22. BRUNO

"Agent just asked me to call her. Says she has news. Wish me luck," I'd typed. As I sat there, phone in hand, the weight of anticipation bearing down on me, I knew I had to tell Danny. Who else could I tell? Who else would I rather tell? Sending the text felt like casting a lifeline to him, or to me, to us.

As the message went off with its whooshing sound, I knew what Danny's reaction would be. Excitement, support, good things. As I awaited his response, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was the start of it: our future together.

Finally, there was a glimmer of hope. And as I looked to the horizon, I allowed myself to entertain the possibility of success, of happiness, of all the threads of my life coming together. A novel being published. Financial stability. A permanent, full-time home for Evan. And maybe someone to love, an incredible man to love.

Then, his message came back:

GOOD LUCK, brUNO

YOU'VE GOT THIS

As I dialed Cheryl's number, my heart pounded with anticipation. The moment my agent answered, I spoke and could hear my own nerves.

"Hi, it's Bruno," I said. "You wanted to talk?"

Her voice was warm and reassuring. We exchanged brief pleasantries, and then she laughed.

"But you aren't calling to hear how my day is going, are you?"

I laughed, too. So she dove straight into the heart of the matter – the future of my book. As I listened, I felt like I was holding my breath. She said that there had been quite a few different discussions with publishers and a lot of interest. Several editors had already read large parts of the novel, and there was talk of an auction in a few days.

"So I'm looking for a particular kind of figure," she continued. "At least that's the figure I'm telling people is my starting point."

"Starting point?"

"Yeah, the point from which they should move up in the auction if they wanted the book."

I knew that in a publishing auction, multiple publishers bid against each other to acquire the rights to a novel. The literary agent sends the manuscript to editors. They then decide whether they want to make an offer. During the auction, publishers submit bids for an advance they are willing to pay. I had read about it all many times in the past, but here I was in it. I had never imagined that one day, one of these mythical publishing events would be happening to me.

"How many editors are interested?"

"At least five," Cheryl said. "But I think I can get it up to six. There are eight possible, but a couple might drop out."

I could hardly believe it. There was one other question I had.

"So what is the starting figure?" I asked eventually, almost afraid to know.

"Two," she said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact.

"Two thousand dollars?" I asked, my voice tinged with a hint of disbelief. Surely, it had to be more than that.

The agent's laughter danced through the phone line.

"No, two hundred thousand dollars," she said.

Two hundred thousand dollars.The words hung in the air, heavy with possibility and promise.

I was stunned, my mind struggling to grasp the enormity of what she was saying. Two hundred thousand dollars – a sum that seemed surreal, almost incomprehensible. In that moment, I felt like I was standing at the edge of the rest of my life.

She talked on a while, about which editors were interested and what each had said so far, but in truth, I was hardly listening. If people were talking about this level of money, then it was definitely going to happen, my novel being published. There was no way it was not going to happen. My dreams were coming true, it seemed.

At the end of the conversation, Cheryl cheerily said goodbye and that she would be in touch "with news." I was at a loss for words; it was all I could do to thank her. "It's going to be exciting," she said as a farewell. "Remember to enjoy it. These are just about the best days of your life, your professional life, at least."

And as we rang off, a sense of wonder overwhelmed me, profound gratitude but also nerves.

Two hundred thousand dollars.I kept saying the words over and over and then realized that that was just "the starting point." Would it go much higher than that? I could hardly believe it.

I wanted to speak to Danny, to tell him what had happened. I had told him there was likely going to be news but hadn't imagined what it would be like.

I didn't know whether to text him and opened his contact on WhatsApp. He was already "online." But he wasn't typing. I watched the "online" status linger beside his name, but still, he didn't type.

I wasn't especially the jealous type – I knew he had friends, people he messaged, that was totally fine – but it was strange, unsettling even, because he must have been able to see that I was online, too. Was he just not seeing me, or was he looking at my name, seeing me online, but not knowing what to say? I didn't understand it.

Eventually, I typed:

HEY I AM DONE – FREE TO TALK?

He was still online. Then, he was typing, and a message appeared. It was in stark contrast to the warmth and camaraderie we had shared before.

NOT FREE TO TALK NOW

PERHAPS LATER?

Perhaps? I wondered.

The ambiguity of his response hung in the air.

SURE WHEN?

And then came an even vaguer response:

BUT MAYBE NOT TODAY

CAN I GET BACK TO YOU LATER???

Now, I really didn't understand. Couldn't he spare me five minutes to hear my news? What was going on?

Then he was typing again…

WHAT DID THE AGENT SAY?

The question hung between us, as if he hadn't just blown me off. Had I said the wrong thing? Had I expected too much, just been too much? I didn't think I had. Had he just gone home and cooled off? Once he was away from me, maybe I was just not as enticing as I had been naked in bed, lying next to him, skin to skin.

Feeling a bit foolish, I set my phone down. In that moment of silence, all my good mood seemed to be vanishing down to nothing. It was like he was killing that great breakthrough. Surely he didn't mean to, not wonderful, supportive Danny.

I pushed that thought aside. But deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

But what?

I went to pick up Evan and brought him home. As evening descended and my son chattered on about his day at school, I found myself so distracted. I should have been popping champagne, but instead, I was churning with worry about Danny's change of tone.

Evan's stories drifted back and forth, sometimes making no sense, sometimes demanding my attention, and I did my best, but I couldn't focus on him. I texted a few people about my news, and they came back with congratulations and excitement. One of them was Marlon, who wrote, "I cannot believe it! I am so happy for you!" That was the response I wanted, even if it was no longer the man I wanted.

But my ex's enthusiasm was just a reminder of Danny's distance. As Evan continued to chatter, I feigned interest, nodding at whatever he said while my mind wandered. The phone lay beside me, its screen lighting up intermittently with new messages, but when I checked for any sign of communication from Danny, there was none.

With each passing minute, his silence grew more deafening. I longed to reach out, to ask if anything was wrong. I put Evan to bed and ate dinner alone, listening to a news podcast, but was so distracted that if you asked me what it was about after, I could not have told you.

As the clock struck 8:30, my phone buzzed. I reached for it, checked the notification on the screen.

DANNY

ARE YOU FREE NOW?

"Yes," I typed, and a moment later, the phone started ringing, FaceTime.

I answered, and Danny's handsome face filled the screen, bathed in the soft glow of his own screen. It felt good to see him, but I felt nervous, too.

"Hey, how are you doing?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he murmured. "So, what happened?"

I decided just to tell him straight out all that Cheryl had told me.

"The agent's got some big plans for the book," I began, my voice tinged with both excitement and nerves.

"What's she saying?"Danny's voice crackled across the digital airwaves.

"She's putting it into an auction," I said. "Lots of publishers are interested. This could be it."

"How much do you think you'll get?"

"It's hard to say," I admitted, a note of uncertainty creeping into my tone. "But she mentioned something about two…"

"Two hundred thousand dollars?" Danny broke in, his voice rising with incredulity.

"Yeah," I said. "Can you believe it?"

"That's incredible!"

"I thought she was going to say two thousand dollars," I said, laughing at my own naivety. "But you knew it was more."

"I never doubted you, man."

He hadn't called me "man" since we had started getting closer.

A silence followed. In that moment, I couldn't help but wonder what was really going on, so in the end, I just decided to ask him.

"Is everything all right? You seem very distant."

He gazed at me through the phone screen, his dark eyes moodily intense.

"Yeah, something is wrong," he said. "Something has happened."

My heart sank. Some part of me hoped he would tell me I was just being silly, that everything was fine. But he didn't do that. He confirmed my fears.

"What is it, Danny?"

He sighed heavily.

"My firm is cutting my days in New York."

I felt the slash at my heart.

"To how much?"

He just stared at me for several seconds.

"To zero."

"What?"

"They're pulling me from the Manhattan job, at least in terms of me being there, on hand."

I felt like I was choking, drowning.

"W-what?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"So-so what does that mean for us?"

He sighed again.

"I don't know. I mean, I'm going to be living here full-time."

The air thickened with a suffocating mood. My heart ached.

"Wow" was all I managed to say.

"I feel really bad because they won't be giving me the money I promised you, either."

His mention of the $500 irritated me. Finally, I snapped at him.

"Do you really think this is about the $500?" I couldn't hold back the bitterness. "It's about what you and I might have together. You're just going to walk away, aren't you?"

"Bro…"

"Don't ‘bro' me. I am not your bro any more. I asked if you are just going to walk away." He did not answer at first. "If the answer was no, you can just say no."

"My life is here. My job is here."

"Whatever," I spat.

Danny's expression shifted, a mix of guilt and pain twisted across his face.

"This isn't my choice."

The upset in his eyes cut deep, but I couldn't back down. My anger had a right to exist.

"Don't pretend you don't feel it, Danny."My voice trembled with my emotion. "Even if it can't continue, don't pretend you don't know what we had, in bed, but also just watching TV together, going around the city with Evan."

"Bruno, don't upset yourself," Danny said, the wrong thing to say, and I guessed he knew it.

"Upset myself?" I roared. He blinked in the force of my emotion. And then I groaned. "You know what?" I could not believe what I knew I was about to say. "You know what? Fuck you, just fuck you."

"Bruno!"

I ended the call and just sat there, lost in my own despair, the horrible burden of what had happened, as what Cheryl had called the best day of my life turned into one of the worst: abandoned by the guy I thought I might have a future with.

The phone buzzed again, the screen illuminated with DANNY. I stared at his name for what felt like an eternity, agonizing, awful. A single tear traced a lonely path down my cheek, and then I knew what I would do. I rejected his call. A minute passed. He called me again, but this time, I just turned the phone off.

It was then I realized it was over. Danny and I had broken up.

I sat in my living room for so long that it grew dark, but I didn't turn the lights on. Eventually, when the room was cloaked in night, I heard the bedroom door open. Evan's voice cut through. "Daddy, I want a drink of water."

"Okay, son, I'll get it for you," I replied.

I rose from the couch.

"Daddy, why are you sitting in the black?" he asked as I grappled my way to switch a lamp on.

"I fell asleep," I fibbed.

"Oh," he said. "Me too."

"Yes, buddy, but you were in bed."

"Yes," he said.

I turned on another lamp so that the apartment was no longer lost in gloom. Evan trailed behind me as I walked into the kitchen area. As I reached the sink, he stood beside me as I turned on the faucet. I reached for a tumbler glass with one hand, and with the other, I gently ruffled his hair. Then I put the glass under the gushing water. When it was half-full, I handed it to him.

"There you go, champ," I said. His tired eyes met mine as he gulped it down thirstily.

"Thanks, Daddy," Evan murmured as he handed the glass back to me.

"Okay," I said, "back to bed."

He nodded sleepily.

"Were you on the phone, Daddy?"

"Much earlier," I said. "You must have heard me, then fallen back to sleep."

He considered this, but at five years old, it didn't have to make sense.

"Who was it?" he asked.

"Danny," I replied blankly.

Evan nodded. "Is he coming over?"

"No, he's at his home now. He's not in New York," I explained.

Evan pondered this, too, his tired eyes blinking heavily. He was ready to go back to bed.

"So you're going to be all alone, then, Daddy?"

For a fleeting moment, I felt the sting of tears threatening, just because sometimes your young kid says something that is so sweet, so perceptive, and so true, you cannot bear it.

With a soft smile, I knelt down to my son and smiled at him.

"No, I'm not alone, champ. I've got you," I murmured, and he grinned. Then, he rubbed his tired eyes and yawned.

"Yes, Daddy, you've always got me," he said.

In that moment, as father and son stood together in the quiet of the night, I realized that amidst the darkness, there was light. There is always light; you just have to look for it. But sometimes it's hard.

You know, it's just hard.