+TYPED OUT-

+TUNA SANDWICH-

There was nothing wrong with her life and way of living. Why did she feel guilty?

The woman refused to accept the idea that perhaps she had this impression because she knew she wasn't doing enough for herself.

Monday finished her cigarette went to the toilettes to check her appearance. She peed, washed her hands, tugged her curls in place, put on a coat of her Fenty Ma'damn lipstick, and returned to her exit to find an unexpected guest.

Ben stood transfixed like a mummy while Tim tried to make himself available to serve the visitor.

The man held Mondays' second book, Noah's Little Boy.

Kenneth read the synopsis; a corner smile appeared on his lips. He put it down and picked up the third book Third Time Lucky; he smirked, "Pff, tuna sandwich."

Tim looked at Ben, who rolled his eyes in Mondays' direction only to see the woman blinking at Kenneths' statement.

What en earth did he mean by tuna sandwich?

A woman arrived before anyone could ask, "Kenneth, what are you doing? Your lunch is here. You have a forty-five-minute window to eat before your interview with Carol from Ellipsis."

Kenneth turned to follow the woman, only to meet Monday's blinking gaze. He passed her and scrunched his face as the scent of tobacco flirted with his nostrils. He took four steps before turning back in time to see Monday take a seat and let her head fall on the desk.

"Kenneth?"

The man returned his focus to the woman, "yes, Meredith."

"Since when do you read romance?"

"I don't. Morgan's wife is a fan. He asked me to get her a hardback signed copy."

"Oh, I see, yes, Ms. Yeni's books are viral these days. People love them; they're very digestible. One doesn't even feel the four hundred or so pages when you read them."

Kenneth nodded, "you seem to be well informed."

"It's my job to follow trends, remember."

Back at Mondays' booth, the tuna sandwich gate flooded, "Ben, did I hear right. Did Kenneth Mosely call my book a tuna sandwich?"

"No, no, he wouldn't dare," Ben said with a nervous grin, "it's lunchtime. Perhaps it's what he's having for lunch."

Monday let her gaze slide to the side. "Ben, come on, the man read the back cover sneered and said Pff tuna sandwich," Monday said, lowering her already low pitched voice to imitate the man.

"Calm down. Why would Kenneth Mosely say your book is a tuna sandwich?"

Each attempted to interpret Kenneths' statement.

Monday thought he meant her book was cheap and cheesy.

Ben imagined the man found they were overrated, and Tim convinced himself Kenneth just wished to sink his teeth into a tuna sandwich.

In the meantime, Kenneth, who ate his pasta, wondered how people came up with these corny titles and how these cliché plots still managed to integrate fairs like the bookInc. Books like Daye Yenis' deserved their fair as comics had comic con.

The literacy world was diverse, but these fast-food Rom-coms had no place in respected events such as the BookInc fair. Moreover, Morgans' wife was far too intelligent to swoon over this neuron-less prose.

No wonder the author walked away from his conference; the conversation was probably too deep for her tasteless brain cells.

Back at Monday's stand, another dedication session began. The woman packed all her queries and instant death wishes to the back of her mind.

"Who do I dedicate this to?"

"Niki Wright."

Never had Mondays seen blue eyes as bright. Okay, there was Kenneth's, but his didn't count. The woman in front of Monday had hypnotizing blue eyes.

"I hope I'll be here someday too."

"You write?" Such statements always aroused Mondays' curiosity.

"Yes, my book Chromosne Attraction was in the top ten of GoodBooks for sixteen on and other publishing platforms in 2018."

"Really, but," Monday frowned, "wait a minute, you're NikiSaint."

Niki smiled, "a lot of people have forgotten about me."

"How come you just vanished?" Monday said although the other visitor waiting threw killer glares.

"It's a long story; I wrote three books. Got optioned and then, voilà, writers' block, pregnancy, and the industry screamed next. We're pop stars, ejectable at any moment. I'm exaggerating; most of us have scars. We write at our best while we suffer. My life was hollow, and once success filled it, the humph and drive left."

"Aww, that'sㅡ," Monday didn't know what to say, "I loved Chromosome Attraction; the characters made me laugh so much. Is it true it's a retelling of billionaire Gregoryㅡ?"

"Ssh, don't say that my friend will kill me if the press picks up on it again," Niki said and winked.

Mondays' eyes widened, "Oh, oh, I see. What do you do now?"

"Eh, breastfeeding, cleaning, and sleeping."

"You had a baby?"

Niki winked once more, "it's a long story. Let's say love and other shenanigans got in the way. Perhaps I'll write it someday."

Monday smiled all teeth out, "I hope you do. You already have an avid reader waiting for you."

"Thank you, Ms. Yeni, for your welcome and for sparing a few minutes to speak to a has-been writer."

"Please, call me Daye. It was a pleasure, and you're not outdated. You're one of the reasons why I kept writing. I kept thinking Niki became an author at thirty. I still have a chance."

"Boy, you know how to make one feel young."

"Sorry, I didn't mean."

"No, I'm good. No worries, alright, Daye, thanks again," Niki waved and left the book in hand.

Ben leaned over, "you're taking far too long, Monday. Look at the queue."

"Ben, it was NikiSaint."

"Yeah, okay, cool, and?"

"Ben, you don't know her?"

The man shrugged; Ben's reactions brought Nikis' words back to mind.

"We're ejectable."

Niki was Mondays' Helen Fielding. She couldn't believe the woman faded, and many didn't know her.

Love got in the way, Niki said. Monday didn't see herself giving up on writing because of love. She knew the myth of authors that fueled their scars and wrote the best work of their careers until struck by bliss.

The woman almost felt lucky; there was no love on the near horizon, not even virtually.

Monday deleted all her dating apps and accounts. All that remained of her virtual love life were funny memories and experiences doomed to become a book.