the file box higher in her arms. “The point is, what do you think Louis is going to do? Take you to court? Freeze the money?”