Page 80 of What I Like About You

I’m glad I texted the wrong Nash. It feels like we’ve been online talking about NYU since the beginning of our friendship. Him writing about REX. Me writing about OTP.

But of course, Nash’s essay is about more than a web comic.

Mine is about more than a blog.

Grams. Everything I know about publishing is because ofGrams. She’s the reason I know I need to work in publishing; how I know Ineedto scream about books for a living. How many eight-year-olds sit on their grandmother’s lap at Thanksgiving and ask,Grams, how are books made?

Grams, do you know Junie B. Jones?

Grams, can I be an editor, just like you?

She told stories to me about the life of a book, a tale of Bella Book’s journey from inception to production to distribution, á la theSchoolhouse Rock“I’m Just a Bill” song. Yes, of course she knows Junie B. Jones. And if I want to be an editor, great—but there are so many aspects to publishing that I can explore, like publicity or marketing.

Tears splash against my keyboard.

Breathe.

I can’t write an essay about One True Pastry and not write about Grams. But I’m not sure if I’m ready to.

The words might not flow out of me today—but they will.

Decision made, I close my laptop to take a much-deserved break from my emotions. I stand to stretch my legs and reach for my phone on the nightstand, just as Gramps knocks. His knuckles rap against the door four times, evenly, so I know it’s him before the door swings open.

“Hal?”

I plaster a smile on my face and tell Gramps to come in.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

I’m instantly suspicious. Gramps has never, not once, asked me,How’s it going?

“Okay. I’m just working on blog stuff, you know. The usual.”

Gramps knows about One True Pastry because he did, in fact, threaten to take my laptop away and I freaked out.Take away my miniscule social life,I said.Take away my driving privileges, I said.You can even take away my phone if you really want to But I need my laptop.I typed in onetruepastry.com and showed him what it is, who I am. The website, the Twitter account, Kels.

I told him none of it would even exist without Grams.

This is why you’re always online?he asked.

I nodded.

It’s amazing, Hal. Seriously.

I retained my laptop privileges. Thank you, OTP.

“You’re on parole, kiddo,” Gramps says. “Honestly, this doesn’t even feel like a punishment anymore. You, Halle Levitt, are free.”

I’m frozen, unsure what to do or if I evenwantto be free. It’s like now that I’ve gone back behind the screen, I’m not ready to burst the bubble again.

“Freeas in, get out,” Gramps clarifies.

I reach for the oatmeal cardigan draped over my desk chair. “Are youthatsick of me?”

“Yes,” Gramps deadpans. “No, I just have a house project I need to work on today. I kicked Ollie out too—he took Scout to the dog park with Talia.”

“Project?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gramps says.

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