Read My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero Online

Authors: Emily Harper

My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero (2 page)

BOOK: My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero
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“You still order Shirley Temples, so I’m not sure you’re helping your argument there.”

Damn it, that’s true. But I’m a sucker for those little swords with the cherries and orange slices.

“Scott doesn’t suspect anything, right?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? He knows pretty much everything,” Travis says as if there was ever a doubt.

“What? Did you tell him?” I accuse.

“Etty, he’s turning thirty. He’d have to be a moron to not know there is going to be a party. You always order food from the same place, and we both live in a shoe box, so your parents’ house is the only place that could fit more than five people. It didn’t take Einstein.”

I chew on my bottom lip.

“We will have to do something spontaneous,” I say, nodding my head.

“Slow down,” he says, holding up his hands. “Don’t go crazy. The party we planned is fine.”

Why does everyone always say that to me? Like they think I go overboard on everything.

Which is so untrue. Everything I plan is with love, and I am in complete control the whole time. It’s the plans that have a mind of their own. I mean, did I ask the magician to put my mom in that box for his ‘Disappearing Trick’ even though my mother’s claustrophobic? No. And after I calmed her down and she drank a bottle of wine I think even she appreciated that it was a pretty cool trick. And my dad fumbling with the keys to get her unlocked and punching out the magician− it was so romantic.

Sadly, I did lose my security deposit on that one.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t need to do anything more than you’ve already planned. He’s turning thirty, not going to space or something. Drinks, food and music is all anyone expects.”

“Exactly, that’s what they
expect
. We can’t just have a boring old party or no one will remember it!” I argue. “How many times is my only brother going to turn thirty?”

“You used that argument to go to Montreal on your eighteenth. And when your dad turned fifty and we all went to Vegas. And when you hired reindeer for Lily’s first Christmas. It’s kind of been done now.”

Honestly, a couple of reindeer get lost in the suburbs and you would think the world was coming to an end the way people freaked out. But my brother wasn’t taking his daughter’s first Christmas seriously. Is it too much for me to want her to have a firm grasp of Santa Claus? I don’t want her turning out like Susan Walker from Miracle on 34
th
Street.

“Just leave it to me,” I say, closing my notebook. “I have everything under control. He’s going to have the best time ever.”

“Should I have the fire department on standby?” he asks, smiling.

I offer him a fake laugh. “Ha, Ha. Very funny.”

“So you have a signing tomorrow?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah, not that there is much point. Two people at the last one. It was pathetic,” I say, shaking my head.

I don’t mention the two people were my parents.

“I’ll try and stop by,” he offers.

“You don’t need to,” I shrug. “I know it’s not your kind of thing.”

“If you’re there, then it’s my kind of thing. You know you’re my favourite author,” he says, offering me a lopsided grin that I know makes all the Bellas of the world swoon.

“I’m your only author,” I counter. “You have one bookshelf which has like six books on it, and they’re all mine.”

“Seven after tomorrow,” he winks. “I like to have a backup copy.”

“I got another rejection yesterday,” I say, sighing. “I’m up to one hundred and eight. Do you know what one hundred and eight rejections does to a person’s self-esteem?”

“Maybe they don’t know what they are talking about? Didn’t that Harry Potter lady get rejected a bunch of times?” he offers.

“She got rejected twelve times. I still had hope after fifty,” I argue. “They said they’re looking for fresh, new ideas, yet every shelf of a bookstore nowadays has a sparkly vampire face staring back at you.”

He nods in sympathy, though I can tell he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“I just don’t get it. I get good reviews; everyone says my writing is great. I have the key components in my books: super-hot guy, strong woman. This next book even has a horse! Who doesn’t love horses?”

“I don’t really like horses,” Travis says, but I shake my head at him.

“Maybe I just need to start fresh. A new angle. Completely change trains.”

“What?”

I look at him frowning. “Change trains. It’s a saying. You know, get off one train and go in the opposite direction for the next…”

His blank gaze makes me frown.

“Okay, just forget it. You know, you’re not much help,” I say, putting my notebook into my purse.

“They say you should write about things you know. You’ve never been near a horse,” he says.

“I was at summer camp once. I broke my arm, remember?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

“Besides, I write historical romances. Unless you have a time travelling machine I don’t know about, it’s not like I can get any front line perspective.”

“No travelling machine, unfortunately. Though you’d have to get in line for that one. First thing I would do is go back and warn my younger self to steer clear of Heather Morrison,” he says and gives a fake shudder.

“Who knew the lawn of your apartment building could be that flammable? You should have just taken her to prom.”

“She set the lawn on fire and we never even really went out. Could you imagine what she would do during a breakup?”

I laugh. “You have a point there. See, this is the problem. You have all these great stories, and I’ve got none. Maybe that’s why my books suck. My imagination is letting me down.”

“First of all, your books don’t suck. They’re good− I read one,” he offers.

I raise my eyebrows in his direction. “Which one?”

“The one without a horse,” he says, smiling. “And secondly, you have some good stories. Remember ‘I love you Todd’?”

I can’t help the blush of shame that comes to my face. “That’s not worth repeating, let alone putting in print.”

Travis is already laughing. This always happens. “It’s the best story, though! He said ‘I love you’ to his dog and you thought he was talking to
you
.”

I narrow my eyes as he tries to keep it together. I’m never telling him anything ever again.

“You’re not helping my self-esteem right now,” I argue.

“All I’m saying is people would probably like reading about
that
better than some girl mooning over a guy on a horse. Why don’t you write about something that is popular right now? Figure out what people are into.”

“Are you trying to say people aren’t into historical romances?” I ask. “Because I’ll have you know it is an extremely popular genre.”

“I’m just suggesting that perhaps you should try to go for something new and exciting,” he suggests. “Maybe write about something you know, something that has happened to you personally.”

Alright, that is decent advice. Except the highlight of my love life has been Todd, and when you lose out to a Pomeranian it’s not really something you want to share with the world.

“Listen, I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks.

“Hmm,” I nod, non-committedly.

“Are you working at the comic book store this week?” he asks, tucking his chair under the table.

I work at the world’s smallest comic book store in the Bloor West village. It’s the only job that was even remotely close to a career in publishing, and they offer dental benefits. Well, kind of. The owner, Mr. Sharp, has a son who is a dentist, so I get a free toothbrush and toothpaste once a month. It sounds stupid but I look forward to that new toothbrush more than I should.

“All day, every day,” I nod. “I have to pay for that shoe box apartment somehow.”

“I’ll stop by with a hot chocolate; I’m working just down the street from there,” he says.

“Add a cookie to that order and I will consider opening the door,” I smile.

“And don’t go too crazy with the party, okay? Your mom will never forgive me if any of her new windows get broken.”

Travis kisses the top of my head and makes his way out of the coffee shop.

Write what I know, eh?

Well, I
could
do a short story on magicians.

Chapter Two

“They didn’t give you a chair?” Jill asks in outrage.

“I don’t need one; I’m sort of their greeter for the day,” I explain.

I look back at the table I spent twenty minutes trying to organize in order to get it to look just right. Except, no matter how many times I move things around, there are still just three piles of books on a black tablecloth.

“Any nibbles yet?” she asks.

“No, but the lady over there is having some gallbladder stones removed next week, so she is going to think about it for her hospital visit,” I shrug.

“Gross,” Jill scrunches up her face. “Have you been handing out your bookmarks?”

I nod. “I saw a pile of them in the Starbucks garbage when I went to the bathroom.”

I turn as two women enter the store and head right for the bestseller section.

“Oh, this is the one I heard about,” one of the women explains as she picks up the book. “Did you know she stood up to the Taliban?”

“Oh, I’m going to get one too,” the other women reaches for a second copy of the book.

I can’t help the slump of my shoulders. This has basically been a summary of my life for the last two hours. And I have two more to go.

“Have your parents come yet?” Jill asks.

“Twice,” I say. “They bought seven books.”

“For who?” she asks, smiling.

“I guess one for each end table in the house,” I smile back.

“Well, I will take five,” she says.

“Jill, you already own the book. You don’t have to do that,” I argue.

Jill shakes her head and lifts up one of my books from the table. “I need a lot of copies. Your first editions are going to be worth a lot of money someday, and any best friend would be a fool not to cash in on that.”

“Excuse me,” a lady says from behind Jill.

I turn and plaster on my best potential bestselling author smile and pick up one of my books. “Can I help you?”

“Can you tell me where the new Danielle Steele novel is?” she says, looking around at the different sections of the large bookstore.

“Oh, yeah, they are in Romance,” I point to the far back corner.

“You know, if you like romance books, Etty writes fantastic novels.”

I see the woman’s eyes widen ever so slightly, as though she is bracing herself for a blow, like a cornered animal. The exact reaction I always dreamed of…

“Oh, er− okay. I’ll think about it,” she offers me. I smile half-heartedly and nod as she slowly backs up.

“This isn’t going well,” I say and try not to feel hopeless.

This isn’t exactly how I imagined my book signings going. I mean, I
am
a published author. Who would have thought that after years and years of waiting to see my name in print the hard work was just getting started.

“It will be fine; everyone is probably still eating lunch. You’ll see,” Jill says.

“Maybe.”

“Okay, I am going to have a look around. I have to get something from the kids department for Bianca,” she turns around and walks off.

I always cringe inwardly at the unfortunate names parents give their kids. Jill’s niece’s name is Bianca. There’s not much to work with there. I should know considering my parents honored me with the name Henrietta. My dad’s name is Henry; I was named after him. Though why they chose me and not Scott, who is the first born and male, to receive my father’s namesake, is one of the great mysteries in life that my parents have no answer for besides a shrug. I honestly hope they were drunk when they made the decision. The only other option is I was unwanted as a child…

I look around at the people picking up books off the shelf and reading the back covers. Some people are huddled together, but most are browsing solo. And not one is looking in my direction.

Do you know how many people have asked me where a book is today? The number is actually insulting. When I told one lady who was looking for a cookbook that I don’t work here, her response was “Oh, are you just helping out for the day?” Do they not see my table filled with books? Do they not see the desperate, helpless look on my face?

“Excuse me.”

I look up to see a young guy in a black winter coat wearing a baseball cap.

“Can I help you find something?”

“No, I umm…” he looks sideways as though he isn’t sure what he is saying. “Can I get your book?”

“One of
my
books?” I say, looking down at the book in my hand in disbelief. For some reason the naked male torso on the cover makes me blush. “Sure.”

“Do I pay you?” he asks, and I look up to see that his face is bright red.

“No, you pay at the cashier,” I say and see his eyes widen. “Is this for your mom?”

“No, er− listen can I just give you the cash?” he asks, and I notice that he is looking around to see if anyone is watching our exchange.

“Sorry, I don’t have any change,” I say. Honestly, my book isn’t that embarrassing, is it?

“I don’t need change,” he argues and starts shuffling his weight from foot to foot.

“Is this book for you?” I ask gently.

I see the frown on his forehead, his mouth open to argue.

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with men reading romance novels. In fact, I think it is a great idea. It might give you guys a little more perspective on the female psyche…” I smile.

“Sure, okay,” he says.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask, signing my name on the first page of the book. I might be able to get two sales here.

“No,” he answers.

“Well, then this is the perfect book for you to read!” I say with enthusiasm. “Girls will be all over you when they see how in touch with your emotions you are.”

“Hey, I don’t have a problem getting a girlfriend,” he says.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean that.” I can see I have offended him. “I just meant that it couldn’t hurt.”

“Okay, whatever. Can I just get the book?” he looks over his shoulder again.

BOOK: My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero
5.2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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