Meet Me in the Margins

by Melissa Ferguson

Yesterday he left the oh-so-gently stated comment about my character’s first date: The fact that your character calls this “the best night of her life” over stale rolls at a 2-star restaurant is more ironic than Ms. Pennington’s ever-present belief that “Medieval poetry is the way of the future.” I responded by asking him what his genius idea was for a first date, and while he overlooked any response on the topic this morning, he seems to have circled back to it. And for a first, the answer is so lengthy he’s added a Post-It note to the side to make room. The perfect date depends on the people involved. If she enjoys fine food, then I’d take her to the Catbird Seat. If she enjoys music, then I’d take her to the Schermerhorn Symphony Center. The perfect date doesn’t have anything to do with me. It’s entirely about finding a setting that highlights who she is and seeking to learn about each other within that amenable atmosphere.

Weve got a dating conkseuir on our hands and i dont know how to spell

And he doesn’t think my manuscript is hopeless. I know because at the bottom of chapter 7 there are new words. This is good. Do more of this. The first positive comment. The first positive comment amid a slew of critiques.

AWWWW

The music is painfully loud, as is apparently the requirement for all places playing live music anywhere.

fr!!

My phone starts ringing on my lap as Lyla starts her third song. Game time. I pick it up with the frazzled, busy attitude of one hating everything about this moment. “What?” I say into the receiver, loudly. “I’m busy.” Somewhere on the opposite side of the room, Lyla’s husband mumbles something into his phone. It’s so loud that I can’t hear what he’s saying. But that doesn’t matter. We’ve done this so many times, I know the lines. “Well, I don’t care what Jerry wants. I’m occupied.” I pause for roughly four beats and look at Lyla critically. “I’m not sure, but I may be onto a new lead.”

STOP 😭✋

Lyla’s voice begins to tip up into a long, eight-beat note, the penultimate moment of her ballad, and I lift my gaze as if surprised. As the note lingers, my long-held bored expression slowly cracks. As if I’ve spent years watching nobodies, hoping to find that lost treasure, weary and exhausted as I work this lonely road. And then, suddenly, I’ve found it. My fingers slowly drop from the tablet as if I’m not even aware of them, as if they are doing what they are meant to do on their own: find and press against my chest. My heart. Because this woman onstage is it. She is the one. Honestly. I should’ve become an actress.

I was about to say that

I dart my head around and, in the swift glance, see Garrett working his own corner, using the same script. This is the part where I squeeze my eyes shut, look furious, and respond with, “Fine. I’ll meet you outside, but you’d better hurry.” The plan is to follow the call with me grabbing my things, rushing outside looking terribly important, then dropping the charade and popping in next door to scroll through Pinterest before sneaking back ten minutes later to try the routine on somebody else.

this is hilarious

But just as I squeeze my eyes, right as I’m on the verge of giving my showstopping finale, a voice pops up beside me. A strong voice. Masculine. And one, I realize with instant trepidation, I know. “That’s a pretty low blow to bring up Bentley.” My eyes open, and I find myself face-to-face with Will Pennington.

how does he show up everywhere????

And the longer he stares, the more formidable his expression feels. It’s because he’s realizing there’s something wrong with us. Her because she’s really trying to become a country star in this town and me, well . . . me because I spend my evenings in the back of bars, trying to lure agents into giving her a contract. “Remarkable talent. Iconic beauty that sets her apart from the others. Do you think she’s written this song as well?” I swivel back and, to my surprise, see Will gazing at Lyla as if entranced. He’s so convincing that for just a blink I think he might be serious. “Yes!” I wave my hand out, much too enthusiastically. “Yes, she writes all her own songs!” I catch myself. “I recall she said so when she introduced one of them . . . at the beginning . . . at some point.” “Well, then, let’s make haste,” Will says. “What are we waiting for?”

“LETS MAKE HASTE” 💀💀💀

“Efficient,” I say at last, settling on the least offensive, possibly complimentary term possible. “You seem efficient.” “Efficient,” he says slowly. “Mm-hmm,” I murmur between pressed lips, not daring to give anything more. He gives me one long, dubious look and then, to my surprise, laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard it. A heady sound, full and rich. It’s such a nice sound that it’s a real pity to the world he doesn’t laugh more often.

I feel a sense of duty welling up inside me. It’s the Cade way after all: to be the change we wish to see in the world. Great opportunities to help people seldom come, but small ones surround us every day. We rise by lifting others. All that. With my head full of platitudes, I feel my energy lift as I walk beside him to the dartboard.

I pause as I move into position before the board, then cast a look back. “I mean, honestly, Will. His area is taxidermy. Where are these two hundred thousand passionate followers of taxidermy? Where?

“So,” I say, not even sure where the rest of my sentence is going to go. “I never got to ask you any questions.”

Relatable

Will gives a short nod, and when it’s quite clear she’s gone, he looks down at me. “Well. Savannah. Thank you for the interruption this evening. It was a most welcome one.”

it was her greatest pleasure im sure

And sometimes he stays up all night reading, riveted by some new inspiration or other, and sleeps through his alarm. It’s a true booklover’s dilemma.

me staying up until 1 reading this 🤗

Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll take out the blind-date scene. But geez, that’s pretty embarrassing, Mystery E. Then I trust you can keep that little secret between you and me. Or use it in my next manuscript . . . You wouldn’t dare. Wouldn’t I? Not if I’m editing it. Does that mean you’re up to the job? Mystery E. henceforth and forevermore? This is getting a little Phantom of the Opera–esque. I always thought he got a bad rap. He built Christine Daaé’s career. You like the show? One of my favorites. Fine, then. This book gets contracted, and I’m taking you to the show. My treat. Make it on Broadway and you have a deal. Broadway it is.

this looks so confusing with the wrong format lol

I smile to myself as my finger slides to the bottom of the page and I add: By the way, these lights are beautiful. Then I turn the page and laugh at his own note: These lights are the ambience this room needed.

future me: 😭🤣 i can’t

“Quit dawdling, everyone,” Ms. Pennington continues. “No one is dawdling,” Will says quietly. “Everyone’s clearly seated and ready.” Both Lyla’s and my attention snaps to Will. I have the urge to press my lips together to keep from saying, “Ooooooh,” like kids do when watching a fight forming in the halls.

real kindergarten memories came back over this

I’m not sure, but what I see in his eyes now, the telepathic message I feel sent through the airwaves to me at this very moment, tells me one thing: he does. For whatever odd, crazy reason, he respects my opinion. Respects me.

“Missing that espresso machine now, aren’t we?” I tease. He drops his cup into the trash can, and the coffee splashes along the plastic lining on the way down. “Fine. I concede. I’ll bring back the espresso machine. No absurdly priced espresso beans from Fazatti’s, though. And no syrup station.” “Bulk espresso beans from the Bean Station,” I counter, “and we’ll contribute our own syrups to share among the group.” Will eyes me for a long moment, then puts out his hand. “You drive a hard bargain.” “Happy to represent the group,” I reply, shaking firmly. “The Pennington spokesperson,” Will says, smiling as his hand holds mine. “You know, I may just take you up on that offer.” “I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about,” I reply. And in more ways than one, I mean it. The idea sends electricity through my veins, all the way down the palm of my hand sitting warmly in his.

“Half of my calls are about her.” He shrugs. “But she’s the most talented person in this publishing house, and I’m including myself in that statement. I’m not going to lose her over a temper. Besides, everything she says is dead on, and if I’m honest, part of me likes to see her tell it to them like it truly is.”

“and i’m including myself” bye 💀

The thought—the whole conversation, in fact—takes up residence full time, setting out a love seat in the living room of my mind. Will Pennington sidling up to me, not anyone else, after the meeting adjourns. Will Pennington’s playful smile. Will Pennington’s resilient, authoritative air when he makes decisions for the greater good. Will Pennington’s banter. And his words.

The same words I remembered the moment Will spoke to me after the meeting: Then I trust you can keep that little secret between you and me. Here in bold black ink. It has to be him. Will Pennington. It has to be.

It’s not him. I hardly believe my eyes as I walk into the ARC room two days later. It has been two days since Will left. And here, in our secret room, I discover a candle sitting in the middle of the floor. And worse, lit.

No i refuse

At last, when it seems clear Will isn’t going to move, Ferris turns to me. “So, Savvy. I was just . . . going to see . . .”—his eyes momentarily dart to Will—“if you might be available for lunch.” “Oh,” I say in surprise. “I thought you were going couch shopping with Olivia today.” “Yes . . . Yes, I was . . . But she has to work. I was hoping you could help me instead.” Couch shopping. Well, it’s not on the top of my list as far as fun Valentine’s Day activities go, but it would be a welcome substitute for my soggy chicken salad sandwich waiting for me in the breakroom. I’m just opening my mouth when Will jumps in. “Actually, Savannah”—he says my full first name with a bit of emphasis—“I have to go down to the courthouse just now to get some paperwork notarized. I was hoping you’d come with me. Seeing as you are now the official spokesperson for the Pennington people.”

hehe heheh

He shuts his door and turns the ignition. “I gotta say,” I comment the second the engine starts to rumble. “I didn’t expect you to drive a car like this.” “Thought I was more of a Lexus man, did you?” he says, sounding unsurprised. “Well, yes. After all, look at you. You don’t exactly dress like a lumberjack.” “My job doesn’t afford me the opportunity to dress like a lumberjack.” He grins and turns onto the main road.

i need a bonus chapter of will dressed as a lumberjack at his farm asap

“So, let me get this straight,” I say. “You don’t live in an apartment downtown.” An amused question forms in his eyes as I ask, but he shakes his head. “You don’t have some sort of waiter hanging out in the lobby ready to take your clothes to the dry cleaners.” His grins slightly as he again shakes his head. “They’re concierges. And no.” “Why did I think you would?” I say aloud, honestly a bit puzzled. “Because you think I’m elitist, from the sound of it,” he says, stifling a chuckle as he makes a turn. “No, because you came from the City,” I say, resolved. “In my mind, everyone who works in publishing in the City must be the most glamorous person alive. Eats sushi every night.”

There is such a lengthy silence this time that I go ahead and cut to the chase. “I know how it must look from the outside, but they are in love,” I explain, repeating the mantra the family has said a thousand times. “And he left you for her,” he says, his face taking on one of those terribly intimidating expressions he gives when he’s about to fire someone, “but comes back to ask you to go couch shopping for his future bride. Your sister.” “I know how this sounds. But this is how my family works. We are loyal to each other to the end. It’s kind of our family mission statement.” Will pulls into the last, lonely empty parking spot at the corner of the courthouse. He puts the gearshift in Park, hesitates for the blink of an eye, then turns to face me. “And that’s where I wonder if I should correct you, Savannah. You may be loyal, but it doesn’t sound as if the rest of your family is loyal to you.” He sounds so harsh, as if editing my life. But despite his words, and the way he is frank in a manner that no one—not even Lyla—has ever been, I feel myself crack a little beneath them.

“Well, I do harbor a secret hope it rains on their wedding day.” I say the words and then clap my hand over my mouth. Will looks unsurprised. In fact, he smiles a little. “And the venue gets soaked?” “Floods,” I continue with a smirk as I drop my hand. “Floods so hard that the guests can’t make it over the tiny, ornate bridge to the wedding venue. And every photograph is so foggy you can’t see the people. And all the curls fall from Olivia’s hair. And all those stupid, stupid flowers the family has talked about nonstop the past nine months get carried off into the wind.” We grin at each other.

“But the better part of me hopes that after all that misery they do get their private moment to say their I-do’s and go on to have a nice life together. I really do.” His temple creases with a smile. “I know you do. For what it’s worth, you are a good sister and a remarkably thoughtful human being. You deserve the same kind of happiness you wish to bestow on them.”

“We will notarize your marriage certificate at the end. Please, if you haven’t noticed, there are quite a few couples we have to get through. So if you don’t mind to just follow my directions—” “We are not here to get married!” Will booms. And as though he needs to emphasize the point, he takes a gigantic step away from me. At this point I can’t help but throw my hands over my lips to keep from going into hysterics over the entire situation. The clerk swivels his gaze to me and, clearly misunderstanding my posture as being on the cusp of collapsing into tears, swallows hard.

i reacted the same way LOL

Down the center of the stairs just below us, there is a tunnel with a mass of people on either side. Several are shaking poster boards with hearts on them. Others are throwing rice at a couple—who are clasping hands and running through. Everyone cheers. As the couple ahead of us reach the concrete sidewalk, the mass turns their expectant, jubilant faces on us. Will pauses. Looks at the notarized paper that, I now realize, looks very much like a marriage certificate. Then at me. His blue eyes hold a mirthful question. In response, I smile. “Well, at least there are no doves.” And without waiting a second longer, he clasps my hand and lifts his paper victoriously into the air. As we descend the steps, someone who clearly loves love shakes her poster with a high-pitched whoop. Rice pelts our faces alongside flurries, so much I wince and close my eyes half the time. It’s euphoric. And I can’t help noticing, despite the chaos all around, Will’s hand as it clasps mine.

He holds my hand all the way until we reach the sidewalk, and at last, after we pass a building and move out of view, he lets go. He exhales. Grins down at me. “They were just so hopeful,” he says apologetically. “Agreed,” I reply, smiling up at him. “We couldn’t let them down.”

that was amazing

He’s quite close to me just now, I realize. Several inches closer than the amount of space the average conversational situation calls for. Close enough that I faintly smell the cedar and grease coming off his person, not just his truck. My hand feels instantly cold without his, and I long for the warmth and companionship of his grip to return. There’s something in his eyes as the flakes fall between us. A faint question. A thought bubble hovering over his head. But whatever it is about, it doesn’t pop and he doesn’t speak. Instead, he grins again and shifts on his heel toward the parking lot.

I like Will. I may as well admit it openly, even if it’s just to myself.

This is, without a doubt, the worst kiss in the history of mankind. Have you ever actually kissed someone before? I prickle and write hotly beneath his words from my beanbag chair. I’ll have you know I’ve kissed plenty of people. PLENTY.

LOL

When my pen finally stops, I lean back in the beanbag and stare at my words. I sound too passionate. Too emotional. Too . . . unhinged.

I won’t write the scene for you. But . . . maybe I can help. I’m pretty sure at that moment I look like a praying mantis. A praying mantis with enormous eyes bugged out of her head. He can . . . help. Me. To write a kissing scene. It’s not the words exactly that I’m so focused on but the three periods in the middle. But dot dot dot maybe I can help.

The way my hand flew to my mouth 🫢🫢

I can use all the help I can get. What do you have in mind? There. And before I can convince myself to blot it out again, I leave. Chapter 17 I’d like to take you to dinner.

AHHHHHH

But as I flip the page, I see he has written something else. To clarify, a date. I’d like to take you on a date.

AHHHHHHHGG

My heart skyrockets for about three seconds, and for a solid minute I don’t move. He wants to take me on a date. A first date. Like one of those dates we’ve discussed all along the margins in reference to other people and other situations.

My pace quickens and the length of my steps shortens until I look like a waddling penguin in a hurry.

Theres another one ??????????? america explain

From across the room I catch his eye and, in a moment of bravery, raise my mug to him. To tonight, I think in my head and take another acidic sip. His eyes bulge. Actually bulge. His foot falters on the last step, and he stumbles forward until crashing squarely into the back of Will.

Omg

The second I’m out of the public eye, I turn around. Or maybe Ferris turns me around. I’m not quite sure which. Either way, I’m acutely aware of his hands now gripping my elbows. “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” he says, his words coming in a rush.

Oh dont you DARE

He’s looking at the floor, but then his gaze shoots up as if he remembers where he’s at and the aim of his message. “But you.” He takes a step toward me. “You were a treasure. Letting you go, Savannah, was the biggest mistake of my life.” There’s silence, and then he moves in closer, his voice lowering as his chin tips down toward me. “Let’s get out of here. Now. We can go anywhere. Do anything. Shoot, we can fly all the way to Vegas right now and get married. Just please, please forgive me for what I’ve done. And I promise . . . I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

This man is deljsional DELHSIONAL

“Horrible doesn’t cut it,” Olivia says, rubbing a tissue fairly violently beneath her nose. “He’s the most substandard, abominable, ignominious, louche man to ever walk this planet.”

and you didn’t think he was when he broke up with YOUR SISTER after EIGHT YEARS and then got ENGAGED TO YOU AFTER LIKE TWO MONTHS. he was a red flag from the BEGINNING.

Life is about movement, and pause. Work, and rest. It’s about relationship. About valuing others and truly taking the time to show them they are precious. About valuing yourself, too, and your uniquely given, whispered-into-your-DNA goals and dreams. Life is about making drippy pancakes on a Saturday morning, and leaving the dishes in the sink to sit down with Lyla at the kitchen table and talk about her new agent. It’s about making a bath and spending so much time reading in it that the water gets cold and my fingers go pruny. Yes, there should be fundraisers and shoebox drives and hard work, too, but it’s also about slowing down. Truly being present. It’s about appreciating the miraculous gift that is existence. It’s about loving on others as much as you can. And yes, it is also about appreciating what organically makes you happy and, where reasonable, finding it.

To her credit, she’s sitting on the couch, having discovered something I introduced her to three days prior: popcorn covered in chocolate chips. And she’s enjoying herself.

the best combo

“Waiting impatiently for something that will inevitably happen either way is a waste of time. Enjoy the journey, not just the destination.”

“How do you eat an elephant? One spoonful at a time.”

Writing is what makes me happy. Writing, even, is how I feel I contribute to the world. Reminding people of what’s important. Letting them escape the harsh parts of life, even if just for a few hours. Helping them feel happiness through watching happily-ever-afters unfold. Remembering truths. Recalling their self-worth. Loving others. Living well. Learning. I want to do that.