Maybe Next Time

by Cesca Major

Dan was right about this committee. Why was I still on it? Why couldn’t I stop the guilty voice that compelled me to take these things on? I needed to say no.

There was nothing there of Dan.

Strangers don’t need you. We need you.

Miles had frowned. “I’m five. My birthday is May, May the tenth,” he insisted.

He wasn’t Dan anymore; the energy, soul, whatever it was that made him him had left.

There is no Times review, but three people on Goodreads with names like UnicornGirl67 have told you your writing is lousy, the plot predictable, and they skim-read most of it. Even your own friends and family haven’t noticed. One random aunt has bought six copies, two friends you barely remember from primary school leave notes on your Facebook wall.

BUT—can I say something honestly now? You might not like it. But sometimes, because you are trying to do everything, for everyone, sometimes you’re exhausted for us. You disappear on us. Not physically, not like your own parents, and not like I did. I know I can’t ever take back what I did when Poppy was born but I’ve made up for it now, so *deep breath* you need to stop throwing it back in my face when we argue, because it hurts. I’m here, I’m present: I’m not going