Chapter 1
When I woke up this morning, I was sure this was going to be the best day of my life. But as I sprint down the sidewalk as fast as my backless block heels allow me with my phone pressed to my ear, I’m starting to feel like this entire week is cursed.
“Jane, I’m going to need you to take a breath,” my best friend says on the other line. I called Lola for a pep talk before my first in-person story interview ever, but now she’s having to coach me through surviving a jog through the city in heels.
“I’m confident you were not taking a breath when you were sprinting across Greece for your romantic work catamaran. Sometimes life requires sprinting in uncomfortable shoes.”
“At least take the shoes off. You’ll run faster.”
“Sounds like a good way to step on broken glass or in bird poop.”
“Or dog vomit.”
I grimace at the idea of that one. “Please stop.”
“Sorry.”
My lungs are burning as I gasp for another breath of air and my heels clack as I jog across the street, weaving in and out ofbodies on the New York sidewalk until I finally spot the sign for the restaurant in the distance. “Thank god,” I pant, my steps slowing as I approach the brick building with the black-trimmed windows.
“You’re there already?” Lola asks.
“Already? It feels like I’ve been running for a thousand years.” My breath comes out in embarrassing gasps. I stop just outside the building and press my back against it, trying to catch my breath. I peer up at the sign and my heart suddenly beats a little faster than its already too-fast pace. But now for a totally different reason than running a half marathon in a pleated skirt in an effort to be punctual.
I gulp down another breath of air, still staring at the sign, then ask, “Why am I so nervous?”
“Because it’s your first interview at your new job,” Lola says. “And you were more of a list writer atTravel Bug. You didn’t really have to interview people.”
“You’re not helping. That was a hypothetical question.”
“I just mean it’s okay to be nervous about something new.”
I pull my phone from my ear to check the time. 1:56. Four minutes to spare and try to sound like I’m not fighting for my life. Perfect. Now I just needed a distraction to forget that I’m about to walk into my first interview.I swipe my sweaty palms against my skirt as I mentally give myself the pep talk Lola was supposed to be delivering.
“What did your family say about your new job when you saw them yesterday?” she asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Were they encouraging?”
I scoff, nerves momentarily forgotten as I think about my siblings. “Be serious. It was obviously The Kate Show.”
“As usual,” she adds. Lola has been a wonderful beacon over the years. An ear to listen to my complaints, a shoulder to cry on when I felt the crushing sadness of being left out or theimpending stress of what to buy my sisters for birthdays or Christmases in an effort to get them to love me. “What was this week’s episode about?”
“Oh, you know, just the twins bickering about Kate stealing a pair of Lydia’s Louis Vuitton shoes for a wedding and then traipsing through mud in them.”
Lola gasps like she’s fully invested in this story when to me it’s a regular family dinner. “Were they ruined?”
I push loose strands of my blonde hair out of my face, wincing slightly at the dampness of sweat on my forehead. Pressing my phone between my ear and shoulder, I dig in my bag for my notebook and quickly fan my face with it.
“Do you not read the texts I send you? I gave you a livestream of the fight.”
As if on cue, she yawns, reminding me that she’s in a totally different time zone right now but still taking the time to talk to me.“I was on a plane all night. What do you want from me?”
“To check your messages from your poor, untraveled friend the second you turn your phone off airplane mode. Who am I supposed to talk to without you?”
“Your parents? Your brother? Your sister in law?”
“Lola, be for real.”
“Sorry, you’re right.”
I turn and stare at my reflection in the giant windows, making sure my blush pink sweater is still tucked into my skirt and my hair is still cooperating in the low knot at the nape of my neck. My fingers still go through the motion of brushing the hair off my face out of sheer nerves. I exhale a breath.
