CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LACUNA

( — a gap or missing part, as in a manuscript, series, or logical argument; hiatus. )

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

          LENNOX IS FIVE SECONDS AWAY FROM THROWING HIS OWN COFFEE TO MICHAELA'S FACE. It doesn't take a body language expert to figure it out and, since Michaela clearly isn't one, she's glad to have noticed that before Lennox decides to actually do it, giving her more than enough time to bolt out of the café.

          At that moment, standing right in front of Lennox's dark eyes, she feels tiny, almost like a child who got caught delivering a forced, half-assed apology to a classmate by simply inviting them to her birthday after having been mean to them. The problem, however, is that there's no one to serve as a mediator, as Roya couldn't possibly care less, Ginny has better things to worry about and Jillian wouldn't jump into the middle of a potential argument.

          She's pretty sure she's about to scream, anyway. Lennox's eyes dart between her and the ticket, Jillian keeps answering Roya's questions as she fires them one after another like bullets, and Ginny stays quiet, entirely focused on her phone. Michaela hopes she's talking to her mother, but, at the same time, she doesn't want her friend to fight for a lost cause, as some people just won't change their mind, even for their children.

          Michaela feels sick to her stomach, despite knowing she has been a lot worse to him than the other way around, and she'd totally understand if he ends up rejecting her invitation. She supposes she'd probably do the same, as she's almost as good at holding grudges as he is, but she's making an effort to fix things between them, as not even being on speaking terms with him can't be an option for much longer.

          Either way, the silence has been dragging on for too long—better yet, his silence has been doing just that. Roya and Jillian try to remain as oblivious as possible to the awkwardness around them, but this is an entirely innocent invitation, with no hidden wishes behind it.

          It's not even to make Lincoln jealous, even if she's almost certain she'd be doing that if they were in high school or even in college, but she's a grown woman now and knows a lot better. Plus, trying to make him jealous and hurting him are two totally different things and showing up at NYFW with Lennox by her side would only result in the latter—she's not doing this to get back at him for breaking her heart, when she has done the same to him.

          The only reason she's doing this is because she needs to fix her own problems instead of waiting for it to happen out of thin air. Fixing things with Lennox might be a lot easier than doing the same with Lincoln, so that's where she wants to start. If it takes dragging him to New York Fashion Week with her just to make her parents happy, then so be it.

          She wonders when she turned into a people-pleaser. That's Ginny's job, not hers.

          Hell, for all Michaela knows, Lincoln might not even attend the event. It has never been his cup of tea, as he'd much rather spend the entire night sleeping, reading, or working on some novel or novella, but was still nice enough to join Michaela whenever Yvonne showed off her work on the runway. There might not even be as much drama as Michaela thinks there will be, so it's just a matter of convincing Lennox to go . . . if she knew how to do that, since having the ticket in front of him isn't doing any wonders.

          "Michaela," Lennox eventually begins, shattering the silence. "What makes you think I'd want to be your date?"

          "It's not an actual date, you know," she clarifies, her voice an octave higher than her usual tone, and he quirks an eyebrow. "We'd only be going as friends—"

          "We're not friends."

          Roya groans something about having to pause the recording for the millionth time, does just that, and drags Jillian outside by a hand, slamming the door on their way out. Ginny does a great job at ignoring Michaela and Lennox, as she's been doing since he started working for Union Daily, either by saying nothing or pretending she's not even seeing what's happening right in front of her, and Michaela is thankful, as things would be a lot more awkward if this wasn't happening.

          Michaela doesn't know what to do or what to say, which doesn't happen too often. It's not like she's a chatty gossip, or anything, but it's rare for her to be caught off-guard, finding herself at a loss for words, but Lennox always finds a way of pushing her buttons the right way and she immediately falls silent. She's like a fish out of the water, pathetically opening and closing her mouth, and she's clearly out of her natural habitat, standing in front of the one person who has always given her a run for her money.

          Of course she knows they're not friends. She's not stupid.

          She simply wasn't expecting such a cold reaction out of him, despite knowing he's furious because she's a spoiled brat. Lennox prefers a more passive-aggressive approach to social drama, managing things from the sidelines, and she has always been the one to walk headfirst into things and explode without prior warning.

          They didn't call her a hurricane for no reason.

          "I'm trying to fix things, if you haven't noticed it yet," Michaela insists, praying her voice is still steady, as any changes in her tone might bring her downfall. Lennox calmly sips his coffee, but his dark eyes are as hard as diamonds. "You wanted me to stop acting like a spoiled brat who thinks she's entitled to everything just because, so I'm standing here in front of you and asking you to come watch my mother's work with me."

          Lennox chuckles, shaking his head, and Michaela's blood freezes in her veins. "Michie"—she clenches her jaw—"here's the deal. You can invite me to anything you want, even to attend the live premiere of Episode IX of Star Wars in December, but I'm not that easy. I'd appreciate an actual apology before going anywhere with you and making a fool out of myself because you have a strange gift of making everything awfully awkward."

          Michaela, fuming, runs her hands through her hair, fully aware they're moments away from causing a scene and realizing, a bit too late, it turns out Lincoln might be easier to talk to. "Lennox, I'm trying—"

          "You want to be forgiven just so you can go to bed in peace with yourself, not because you think you did something wrong and feel bad about it, Michaela!" There are scorching hot tears stinging the corners of Michaela's eyes, as she simply cannot handle having someone raise their voice at her for way too long, and she rushes to wipe them away with her sleeves before he can see them. "You do this all the time—you either run away from your problems or can't be bothered to give someone an honest apology, then wonder why everything around you is torn!"

          "Fine," she finally says, in a clogged voice, which ends up being the reason Ginny finally lifts her stare from her phone to look at her with eyes wide open. "Fine, don't take the ticket. And I'm sorry"—she reaches out a hand across the table to pull the ticket back towards her and stuffs it back inside her purse—"for screwing up all the time." Michaela puts on her coat in a swift gesture, pulling her hair out of the neckline, and swings her purse's strap over her shoulder. It digs into her flesh, but she barely feels the pain. "You know where to find me if you want to talk."

          Lennox merely nods, lips pursed together in a thin line, but doesn't say anything. Defeated, Michaela drags herself out of the café, not fully prepared to face the cold weather of February, and runs across the streets to find her car. The air inside the vehicle isn't nearly enough to stop her teeth from chattering, but she knows it's not just the wind that's making her body react this way.

          She doesn't allow herself to cry on the ride home, though. That's something she only does in the shower, and she stays true to herself by doing just that.

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          MICHAELA IS A COWARD, SO SHE CALLS IN SICK ON MONDAY. It's ridiculous, really, and she's feeling a lot better compared to last week, but she can't bring herself to step through those doors.

          Still, she does it after trading her morning Pilates for a forty-five-minute run, one that drenches her in sweat and leaves her with awfully aching muscles, but it's nothing a warm shower wouldn't fix. Showers seem to fix almost everything in her life, as it's Michaela's go-to place when she needs to cry and sing along to sad Céline Dion songs, which always makes her feel infinitely better once she steps out and wraps herself in a warm, fuzzy towel.

          When Old Howie answers the phone, she makes sure to cough a few times while talking to him, but never forgetting to add she'll be working from home, as the interview needs to be edited and polished by the end of the week, so there won't be any work lost.

          She feels terrible for lying to her boss, even though there's a voice in the back of her head reminding her she's one step away from losing a job she absolutely loathes, but still pulls through.

          Michaela works and eats at the same time, nibbling at a slice of whole-wheat bread and avocado as she types, focusing on the recorded interview playing from her phone. It's strange, she thinks, having to listen to her ex-fiancé talk about his life and writing his new novel when she knows all about both of these things, even though she still hasn't touched the manuscript. It's right where she left it, waiting for her to grow a pair, and she knows she'll have to get to it soon before it actually gets him in trouble with his own editors.

          UD: can we expect your next project to fight your previous works for the throne, then?

          LC: (laughs) that's what I'm hoping for—I mean, I'm hoping it will, but I think my editors want it a little bit more than I do. Just a tiny bit (chuckles). It's been, what, three years since I last published something? I'm almost certain they'd rip my contract in half if I stayed in hiatus for one more day—and now I'm hoping they won't rip my contract in half by reading this.

          Lincoln's newest novel—and he wouldn't tell us the title—still doesn't have a set release date, but we're certain we're not the only ones anxiously waiting for it and biting our nails back at the office, eager to learn something more about what he has in stock.

          After the success of his first novel, Vitality, which easily strolled its way up bestsellers lists, we're hoping Lincoln hasn't lost his spirit and will deliver exactly what he's known for—a well-thought masterpiece, with fleshed out, realistic characters, and a plot that will leave us begging for more.

          With a tiny sigh, Michaela saves the Word document and quickly mails it to Ginny so she can give any final touches she sees fitting before it's sent to the top editors. When she hears him laugh, she's back in his apartment, recording that exact part of the interview, and it painfully twists and turns her stomach until she feels about to throw up her breakfast.

          Her coffee has since gone cold, but she swallows what's left of it in her cup anyway, as she's not one to let expensive coffee go to waste. The strong, bitter taste lingers in her tongue, as she somehow found a way of letting it burn at the bottom while brewing it, and she shudders as the liquid oozes down her throat.

          She soon runs out of things to do, which is a shame, as Michaela never quite knows what to do when it happens. Ever since she was younger, she has felt a strange need to always keep herself busy, except when she goes to bed, as it keeps her mind clear and fresh and prevents her from thinking about things she shouldn't. It's too cold outside for her to leave her apartment and she doesn't want to risk being seen by someone who knows Old Howie and will mention having run into her when she's supposed to be in bed.

          There's nothing else she can do other than finally pick up the 4W manuscript, stop being selfish and get back to work, as promised. So, Michaela curls up on the couch, covered by a blanket and with a steaming mug of green tea by her side, and takes a deep breath, staring at the four black words stamped on a white page.

          They seem to be taunting her, even though, realistically, they have no power to do so—she has given him permission to write this thing and he made sure to remind her countless times he'll change anything she finds is too invasive and might compromise her privacy.

          Since Michaela wants to be realistic regarding this entire situation, despite the awkwardness of it all, she has to read the damn book and send Lincoln some feedback so they can finally get some closure and decide what the hell they want to do about their relationship. There are only two possible ways this can end, and Michaela isn't quite sure which one of them she prefers, but she'd like to believe there's still time to figure things out.

          Or so she hopes.

          She manages to get to page twenty-five without being interrupted, cursing herself for having forgotten to silence her phone before sitting down as she leans forward to check the device. Out of all the people who could be texting her at the moment, it's Lennox.

Fine. Count me in.