Finally, this one thing goes right.

The perfect seat, close enough to the exit that she won’t have to squeeze past a fistful of people, but far enough away that she doesn’t have to rub shoulders with anyone else. Hopefully the seat next to her stays empty.

Pulling her phone from the pocket of her slacks, she swipes to her QueryManager inbox. No rest for the weary. She’s months behind, and if she has to send another “I promise I’m still considering, thank you for your patience” email to yet another author asking for an update she might die from guilt and embarrassment.

At least she may be able to get through a few submissions before her stop.

She scrolls to the one that’s been waiting the longest, and manages to download the doc into her Files.

THE CONCEPT OF SOLACE

She remembers requesting this one vaguely, but God, it’s been seven months since then, and all that comes to mind is it’s women’s fiction. She glances at the pitch–about a woman finding out she’s pregnant by her friend’s husband post-divorce. Great concept. She taps open the document.

The events of the first thirty pages come back to her as she speed reads–she’d never call it skimming–and yes, that’s why she requested it. An opening that grabs you and drops you right into the action, a woman broken by grief and regret building a new life from scratch. She picks up where the sample pages left off.

Twenty pages later she yawns. Why does this always happen? The first thirty pages are almost always the best in the manuscript, and then it falls promptly off a cliff.

No, that’s harsh.

It’s…fine, she supposes. The author clearly knows her way with a pen. But it feels, she doesn’t know, flat? A little lifeless, though that sounds mean.

She just keeps finding herself distracted–by the huge dangly earrings the woman across from her is wearing that jingle with every bump on the track, by the dinging of the doors every time they open and close, by checking her texts to see if her husband has gotten back to her yet about picking up eggs on the way home.

It’s not landing.

She exits the tab, making a mental note to send the rejection when she gets home.

Next.

This time she scrolls to whatever title snatches her attention.

ME, MYSELF, AND CHAI

Hmm, a YA queer rom-com with a South Asian lead. And oh, um, they’re non-binary as well. Okay. Jessica can’t say she’s seen many of those before. She’s not sure how much of a market there is for it, given it’s so…niche. But, well, she did say she was looking for more marginalized voices on her MSWL. She taps it open.

From page 2, when the bumbling protagonist spills a chai latte all over their crush right before homecoming, she can tell the author has talent. It’s cute. And the lead, JJ is quite entertaining, in a why-am-I-like-this kind of way.

But hmm. Something isn’t quite there. She turns the page.

As tedious as instructing a new barista was, if JJ could spend every weekly bhoj re-explaining being nonbinary and they/them pronouns to their family, they could do this. They tried to explain the espresso machine to Priya, but they kept getting distracted every time she looked at them.

It was hard to concentrate when you were still embarrassed about spilling coffee on someone's shirt the week before, especially when that someone was standing three feet away smelling like vanilla and asking genuine questions about portafilters.

"You basically want even pressure," JJ said, demonstrating the tamp. "Not too hard, not too soft."

They immediately tamped too hard, and grounds went everywhere.

JJ laughed it off, though internally they were mortified, and swept the mess aside before Priya could get a good look at it. "Be more of a lady, beta" they heard in their mind, in their aunties’ collective shrill voice.

Jessica paused, scrambling to her Chrome app to Google what the word “beta” meant.

Priya tried the tamp herself, and JJ thought she looked cute concentrating like that. JJ hoped she couldn't tell how flustered they actually were, though the fact that they'd just called the milk steamer "the wand thing" twice probably wasn't helping their case.

"Is it supposed to make that sound?" Priya asked, as the steamer let out something between a hiss and a shriek.

It was not supposed to make that sound. JJ fiddled with it anyway, thinking briefly of their father, who had wanted them to become an engineer instead of working retail, and who still occasionally called them by their old name by accident. JJ had gotten used to correcting people gently. It was easier that way.

At least their father is trying? Jessica thought. It would be hard not to call someone by the name you were used to…

By the time they'd both nearly been misted by hot milk, JJ had knocked over a stack of cups, apologized three separate times, and forgotten what a macchiato was for eleven whole seconds. They chalked the whole thing up to nerves and told themself it had gone fine. Mostly fine. Fine enough.

The scene was funny, so…why isn’t she chuckling? Jessica’s lips quirk in a soft smile, but that’s all. She wonders if this is how nonbinary people actually feel. She’s never actually met someone nonbinary, only seen the occasional character on TV. But, the author would know, right?

Either way, the protagonist and their love interest are sweet, the pacing is perfect, and the writing is genuinely good. The writer clearly knows their craft. She enjoys it overall, even if she doesn’t quite get all the references.

But…

She doesn’t feel that pull in her gut that says this is The One. Something just isn’t quite clicking. It’s a shame. She wants to love this one, she really does. But it’s not something she can force.

Damn, she really doesn’t want to have to send that rejection letter. But she will. She’s just not the right agent for it.

The doors slide open and she glances at the stop. Shit. She grabs her bags and runs for the door. Well, at least the reading made the ride go a little faster...