“I do care about Noah,” I said in the calmest voice I could manage while nursing hurt feelings, and Wanda squeezed my hand from the couch cushion next to me, encouraging me along. “But there’ve been no exchanging ofI love you’s, and the timing’s all wrong. I’m not leaving him or the rest of you behind due to a lack of happiness or because it’s easy. I’ve worked really hard for this second chance—”
Grandma Helen opened her mouth, a critical arch to her brow, and I didn’t have it in me to go out arguing, so I spilled the rest, fast and firm.
“I can’t be the girl who abandoned her career and changed her entire life for a guy, I refuse.”Look what it did to you,flies through my head as well, but I’d never dare say it, especially after being frozen out for my earlier comment.
At least she pressed her lips in a tight line at that, then gave the tiniest of nods that conveyed she understood why I would make that choice, even if she still thought it was the wrong one.
I should call her.
We had hugged our goodbyes bright and early the next morning, smoothing things over the way we Goodwin women do—by not addressing it at all.
If I don’t do it soon, she’ll be headed to bed.
It’s Boozy Bingo night, which improves my chances of catching her in a good mood, and I assure myself that’s all we need, a nice, cheery phone call to catch up and reiterate how much we love each other.
I reach for my phone, snatching back my hand and eyeing the device suspiciously as it vibrates across my desktop. The papers and files stacked in the inbox on the right corner are so tall I’ve had to separate them into two categories: ASAPs and urgent to-dos.
Productivity is a lot less satisfying when there’s no end in sight.
At seeing my boss’s name flashing across the screen, my pulse skitters and it’s off to the races. I quickly switch on my Happy Helper persona, propping a smile on my face as I answer.
“Mia!” Simone manages to shave a syllable off my name, turning it into an exclamation of its own. “Where are we at with the press junket?”
“All the allergens have been sent to the caterers, and I split up the two interviewees who don’t get along, placing them on entirely different floors in tents, so never the twain shall meet.”
Simone laughs, and see, I’m lucky to work in a place with a boss who gets my humor and finds me clever—not sure why, but it’s surprisingly rare.
“As for our DJ,” I continue, “the reporter atSun Times Magazineand I are still debating a few of the angles for the write-up, but I managed to secure the front cover.”
“That’s amazing, he’ll be thrilled. What about the collab between him and our energy drink sponsors? When’s the meeting set for? I’d like to join in.”
Everything within me slinks down to my pinchy-toe heels, except for my tongue, which glues itself to the roof of my mouth. This is the issue that keeps blindsiding me and leaving me scrambling, because I swear on Vonetta’s famous mac and four cheeses thatSimoneoffered to set it up, as she had a friend at the company who owed her a favor.
I cross my legs one way and then the other, lungs rapidly leaking oxygen. “I’m sorry, I misunderstood that I was supposed to set the meeting. I’ll get right on it.”
Simone makes a littlehuhnoise I’ve come to learn means that wasn’t what she was hoping to hear. “What about our WNBA superstar, did you reach out to theTribunereporter yet? As I pointed out during the meeting, they have the bigger readership.”
Ah, we’ve reached the true meaning behind why she called. This is about how I refused to cave this morning, when she sprung it on me she wanted the exclusive I already promised to another media outlet go to her reporter friend at theTribuneinstead. It’d undo a month’s worth of bargaining and work, plus make me a liar, so I hadn’t caved.
And there’s only one reason she’s bringing it up again.
“But that would mean having to come up with an entirely different scoop for theSun Times, or we risk losing our local, most reliable tabloid.” It’d really piss off the reporter I’ve been going back and forth with all day, too, not to mention I leveraged it to get our DJ on the cover like Simone insisted. I spent the afternoon so proud of it, too.
Unfortunately, my on-the-spot skills are obscured through my fog of exhaustion. I slog through the haze, searching for alternatives. “What about releasing the footage of her playing ball with the kids at the youth camp to theTribune? The video’s so damn sharable, it’ll be viral in no time.”
Silence.
The fucking worst.
“Of course, if you think theTribuneis the way to go,” I reluctantly offer, my anxiety taking the wheel, “I can send theSun Timesthe video and do my best to convince them to change the focus of the article, but—”
“See, this is why I hired you,” Simone says, her voice triumphant. “And once that’s done, you can start prepping for the press conference.”
That fist that usually comes at night shows up a few hours early, clamping those steely fingers around my windpipe.At least she appreciates me,I tell myself, the same way I do anytime she asks more of me.
“Are you at the office?” she asks, and I do a quick sweep, but I’m the only one without a family to rush home to.
Even without glancing at the picture tacked to my cubicle wall, my mind returns to the photo of the Cronies and me. And to Noah, because he lives rent-free in my head.
