Research: Romance

phone call

Wednesday morning came slowly around and with it the final meeting before the project began. And even though I had been up since five in the morning, pacing my apartment like a walking metronome, I wasn't the slightest bit weary. I was pumped with anticipation.

At any moment Robin could decide to back out. It was something I spent the night replaying over and over in my head. Minutes from starting the meeting, he could call saying: I'm backing out. Sorry. We would be seconds from signing when he drops his pen, looks at me, and says: I'm backing out. Sorry.

Sitting in my study, I look at my phone again, checking the clock for the millionth time. When I read the time, 7:23 am, my head fell onto my keyboard where I had convinced myself I could write but had failed to produce even a single word.

The drafts I had worked on the night before were left lying on the printer. I frowned at them for a moment before turning back toward my desk and fiddling with the fountain pen my parents gave me when I started writing. I thought of it as my compass, signifying everything I wanted to be, and with every success it eventually became a superstitious charm. Some people carry a chip, others a rabbit foot, I never went anywhere without that pen. Any paper I wrote on seemed to lead me directly to the thing I wanted most. It was a power I did not take lightly.

Flipping it around my fingers, I tried to distract myself, but my brain couldn't focus on anything other than the meeting. It was like I didn't have time to do anything but wait.

Hurry up and wait, Leah! You might miss more time not going by.  My dad always said whenever watching me grow impatient for something. I laughed a little at the thought because that's exactly what I was doing. However, the brief distraction works, and I set the pen off to the side and settle back into the chair in my study, dialing my dad's number.

"Good morning, baby!" My mom's voice rings over the phone. It instantly makes me smile.

"Morning, Mom."

"Leah, do something with your mother." My dad's playful voice interrupts my mom's next sentence.

I hear them play fighting over the speaker like two little kids trying to steal each other's breakfast. No doubt they were sitting together at the counter, coffee cups in hand and a pile of baked goods on the counter in front of them. I could imagine the soft sunlight coming in from both windows, briefly interrupted by the cherry tree outside and the blinds before pooling on the tile floor in a yellow slant. The smell of the neighborhood would be permeated with leaves starting to decay and the lingering scent of our old Russian olive in the back yard. They both start laughing and my mom makes a disgusted sound to which my dad chuckles and makes a "mhhmm" sound.

"He just licked my biscotti!" My mom gasps.

My dad laughs, and we all joke around for a while before my mom sobers up and asks me why I've called.  I shrug my shoulders as if she is in the room with me, "I have time before a meeting and wanted to get my mind off of it for a little bit."

"Big day?" Dad asks, still clearly crunching mom's cookie. It makes me glad I can't see him; facetiming always makes me homesick.

Sighing, I nod, "Biggest. Today we're officially signing with the actor we hired."

"This is for that research project, right? You know, Leah, you don't have to make up a pretend boyfriend to amuse us." My dad jokes, and my mom laughs. "We love you no matter what. If this book is your excuse to experiment with dating again, you should just start dating."

Rolling my eyes, I grumble, "Gee thanks, dad. But Robin is a real person and he's not being hired to be my boyfriend. He's a research partner. In fact, he is essential to my success and to this novel. Besides, If I made Robin Moore up, I would be a bestselling author four times over."