My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero (10 page)

“Who cares if I fall in love?” he says, throwing his hands in the air again. “I’m nobody.”

So, that’s what this is all about. After all is said and done, and after all he has accomplished in life, Travis still doesn’t think he is worthy of things. This makes me furious. Just because his mother didn’t care about him doesn’t mean that he doesn’t deserve the best in life. He does; maybe more so because of how far he’s come.

“You’re not nobody!” I say forcefully.

Honestly, I thought women were a wreck after a bad date.

“Trust me, you don’t have to do any self-esteem building for me,” he offers. “I accepted what happened a long time ago, and I’ve moved on.”

“Then what’s your problem?” I ask.

“Why would anyone want to read about my love life?” he says as though the thought is ridiculous.

“You don’t get it, do you?” I say, exasperated. “You’re smart, funny, attractive… and people love other people’s business! They will want to read about you falling in love because it gives them hope that maybe one day
they
will be lucky enough to find someone like you.”

“Is that what you’re hoping to get out of this? The hope that someday you’ll find someone?”

“What? No,” I say, shaking my head in denial. “I want the story. And to see you happy.”

I add the last part as an afterthought, but it’s true. I do want Travis to be happy.

“This isn’t going to end the way you think,” he says, finishing his beer and standing up.

“Why, because you had one bad date?” I say, following him over to the sink. “Honestly, any girl would be lucky to fall in love with you. You were charming and attentive tonight− except for the NHL thing. I think when this is over, all the girls will want to kick the heroine of the story out of the picture and have you for themselves.”

He studies my face, and I stare back unflinching because I mean every word that I say.

He lets out a long breath, shaking his head.

“Fine,” he finally says. “We’ll keep going.”

I smile in victory.

“But no more talking on the dates,” he warns, pointing his finger at me.

“Scout’s honour,” I say, crossing my heart.

He rolls his eyes before walking to the door.

“And don’t forget about Thursday!” I yell to him as he opens the front door.

He nods his head and puts his hand up in acknowledgment before closing it behind him.

Honestly, if I was worried that Travis wasn’t going to be a complicated enough character to write about, I was seriously off. He might have more emotions running through his body than a Nicholas Sparks book club.

Chapter Eight

“Etty, UPS will be delivering those new Repayer comics tonight, but he said he would be here before nine. I know you are done at six, but…”

My boss, the kindest man on the planet, is looking at me as though asking me to stay late is taking all the will power he has in the world. To say he avoids confrontation would be an understatement. He is the most willowy man I have ever met in my life. He’s short, thin, and barely has any wisps of hair left on his head; I think a handheld fan could knock him off his feet. And his wife is the exact same way− they must not go out when it’s windy. I honestly wonder how they get anything accomplished in life, living in constant fear that they may somehow, someway, offend someone. I tell myself it’s why I have worked here for so many years and not looked for other work: people pick up on weakness and I need to be here to protect them from selfish employees. Although if I’m honest, I still work here because the hours are good and the only other job I was offered was at Tim Hortons. And I really can’t do hair nets.

“Mr. Sharp,” he insists that I call him Roger, but I think it is important to keep a firm employer/employee line. Also, my neighbours had a dog named Roger who bit me once and it’s not a good name association. “I can stay however late you need me to, you know that.”

“Oh,” the relief on the poor man’s face is almost pathetic. Another crisis averted.

“But it’s called The Avengers,” I say.

“What?”

“You said The Repayers, but the comic is called The Avengers.”

“Oh,” he nods his head like it is all news to him.

And if truth be told,
this
is why I stay at the store. This man. He is a complete and utter mystery to me, and I find that fascinating.

He knows absolutely
nothing
about comics. Nothing. And yet he owns a comic book store. What’s the deal there?

I’ve thought about asking him. You know, just some basic questions: what are your goals? What are your dreams? Why do you own a comic book store when you think Wolverine is a type of stove?

But then I imagine the panic on this poor man’s face, and the thoughts reeling through his head: why is she asking? What does she expect me to say? Is she
confronting
me?

And I just can’t do it. I can’t do that to him.

Also, the mystery is really what keeps me going.

“Before I forget,” he says, leaning behind the counter, “Roger Jr. dropped off your bonus.”

My eyes light up more than I thought they could, and I fidget excitedly waiting for him to produce the bag.

“And this time,” he says, reaching in and pulling out a cardboard box, “it’s electric!”

“Electric?” I say, taking it in my hands and studying every inch of it. “I’ve never had an electric toothbrush before!”

“They are so nice,” he says. “You don’t even need to floss.”

“Eek,” I smile from ear to ear.

I know. It’s pathetic.

We both hear the door jingle and Mr. Sharp’s eyebrows raise. “A customer?”

Yes, he’s also shocked when people come in and buy things from him. The mystery: you’ve got to love it.

I look up and see not a customer, but my parents, so I quickly put the toothbrush down behind the desk.

“It’s okay, it’s for me,” I say and walk around Mr. Sharp to greet my parents.

“Hi guys,” I walk over to them and they both hug and kiss me like they haven’t just seen me two days ago. Then they comment that I don’t seem to be eating. Then they talk about the crime in the area, and do I have my pepper spray?

“So, what are you guys doing here?” I finally interrupt the chatter.

“We have the most exciting news!” they say, looking at each other and back to me with giddy looks on their faces.

“Are you moving to Florida?” I say, clapping my hands together.

“No,” my mother says, her face falling. “You want to get rid of us?”

“No,” I quickly shake my head. “I just worry about you in that big house with all this snow.”

Really, I want somewhere nice and warm to go to in the winter that’s free, and I’ve been dropping hints to them for years.

“I saw you forgot to put the cover on Lloyd outside,” my father says, looking outside with a worried frown. “You know how his sunroof gets with these frigid temperatures.”

Do I ever: it’s been leaking for two weeks anytime the sun comes out and the snow melts. My dad said he would fix it, but then he threw out his back, so he gave me the cover to put on Lloyd to protect against snow as a temporary solution.

“I was in a rush after lunch,” I explain. “I’ll go put it on in a minute.”

My dad looks over his shoulder again, looking like a mother who has left her child in the car and isn’t sure of her decision; except in this case it’s the car that is my father’s baby.

“So, what’s the big news?” I ask, hoping to distract him.

My mom reaches in her purse and pulls out an envelope.

“You’ve had an offer!” she says, bouncing from foot to foot.

“What do you mean?”

“A literary agent read your work and wants to discuss it with you!” she says.

I forget all about the electric toothbrush excitement and grab the letter from my mother’s hands as though it is my last dying breath.

“How do you know?” I exclaim, but quickly see that the letter has been opened.

“Your father thought it was for him,” my mother explains.

“And she wants to meet me?” I quickly scan the letter.

Dear Ms. Henrietta James... read your latest book… you have a unique voice… would be interested in meeting you… signed Lisa Hart.

Oh. My. God.

I love her. You know how parents talk about seeing their baby for the first time and instantly falling in love? It has finally happened to me. I am utterly and inequitably in love with Ms. Lisa Hart.

It is literally taking everything inside of me to play it cool.

“Oh my God!” I scream, jumping up and down. “Oh my God!”

Forget playing it cool. Somebody wants me. Somebody
wants
me.

This is the greatest day of my life.

My mom jumps up and down with me while my dad fist pumps the air.

“I knew it! I just knew it,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “Didn’t I tell you that you were the best writer in the world?”

I stop bouncing and try to catch my breath.

“It’s only a meeting,” I say to try and calm us all down, but the excitement in my voice betrays me.

“And you’ve done fine on your own so far,” my mom assures me, patting my back.

Which is true, I have been able to do okay by myself. But there is just something about being traditionally published. To know that someone
wants
you, that someone likes what you wrote.

Also, they do a lot of the work of putting the actual book together which means I could focus more on my writing.

“If she doesn’t buy your books right then and there she’s crazy!” my dad says so emphatically I almost believe him. My parents are my number one fans; always have been, always will be. It doesn’t matter that they know next to nothing about the publishing industry− all they see is how much I want it and how hard I work for it. And that’s all they need to know.

I think they’re pretty great too.

“What are you going to wear?” my mother asks, putting her hair back into place.

“Hmm,” I purse my lips. “Maybe that blue dress I have with the white belt?”

“That’s too safe,” my dad says, shaking his head. “You need to look like a trendy writer.”

My father actually has a keen eye for fashion. Though I have no idea how he inherited this gift as he is a mechanic and spends most of his days in coveralls.

“I’ll come up with some options and send you some picture texts,” I assure him.

“Did I, er−” Mr. Sharp approaches cautiously, wanting to make sure he isn’t interrupting anything. “Is everything okay?”

“Hi Roger,” my parents greet him with a smile, and I feel him shrink back from their enthusiasm.

“Everything’s great!” I say, showing him the letter. “Someone might want to buy my books!”

“Oh,” he says, and I see his face fall before he quickly tries to hide it. “Well, congratulations.”

“I’ll still work here, even if she buys them,” I say, and I see a little bit of the light come back in his eyes.

“No, you should go and follow your dreams,” he says, but I think we are all uncomfortably aware of the lack of enthusiasm in his words.

“Well, unfortunately I have chosen a particular dream that even once achieved will still land me in the welfare line. So you’re stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me,” I offer.

Now the smile is firmly back on his face.

“I’ll talk Roger Jr. into giving you an extra tube of toothpaste,” he promises.

And there is that completely irrational excitement again over dental hygiene products. There is just no explanation for it.

“I love the kind that I got last month with the streak of blue through the centre,” I say.

“Done,” he says with a flourish and quickly goes off, presumably to call Roger Jr.

~

I hide behind the tall boxes and hold my breath. I was never good at hide and seek when I was a kid. I would get so nervous, waiting for Scott to find me, that I would jump out and declare where I was so that he couldn’t surprise me.

Come to think of it, this may explain my complete lack of patience in life.

Travis just texted me to say he is outside, and I replied, assuring him I’m inside and waiting for him.

Hence why I am hiding behind this box. Travis is so easy to scare and I just love taking advantage of it. It’s payback time.

I hear the back door open and someone walk through. I wait, trying to still my racing heart so it won’t give me away. I can sense when he is just on the other side of the box I’m standing behind. My mouth is tickling with laughter as I bend my knees and jump out from behind the box.

“AHHHH!” I yell, throwing my hands up.

I hear a high pitched scream and see Tina, the lady that let me in, fall backwards into some boxes, knocking a few over. Her once sleek black bob is now all over the place. She’s clutching her chest and looking at me as though I have two heads.

The door opens again, and Travis peers through.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say to Tina, who is trying to get to her feet. “I thought you were him,” I point to Travis.

“What happened?” Travis asks, offering his hand to Tina to help her up. I probably should have done that.

“You said you were just coming through the door!” I accuse him.

“I went to the building next door by accident,” he says. Tina is now finally on her feet and pulling down her skirt.

“I’m really sorry,” I say to her again. “He pushed me into a snow bank the other day and I was just trying to get him back.”

She looks at me as though she’s looking at a five year old child, which is probably fair. I mean, my prank was a little juvenile. Though I’m convinced Travis would have screamed.

“It’s not a problem,” she says, though I can hear from her voice that she’s not impressed. “Should we just see the…” she trails off and points to the far door.

I nod but don’t miss Travis’s raised eyebrows.

Honestly, can just one thing go right?

Tina leads us over to the back door and waits for us to catch up before she opens it.

I had hoped to have a minute with Travis to prepare him for this, but after the failed scare fiasco I decide that now might be a good time to just go with it. I also haven’t had a chance to tell Travis about the letter from Lisa Hart, but once he sees this surprise I will tell him and then it will just be the happiest day all over again.