The Boy Who Has No Faith (Soulless 5)

I patted his back. “Hey, Dad.”

He cupped the back of my head and kissed my forehead. “Nice to see you. It’s been a while.”

“You know how it is…just busy.”

He moved his hand to my back and rubbed me between the shoulder blades. “Let’s have dinner and talk about it.” He gripped my shoulder and squeezed it before he released me near my chair. He sat at the head of the table, the same seat he’d always occupied since I was little.

Mom sat across from me. “Yes. Tell us everything. How’s your book coming along?”

I sat down and watched my mom scoop food onto her plate. My dad looked at me and gestured to the plate, wanting me to go first. He always served himself last even though he was the one who cooked everything.

I put everything on my plate and started to eat. “My new design didn’t work, so I have to start over from scratch, basically. I’ve had to take a break and bounce to the propulsion unit, but I’ll circle back to it.”

“Sometimes taking a break makes you think more clearly when you come back to it.” Dad poured me a glass of wine before he did the same for my mom. He did his last then took a drink.

“You’re probably right.” I drank my wine and started to eat.

“And your novel?” Mom asked. “Your father and I have been waiting for the next installment a long time now…”

They read my stories and said they loved them, but they had to say that—and they were incredibly biased. “I’ve actually gotten quite a bit done this past week.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Mom said. “I’m glad you overcame your writer’s block.”

“It wasn’t really writer’s block. My editor came over, and she helped me focus. She said it’s hard for me to switch from using the left side of my brain to the right, and she helps me brainstorm and write out the outline to get me going. And then while I’m typing, she gets me dinner and grades some papers for me, so I don’t feel so stressed.”

My dad continued to eat, but his gaze was a little more focused.

Mom stilled altogether. “Really? That’s very kind of her.”

“Well, if I don’t get this book turned in in three months, she’ll lose her job.” That was my fault…and I felt pretty shitty about it. “It’s been a crazy year for me, and the book just kept getting pushed back. Honestly, I wasn’t going to write it at all, until she talked me into it. I guess she’s a big fan.”

Mom continued to stare at me and ignore her dinner. “She seems to understand you pretty well.”

“We hardly know each other.”

“But she makes you dinner and grades your papers.” Mom grabbed her fork again and stabbed a carrot. “I’m surprised you allowed her to do that.”

“I gave her an answer key and checked her work afterward.” I pushed my food around before I took a bite. “This is really good, by the way.”

“Thanks, honey.” Mom stopped asking questions and continued to eat.

My dad watched me, like he was thinking a million things but didn’t know how to word any of it. “So, when can we expect this novel to be released?”

“I have no idea, honestly.” I looked out the window behind my mother. “I’m just trying to write it for now. How are you two?”

Dad let Mom answer first.

Mom drank from her glass. “A new tenant moved in to the building, so I’m winning him over…”

“That won’t take long.” Dad chewed then gave her an affectionate look.

“How’s your research?” I asked my father.

“I’m working on artificial proteins right now,” he said. “There’s a lot of controversy about it, but I think if it’s done the right way, it could have a huge impact on patient care…” He kept going into detail, sharing his research with me like I completely understood it.

I’d never been interested in medicine, so it was a little hard for me to follow, but my basic chemistry courses were enough for me to grasp what he was trying to covey. Mom was more interested in normal things, so when I told her about my first book, she was really excited about it. I could tell she was excited to finally have a way to connect with me the way my father did.

Mom lifted her gaze when our extensive conversation was over. “What’s your editor’s name?”

“Emerson.”

“What’s she like?”

I shrugged. “Confrontational. Bossy. Doesn’t respect boundaries. Intelligent.”

“I wonder if she’s confrontational because you make her that way…” She gave me a soft smile, like she wanted to soften the blow.

I knew I wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. I didn’t play well with others, and I certainly didn’t like being told what to do. “Probably.”

“I’m glad she’s so passionate about your stories,” Mom said. “Because no matter how busy you are, you need to honor your commitments. I’m glad she inspired you to work instead of threatened you to do it.”