Page 83 of Tilly in Technicolor
“I better go,” I say, watching Tilly pace back and forth under a tree, phone pressed to her ear.
“We love you,” Micah croons as Marcus waves.
I end the call, slapping my phone against my palm as I worry.
Chapter 34The Reckoning
TILLY
Something kind of miraculous happened.
I’m officially a published writer.
Dead ass.
Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I wrote some groundbreaking piece featured in theNew York Times,but my nameisattached to a guest post on Wander Media’s website, which, honestly, feels just as good.
Wander is a budget travel site that has open submissions and, riding the high of Oliver’s encouragement, I sent in a short, satirical (and partially autobiographical) argument for bringing every pair of underwear you own on vacation. About a week after sending it in—and obsessively checking my email every four minutes—I got a reply from the section editor that they loved it and encouraged me to send them other pitches I might have.
To top it off, they’re even paying me twenty-five dollars for it, which is basically like winning the lottery when you blow through money on coffee and sweets like I’ve been on this trip.
After reading the email out loud to Ollie for the third time, I sprint around the hotel room, jumping and spinning.
After my fourth loop, I charge full speed at Oliver. He braces himself at the last minute, eyes wide and mouth dropped open in a littleOof fear before I jump into his arms, clinging to him like an overly excited baby monkey. He stumbles a few steps before the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he collapses with anoof.
Mona and Amina secured another deal in Barcelona, and are out for an oh-so-subtle “celebratory business dinner” that neither Ollie nor yours truly were invited to, so we don’t have to worry about being discreet.
“Sorry,” I say, nuzzling into his neck, not sorry at all. “I’m just really excited.”
“I’m so proud of you,” he says, voice muffled from the fact that I’m pretty much suffocating him at this point.
I rear up, beaming down at his flustered face until I can’t resist any longer and pepper rapid kisses all over his forehead and cheeks, making him laugh. My phone starts blaring from across the room and, with a sigh, I slide off the bed and run toward it.
GUARD THY LOINS flashes on the screen. Oh good, a call from my mom.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, pressing the phone to my ear and chewing on my cuticle.
“There she is,” Mom says in a falsely cheery voice, artfully passive-aggressive in her reference to how many times I’ve let her calls go unanswered. I didn’t mean to make a habit of avoiding our check-ins, but it feels so brutally painful every time we talk, I can never force my finger to accept the call. Mona’s been covering for me a bit, sending Mom frequent texts about how much I’m contributing to the team or some nonsense.
“I was starting to worry about you,” she says. “How are you? Have you been taking your medicine?”
I sigh, pressing my forehead against the wall. “Yes, Mom.” And I’m not lying. I’ve actually become really good at taking it regularly. I’ve found that setting a morning alarm as a reminder makes all the difference.
“Good girl,” Mom says, and I wilt at how much her voice perks up. “And you’re being good for Mona?”
“Yeah. She even gave me a lollipop today after I ate all my vegetables.”
Mom’s laugh is forced.
“The trip is winding down soon, isn’t it?” she says casually. “Can’t believe how fast the summer went by. Have you thought any more about your plans for the fall?”
How subtle.
“Well, actually, I have,” I say, scratching my nose and tapping my feet.
Mom blows out a breath. “Tilly, that’s wonderful. Where do you think you’ll apply? Will this mean starting in the spring semester?”
I gnaw on my bottom lip. “No, the college thing hasn’t changed. Not for right now, at least. I’m… I think I’ve figured out what I want to do.”
