Page 49 of Henhouse
The pity in Effie’s gaze stung like a paper cut. Hope knew she’d brought this on herself in more ways than one. “Maybe we’re the problem. That’s the Thatcher curse—not knowing when—”
“There is no goddamn curse,” Dorothea huffed from the open doorway, a tray of tea and croissants in hand. Effie hurried to take the tray and set it on the rug with her while Grams lowered into the rocking chair Effie had saved from the front porch after everyone thought it was ready for the dumpster. Hope shimmied from the bed joining Effie on the floor, her back resting against its edge.
“Tell that to Mom, Aunt Tibby, Louisa, and Ellen,” Effie quipped. “Though Ellen seems cautiously optimistic about Brayden and Theo.”
“You should always be optimistic when it comes to love,” Grams said. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the chair, gently swaying back and forth, her slippered feet barely reaching the ground.
“They still arguing down there?” Hope dared to ask.
“Ed and Ellen are having their scotch,” Grams answered. “And I am communing with my two favorite granddaughters.”
“You’re not supposed to say that,” Effie scolded despite her amusement.
Grams shrugged, eyes still closed. Hope had the sense she was the sage and they were the disciples ready to be passed the torch. But only silence followed.
Hope poured the tea, filling the two cups Grams brought for her and Effie. They nibbled on the chocolate croissants casting inquisitive looks at each other, waiting to see what Grams would say next.
Dorothea took a deep breath, her chest rising beneath her crimson dress with its white polka dots. She folded her leathery hands in her lap and finally opened her eyes. They squinted first at Effie then at Hope. “How’s the book coming?”
“It’s going to the printer this week. Ready to release next month,” Hope said proudly. Sometimes it still amazed her that she lived this dream. She admonished herself for taking it for granted when everything else seemed to be going awry. She wondered if that was Grams’s point.
“And did you do that by yourself?”
Hope stumbled over her words. The short answer wasno, but it felt more complicated than that. “I wrote all the words, developed the characters, created the world. So the writing I did alone, but my editor helped polish it, Effie bounced ideas around with me. A bunch of beta readers gave me feedback. My agent got the deal for the trilogy, so I was able to be paid to write the second and third books.”
“Could you have done all those things yourself?” Grams continued,and Hope wondered where she was going with all this. Effie’s twisted brow told Hope she wondered too.
“I suppose. Self-publishing is big right now. I would have probably hired a cover artist, but beyond that, the actual formatting, printing, marketing, and sales would have been up to me. I could have done it, but it would have taken far more confidence than I have to see it through on my own.” Hope shuddered at the thought of having to blaze her own trail online and convince the world she had a right to be published without the backing of her team. It was a daunting, terrifying prospect, one she felt relieved and grateful that she’d avoided.
“But, in the way you chose to move forward—waiting for the right agent and publisher—you get to live in the space you thrive in. The writing. And they handle the stuff that’s too heavy for your hands? They make it easier for you to be great?”
“Absolutely,” Hope replied.
“And you trust them to take care of you?”
Hope’s shoulders softened, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yes.”
“And you surrender full control when you’ve done your part, so the vision you have can come to life in the best and easiest way possible?”
“Yes,” Hope said again, this time her smile on full display. Effie seemed to snag the thread of the conversation too, based on the twinkle in her eye as she smirked at Dorothea.
“Right then.” Dorothea sighed, planting her hands firmly on the armrests. “We’re not solitary creatures. We hens may flock together, but sometimes we need a protector, a confidante, someone we trust implicitly to hold our interests as sacred as their own. But it goes both ways.” Dorothea stood on aching knees. “And sometimes we just need a good strongcock.”
“Grams!” Effie blushed, her high-pitched squeal so obviously the reaction Dorothea aimed for.
“You’re too easy, Effie, dear,” Grams teased before shuffling toward the door. “I’ll let you know when the coast is clear.”
Hope bit back her laughter as Effie rolled her eyes and chomped into her croissant. Through her flakey mouthful she said, “I guess we were onto something.”
“Seems like it.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
Hope gave a dramatic sigh.What was she going to do?Brayden had heard her out. He didn’t mock her fears or blame her for having them. He didn’t even seem to judge her for acting on them. He only seemed sad that she hadn’t trusted him with them.
If she took Grams seriously, she would have to admit that the life she wanted, the vision she held of backyard picnics and a family with Brayden, was only possible if she was vulnerable and persistent. She’d been rejected ninety-seven times before she landed her agent. She could weather Brayden’s rejections if it meant showing him how much he meant to her. Hope would choose him again and again until she demonstrated that he wasn’t auditioning for a role in her life, but that he already had it—as co-parents, partners, lovers. Whatever the case, they would hold each other’s dreams and bring them to fruition together. Even if it meant Hope wouldn’t end her nights in his arms.
Rejection had rarely scared her. But not trying for what she wanted certainly did.
