I’M ON THE sofa, waiting for my daughter to come home so I can discuss her relationship with Wyatt, her plans to ditch college and travel Down Under, and her decision to change the course of her entire future without even discussing it with me. To ensure I’m in a sufficiently low mood, I’ve made a cup of tea, and I’m looking at the Burnt Orchid Readem page on my phone. I’ve kept my promise—to Olivia and to myself—not to read the bad reviews. The mere thought of the abuse and vitriol makes me feel ill. I’m simply looking at the ratings, refreshing the page regularly. Every twenty minutes or so, the rating goes down by a point. 3.30… 3.29… 3.28…
It hovers there for a while, and I pray it will hold. That the trolls will give up, get bored. That people who liked the book will give it five stars to counteract the damage. Readem has millions of subscribers and significant influence. I suspect this mediocre rating is impacting my sales. I’ve heard nothing from my publishers, no more words like: strong, promising, on the right track. There is a sales portal I can log into, but the tallies mean little to me without some context.
A key in the lock signals my daughter’s arrival and I put down the phone.
“Hey,” Liza says, dropping her heavy backpack on a kitchen barstool and going directly to the fridge.
“How was your day?”
“Good,” she says, rummaging for a kombucha. “Some friends and I went to Martha’s café after school. She says hi.”
It’s been ages since I’ve popped into my friend’s coffee shop, but Liza has gone like an emissary. “How is she?”
“She was super busy.” Liza opens her beverage with an effervescent hiss. “But she said she misses you.”
“Me too. I’ll see her soon.”
“Felix came in as we were leaving,” Liza says, moving around the counter and grabbing her backpack. “My friends thought he was hot, which is so gross. He’s like sixty.”
“He’s forty-six,” I chuckle, “but it’s still gross.”
“I won’t even tell you what they say about Theo.” My daughter rolls her eyes, heads toward her room.
“Can we talk?” My voice is tight with nerves.
“I have a ton of homework.” She eyes me suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
“I just want to chat.” I pat the cushion next to me.
She comes over and sits beside me, but I sense her apprehension. I keep my tone light.
“How are things between you and Wyatt?”
“Fine.”
“How does he feel about you going off to school in a few months?”
Liza sighs, crosses her arms. “Did you talk to Dad and Tori?”
“I did. They say you’re not sure you want to go to college this year.”
“I don’t know…” Her words wobble. “I’m not sure I’m ready. Twelfth grade has been a lot, and four more years of school feels overwhelming right now.” She plays with the strings on her hoodie. “And it’s hard to end things with Wyatt after we’ve been together for so long.”
“If you’re not ready to go to university, Liza, that’s okay.” My voice has slipped into counselor-mode. “As long as you’re making that decision because it’s right for you, not because it’s what Wyatt wants.”
“I know you don’t like him, Mom.”
“What are you talking about? Wyatt’s fine.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s a ringing endorsement.”
“I vacuumed your room,” I say, seizing on the subject. “I saw some texts that concerned me.”
“You were snooping in my laptop?” She’s angry. She feels her privacy was invaded.
“I picked it up. They were on the screen. Fifteen texts from Wyatt asking where you were.”
For a moment, Liza looks confused; then her face crinkles with amusement. “That was a joke. I was with him when he sent those.”
“I don’t get it,” I say flatly.
“The other night, my friends and I went to watch Wyatt’s soccer game. I forgot my phone at home. He was teasing me that I’d come home to a billion texts from you. He was trying to beat your record.”
“Oh.” I’m too relieved to be annoyed.
“He’s not some controlling jerk. Wyatt’s a good guy. And I’m a strong woman. You raised me to stand up for myself.”
“I know.” I reach for her hand. “But strong women can get hurt too. And you’re so young.”
“Is this about me and Wyatt? Or is it about you and Dad?”
Adrian and I met in our second year of college. We were both studying psychology with a minor in smoking weed and drinking. I was concerned about my future, wondering what to do with such a general degree. Adrian had the family business to fall back on. He was lighthearted, carefree, enjoying the ride. I was intoxicated by him. I don’t regret that we got married a few years after graduation—if we hadn’t, there would be no Liza—but he wasn’t the right choice for me. My ex is selfish and needy; he wanted a mother as much as a wife. And if I’d stayed with Adrian, I never would have written Burnt Orchid.
I touch my daughter’s shiny hair, push it back behind her shoulder. “Promise me you’ll put yourself first. And do what’s right for you.”
“I always do.” There’s a sparkle in her eye. “Besides, don’t you have other things to worry about? Like your next book?”
She’s right, I do. And now that I know my daughter is okay, I can give them my full attention.