Ultimatum

Dominic paced back and forth along the sidewalk that stretched between his front porch and the mailbox. He glanced at his watch often, and then sighed, silently urging the arrival of the postman who seemed later than usual. While he had been waiting for the past week for a certain piece of mail to arrive, the wait was more nerve-wracking on this particular day.

Finally the mail truck pulled up in front of the house, and Dominic was there to take the stack of mail from the postman with a wide grin. He flipped through the stack of envelopes and papers as he walked back to the house. Three items down, he found his desired mail: a standard-sized manila envelope addressed from Samson Publishing Company. His eyes twinkled and his heart raced in his chest as he rushed inside and dropped the other, less important mail on the coffee table.

Three months ago, Dominic had started writing “the great American novel,” as he liked to call it. After many late, grueling nights of editing and rewriting, he felt that it was ready for publication. He had found Samson Publishing from an ad in the writer’s magazine he was subscribed to, and decided to give them a try. The last two publishers he submitted to had both rejected his manuscript, but Samson looked promising.

He quickly tore open the envelope and fumbled with the letter inside. Before he unfolded the letter, he paused. What if it was another rejection? He remembered how he felt the first two times, the drop in self-confidence, and the brief period of depression that followed. Afterward he vowed that the third try would be his last, whether it was accepted to be published or not.

On the other hand, he knew that if he didn’t look, he’d miss knowing if it really was accepted. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself and opened the letter, biting his lip as he read the first few lines:

Our editors have received and looked over your manuscript. We are sorry to say that it is not what we are looking for at this time. Thank you for submitting your novel to us, and appreciate your interest.

Dominic dropped the letter on the sofa and paced depressingly about the room. His eyes fell on the unbound stack of papers sitting on the desk across the room, his personal copy of the manuscript that he had loved and devoted so much time to the past three months. With a slight sneer on his lips, he swatted at the stack, the pages flying everywhere. Some slid onto the floor, some the trash can, all falling out of order. Dominic only laughed; he didn’t care what happened to his work anymore. After all, it wasn’t acceptable.

Still looking at the mess he had just made, he plopped back onto the couch and sighed. At least he didn’t quit his day job, after all. He glanced over at the letter sitting next to him, and picked it up to read it again. This time he read further on, past where he stopped to vent his frustration:

One of our editors has taken some interest in your novel, however, and wishes to discuss a rewrite with you.

Dominic’s mouth dropped. Yes, he was still offered a chance, but that would mean more months of his life spent on it, time that he had wanted to spend with his girlfriend, Sharon. Sharon was the one who inspired him to write the novel in the first place. However, because of devoting much more time to writing than to her, their relationship suffered as a result. He had promised her that once he was done with the novel, he would have time for her.

An idea popped into his head; he would call Sharon and give her the news. Maybe she would be accepting of the rewrite idea, and support him on it. Reeling with delight and a new sense of hope, he raced to the phone and dialed her number. It rang five times before her answering machine clicked on.

“Aw man, that’s right. She’s at class,” he said aloud to himself as he hung up the phone. She got home in less than twenty-five minutes, just enough time for him to go over to her house and wait on the front steps for her. Then he’d be able to tell her in person.

He took only the letter with him on the short drive to her house, keeping it on the front seat next to him. As he pulled into her driveway, he looked at the clock on his dashboard. She still wouldn’t be home for another five to ten minutes. Lucky for him, he figured he could use the time to think up how to relate the news to her. He imagined her first hearing about the rejection, feeling sorry for him and then consoling him. But then as he would surprise her with the good news, she’d throw her arms around him and tell him how happy she was.

Sharon’s car finally came around the bend at the end of the road, pulling up closer to her house. Dominic stood there, legs quivering nervously as he waited for her. He could see that she was already smiling as she pulled up, for he didn’t come over to her place often. They usually met wherever they were going, or she came to his house first.

“This is a surprise,” she chuckled, getting out of the car. “What brings you here, sweetheart?” Her beaming smile changed to a cheeky grin.

“I got a response back from the publisher about my novel.”

Sharon looked at him inquisitively. “And? Did you finally get accepted?”

“No, it was rejected yet again. But I do have some good news.” He waited a moment to see if she would guess. “I just saved a ton of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico.” Sharon smirked, but didn’t laugh at his joke. “Seriously, though, I have a chance at getting it published. All I have to do is a rewrite according to the editors’ plans, and they will accept it.”

“Come on, Dom,” Sharon said, folding her arms across her chest and shaking her head. “You promised me it was the last time. No more long hours working on that thing. I wish I could say I’m happy for you, but I miss you like crazy. I will not take any more of it.”

Dominic frowned, puzzled. “What are you saying?”

“You have a choice to make. It’s either the book, or me.”