"There's no way that it's not going there."
Whose to say moving across the country for a job and a best friend is a stupid decision? Oh, right, everyone she knew back home.
But where he was, that just had to be home. She just wasn't sure if she'd e...
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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
"I don't know," Blair said. "Maybe I'll catch a flight to Boston for the weekend, clear my head."
"So, what? Avery hurt your feelings so you're gonna come home now?" Hannah asked on the other side of the phone while on speaker. "You tried out this whole moving to Seattle to try to win Jackson over thing, he shat all over your hopes and dreams, so maybe now you can just move on home? We can put this all behind us and move on? We'll find you a new guy, and you'll come home?"
Blair turned around to look at her phone sitting on her hamper with offense, not that Hannah could even see her, while she took off her makeup in the bathroom.
"What the hell, Hannah?" Blair was taken aback. "That's not what I said, I don't want to move back home, this is my home now! And for the last time, I did not move here to try to win Jackson over!"
Hannah hummed a simple "hm," from the other side of the phone, which was rather infuriating for Blair. She remained silent, waiting for Hannah to say something, anything."But you did," Hannah said, sighing into the phone. "I'm sorry, it's not what you want to hear, but you did move there because of how you feel about Jackson."
Blair put some of her vaseline on her pointer and middle fingers, using them to massage the petroleum jelly into her face. She made a face at herself in the mirror, rolling her eyes at Hannah's accusations.
"And I'm sorry that he laughed at you for writing a book about romance—but what is it that you're really offended by, Blair? That he laughed at the genre of your book or that he laughed at a book you're writing about him?"
"I am not writing a book about him, this is getting ridiculous, Hannah," Blair denied, scoffing.
She was not writing a book about Jackson, it was more than that—it had to be, because to say she was writing a book about Jackson felt she was writing delusions about them falling in love instead of writing a fictional love story. No, she was not writing about Jackson.
Instead, she was writing a love story between two main characters of color who may look a bit like her because, well, she was the damn writer, and another who may look or even act a bit like him because there would always be pieces of him in everything she did. He was all she ever knew, it was called having inspiration, having a muse. Plus, there were not enough diversity in the book industry. She was not writing two characters who are meant to represent the two of them falling in love. That was ridiculous.
No, she was writing a love story about two people who were able to grow around each other despite being so different to their fundamental cores, who lived very different lives yet still found a way to be in one another's. To the book's core, whether she had some inspiration from her own life, looked nothing like theirs.
