“Love you, too,” I say, still holding back tears. We hang up, and I’m left alone once again.

I finish my weak coffee as I stare blankly out at the view beyond my window. One of these days, when I have time, I’d love to actually see some of the cities I visit for press. For now, the view will have to do.

After I dump my coffee mug in the sink, I send Trina what I’ve been working on before I can think too much of it. But not before I delete whatever that shit was that I wrote last night.

I should look at the questions, but every interview is the same. Arrive, green room, seating area offstage, smile and wave while I walk on, answer the questions, leave while they break for commercial. The questions are always the same, too. Summarize the book, talk about my process, flash an apologetic smile when I can’t tell them anything about what’s up next for me. That last one is in my contract not to spill the beans. Not that I have any beans to spill since it’s all garbage anyway.

“Oh, wow,” says Kathy or Kelly—I can’t remember which—her blonde hair teased as high as it can go, and her pink lips making a little O shape. “You are just living the dream of every little girl who carries around a notebook to write about her imaginary worlds, aren’t you?”

“I sure am.” If every little girl’s dream is to live in a constant state of stress and exhaustion.

“And you have a looker of a boyfriend, too,” says Janice or Janie from the other side of the kitchen table set. Where is this coming from? God, I should have looked at the show notes more carefully before leaving the hotel this morning.

Taylor chimes in. “She’s got it all.” I know her name for sure. I think.

I flash a tight smile and nod, forcing myself not to look off-camera to the director. Where the fuck is this going?

“We found a picture of you two on your social media. Can we show it?” Kathy-or-Kelly asks someone with a headset. “Oh, there it is.”

The studio audience coos as a picture from six months ago flashes on a screen behind us. It’s a sunny day. My hair is in a thick ponytail, and my sunglasses are on top of my head. I’m squinting up at Ryan who has his arm around my shoulders. He’s looking down at me with absolute adoration all over his face. He looks so happy. And so do I—happy and healthy. I added the tank top I’m wearing in that picture to the donation pile before I left for New York because it started to hang off me.