Page 67 of Here for a Good Time
“Darn tootin’,” I say with a huff. We stare at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter. “I see we are absolutely not using humor as a coping mechanism when stressed. Our therapists will be glad to hear that.”
“Darn tootin’ right they will,” Zwe replies. I aim to look affronted, but my laugh betrays me. “I meant what I said. I know I dismissed it when you said it earlier, and I will forever be so unbelievably sorry for that—” He pauses, and I give him a short nod to acknowledge both that heshouldbe sorry and that I appreciate hisapology. “But youwereclose to figuring all of this out, and it was because you sat down and plotted. Do that again. Plot.”
“You make it sound so important,” I laugh. “Anyone could’ve done it.”
“Icouldn’t do it,” he says softly. “And you’re selling yourself short by saying that anyone could.”
Hundreds of past moments like this one flash through my mind. Moments where not a single person in the world, including myself, still believed in this author “thing”—except for Zwe. Zwe, who replenished my steady stream of teas, texted me YouTube links to stretches and wrist exercises for writers, who left a proper laptop stand with a giant red bow tied to it on the dining table one morning with a note that saidNow can we please put our board game stack back in its rightful place?
Except, it’s different this time. Because this time, I still remember how he’d agreed with Leila when she dismissed me before. There’s a gnawing voice in my head that keeps whispering,You’re a bad writer and he thinks so, too.
“This feels stupid,” I say, not admitting the rest of it. “This is such a stupid way to try to get out of a mess. This is real life, it’s not a novel. In spite of my current feelings toward her, Leila was right when she said that I can’t treat this like a novel.”
Zwe’s face crumbles at that. “Ignore anything Leila said. Hell, ignore anything I said! You were the only one who knew something was up. Please, just try it again? For me?”
He knows I would do anything for him.
I’m not the most intricate of plotters, but whenever I’ve gotten stuck in the middle of a draft, I step back, look at the bigger picture outside of that specific scene or chapter, and see if there was something in the past that can be brought back up to propel thestory forward. Because that’s the key of any story: always moving forward.
“I don’t think we’re going to figure outwhythey came here, so let’s focus onhow. They arrived to this resort somehow,” I say. “They didn’t fly or swim here.”
“What if they were already at the village? Beforewegot here?” Zwe asks.
I shake my head. “Maybe, but even then, I doubt their plan is to stick around after they do whatever it is they’re planning on doing. They destroyed all of the resort boats by shooting at them, but they’d never strand themselves. Which means—”
When I meet Zwe’s eyes, I can tell that he’s caught up. “They have a boat somewhere.”
“Somewhere far enough away from the resort that there are no cameras. Maybe on the other side, so even patrolling security wouldn’t see them. Or Leila gave them the patrol schedules and routes so they could arrive undetected.”
“So we get to the boat,” he says. “We get out of these ropes, get to the boat, and go get help.”
I scoff. “You make it sound so easy.”
“I know it’s not easy, but also…” He hesitates, and the tightness in my throat returns.
“What?” I prompt.
“It… is. It’s always easy with you, Poe.”
Oh. “If this is about earlier…” My voice is a dim rasp. “Let’s save it for later.”
To my surprise, Zwe shakes his head. “You know what? No. I’ve been thinking about it and… and I’m done saving things for later. You were… right,” he says, laughing on the last word. “You know what one of my favorite things about you is?”
“What?”
“You have these huge dreams, and I know everyone does, but unlike most people, you actually go for your dreams. You achieve one thing, and then you get a glimpse of something else around the corner and you decide you want it, and you work hard at it until you have it. Iama coward. Idostick to what I know because I’m scared of what comes next if I do something new.”
New goose bumps rake down my skin as my words from before come back to slap me in the face. “I didn’t mean any—”
“I love you.”
A weird chuckle-esque sound escapes me. I’d been bracing for something scathing. “I… love you too?”
He drops his head back, letting out a groan at the ceiling. “No, stupid, Iloveyou.”
And when he looks at me again, I feel the core memory form deep in my bones, like your first kiss or the first time you ride a bike with no training wheels. Just as scary, just as thrilling. That sensation ofI want to remember this for the rest of my life.
“I love you so much it scares me. Julia and I didn’t break up because I didn’t want to move in with her. We broke up because I didn’t want to move out of our home,” he says, looking like he doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh. “I’ve spent so much time pretending I didn’t feel any of this, but when she asked me, even though it was the next logical step in our relationship… I couldn’t do it. Which made no sense to me because as you just said, I am naturally a logical person. It wasn’t that I thoughtyouwouldn’t be able to survive living on your own, Poe. It was, and brace yourself for the corniness, that I knewIwouldn’t be able to without you.”
