Chapter Eleven: Say Anything
Another week had passed, and the pair had finally gotten most of the small house organized. There was still no bedframe, but at least the windows had curtains hung over them, and picture frames had been mounted onto the walls. Day by day, they were making it their own. Not to mention, Riley had grown fond of waking up to a Lucas-filled home, as living together had brought a new phase into the timeworn relationship.
Breakfast. The girl opened her eyes and caught sight of the full spread beside her—Over-easy eggs, bacon crisped to perfection, sided with avocado toast. Lucas had surprised her with breakfast in bed, and Riley almost had to pinch herself at the sight. "What is all this?" she asked, grabbing a slice of the bread and taking a bite.
"Well, today is the first day that I'll be at Dr. Kaff's, so I just wanted to leave you something to remember me by." Lucas leaned over, kissing the crown of her wavy hair while buttoning his checkered shirt and tucking it into his slacks. "Mmm, your hair smells so good. Makes me want to curl right up next to it. "
Riley scooted the breakfast tray further to the side of the mattress, and looked up at the boy temptingly. "Curl away, my prince."
On the brink of giving in, Lucas reluctantly shook his head and expelled all frustration through his lungs. "Ahhh, babe, don't do this to me. I can't be late on my first day…" His mouth lifted in a mischievous grin. "But…if I were to come home and find you in this exact spot, I wouldn't be disappointed."
"Ask and you shall receive," Riley toyed, squinching her nose up in a way that Lucas had always found irresistible. She latched onto the dangling necktie in front of her and tugged it down, locking their lips to bid farewell. "You're going to do great, I know you will…and then when you're finished doing those great things, come find me—I'll be here." Reaching over to snag a piece of the bacon, she crunched down on it with her teeth in the limited space between their faces, seeing a noticeable shiver run through his body. He was all too easy to play with, and Riley had recently discovered that she quite enjoyed delving into the flirtatious side of herself.
Lucas checked his watch, making damn sure that there was absolutely zero time to crawl into bed right next to his girlfriend. There wasn't. He had to go, as he'd really wanted to make a good impression on his boss. The house was a reminder each day of everything he still needed to fill it with, all of the things Riley should have. He had set his focus on making this a place the girl would enjoy waking up inside each morning, and in order to do that he needed to go to work. After taking in the smell of her hair one last time, he slipped on his black dress shoes and carried on through the door.
Pulling the covers up, the young woman finished off her breakfast in bed. She clicked on the TV and browsed through all of the recently added shows. The house was chilly, and she was dressed only in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties, so the idea of escaping the blanket seemed absolutely dreadful. It took a whole hour and two episodes for Riley to gather her strength and brave the cold hardwood floor, though it was only so that she could scurry as quickly as possible to the heat of a shower. Grabbing a towel, she patted her body down and slipped into a floral sundress.
This was the first day since moving that she'd be home completely alone, and Riley had scheduled this as the day when she'd begin her novel. There was no more unpacking to be done, no more distractions by Lucas, no more making excuses…today was the day. A fresh glass of chocolate milk sat on the table beside her laptop. Her sights were set on the blank screen in front. It was the most frightening and overwhelming view she'd ever witnessed. She had utterly nothing to say, no inspiration whatsoever to even press down on a letter and form a word. How had she gotten herself into this?
Ready to branch out and expand her horizons, Riley had pitched to her publisher the idea of writing a full-length novel, as they'd liked her shorter stories up until that point. She wanted to grow, and to move past the box she was comfortable in. It was an easy sell, and they'd offered her a substantial advance on the spot at the beginning of summer, having every confidence in her abilities. But now in the reality of it, she questioned what she had even been thinking? Any thought of how she should begin just seemed bizarre, and there was certainly no way she'd ever be able to build an entire world from scratch. Her nervous fingers tore off a section from the paper towel roll on the table and unconsciously started ripping away. Taking note of her surroundings, Riley couldn't believe how quiet it was. Growing up in New York, she had gotten accustomed to noise—whether it be from the street, from the neighbors, or from her own family, there was always at least some noise filling her ears. But here, in the middle of four acres, far from the city, there was nothing to be heard…and that was oddly much louder than any taxi horn ever was. Ripping apart the last shred in her hands, Riley looked at the pile of mangled paper towel and slumped down in her chair. Writing was always her favorite hobby, and now it felt like her steepest mountain to climb.
Grabbing her glass, she walked out to the front porch and lowered herself onto one of the couples' rocking chairs. It really was beautiful, all of the land they lived on. She could have never imagined living in a place like this, one of such openness and serenity. The young woman had never even had a yard before, and now here she was gazing out upon a field with the sun rising over a skyline of trees. However, as gorgeous a site as it was, it still didn't feel like home. She ached for home—for familiar. It was as if no matter how much stuff they added to their house, how much she tried to decorate it, it was still light-years away from everything she'd ever known. Lucas was the only thing that made her feel grounded in the unfamiliar territory, and now on this day without him, Riley had never felt more lost.
Needing just a taste of New York, she rocked back and forth in the chair, tapping away at her phone. "Hey…are you busy?"
"No, I'm okay to talk. What's up, Riles?" Maya's voice was groggy; obvious she was woken up from her slumber. It was 9AM in Texas; meaning that it was an hour later in New York, and Riley had never known her best friend to sleep in so late on a weekday—aside from the night she'd stayed over at Farkle's.
Riley wavered, not wanting to be a burden. "I didn't mean to wake you up, Maya, you can just call me back later. I know I'm calling a lot earlier than our usual seven o'clock."
"No, you're fine. I promise," There was rustling on the other end of the call and what sounded to be a door closing. "Just let me put my robe on and fix a cup of coffee…then I'm all yours."
Taking a sip of rich chocolate milk, the brunette wiped her mouth and waited for the signal from the other girl that it was time to talk. A few minutes passed before Maya announced that she was wormed into the couch and ready to listen. "Basically I'm having trouble with my book…I just have no clue how to start this thing. It's like the more I think about it, the harder it seems, and so I'm currently stuck just staring at the computer like an idealess idiot."
"Honey, you have an imagination bigger than anyone I've ever known. If there was ever a person to write an intriguing story, it would certainly be you."
"But how do I start? How do I even begin whenever I haven't the faintest idea of what it is I even want to do with it?" She was rocking faster now, anxious. The bottom of the chair was making a thump each time it made contact with the porch, at least giving the girl some security of noise. "I had this whole idea in my head, this entire outline, and now I can barely remember what this story was supposed to be about, let alone the opening sentence."
There was a tiny laugh on the speaker. The kind Maya would unwillingly let escape when she was entertained by her friend's innocent theatrics. "Listen to me…do you know what the greatest part of being an artist or a writer is?"
Curious, Riley stilled her position and set her drink down on the small table to her right. "No, what?"
"The absolute best part is that nothing is final, Riley. I start a painting, and then I paint over that same spot twenty times until I figure out what I want to do. Almost every single time that I start one, I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. I put down whatever I'm feeling in that moment and make the first stroke, then after that I let the painting take a mind of its own." There was a pause as Maya brought her mug to the sink and turned on the faucet. "It's the same with you," she continued. "As an author, you don't have to have it all figured out before you start. You just have to start. Anywhere. Not necessarily from the beginning, not from the end, not from the middle—just start with whatever you want, and then let the story tell itself. Type what you feel, and then if you don't like that, rewrite it. Change it. Nothing is final; you can literally rework the thing as many times as you want. So stop putting so much fucking pressure on the first sentence. There's always a do-over."
Riley exhaled, arranging her hair behind her ears. "So I just need to stop being afraid? Just write any and everything that comes to mind, and hope that by the end of that I can salvage something worth reading?"
"Yes, honey, and it will be soworth reading. I'll be the first one in line to buy the book. I've known you my whole life and you always figure it out, so just trust yourself."
Walking back into her home, the younger girl took her place back in front of that blank screen, keeping her phone secured closely to her ear. "Thank you, Maya. I'm sorry to call you so early, but I really needed you to bring me back to Earth. I hope I didn't throw off your day too badly, we can skip tonight's call if that's easier and just pick back up tomorrow."
"Don't apologize, you can call me whenever…and it kind of worked out anyway, I sort of made plans for tonight, so it was better for me to talk this morning too."
"Oh?" Riley asked curiously. "Plans? A date, perhaps?"
The blonde chuckled, suddenly ready to end the call. "Another time, Riles, another time. Let me know how your writing goes?"
"I will," the girl agreed before putting her phone away until the next time. Rehashing her friend's advice, there was a sense of safety that any keystroke she was to make was not final, and could just as easily be deleted and rewritten. Testing out the theory, she typed out the word 'Rileytown' and then quickly backspaced, with a huge smile creeping upon her face. The keyboard didn't seem so scary anymore—it was her own to dominate. Riley sat boldly, remembering and piecing together the storyline that she had pitched only a few months prior to her publishers. Letting caution fly out the window, she straightened up her posture and typed the opening line to her novel.