“Why me?”
“Why not you?” Eric said. “You are our best journalist, Delilah. To be frank, we think your talents are being underutilized with the casino wars here. We have other reporters who can get enough info to publish what we can. And even if not, the rise of crime rings in Reno is a far more important story.”
Nothing in Eric’s words suggested that he knew of my dalliance with Adrian. No smirk, no hints, nothing. This truly seemed like a professional opportunity, not one designed to avoid an explosive lawsuit or HR issue.
And if that was the case…
If I took this, the implication was obvious.
I would be in Reno within a month, if not sooner. Investigative journalism wasn’t kind to those who sat on their laurels, even if articles might take months to publish. And as a result, the door would be slammed shut on reconciliation with Adrian, maybe even a full reunion.
I should have said yes immediately. It hadn’t been said explicitly, but there would be a pay raise and other perks withthis kind of new gig. And even if there wasn’t, the prestige and attention that would come from such an article would open up massive opportunities elsewhere.
But I didn’t.
And maybe that was because the looming possibility of Adrian still hung in the air. Or maybe it was because, for as much shit as I’d given him about prioritizing his work life over his personal life, I was now considering the same.Except he owed you the courtesy of at least a text. You don’t owe him shit.
I still miss him, though.
“Can I get back to you tomorrow?” I said. “Just to make sure I don’t make a hasty decision.”
“Of course,” Eric said. “No one is expecting anything soon. These are crime rings that are building beneath the surface; it’s nothing like what Vegas was four years ago. Just let me know tomorrow as soon as you can.”
I left Eric’s office thanking him for the opportunity, but as I did, I wasn’t so sure that gratitude was the right emotion. Confusion, maybe. Fear, certainly.
Fear that if I took this, I might shut the door forever on my best chance at what I might have denied wanting but ultimately ached for.
I could not make up my mind as the day went on, leaving me with one clear conclusion.
If I could not, then perhaps someone else could.
That was why, an hour after the sun had set, as the winter evening set in on downtown Las Vegas, I sat at a speakeasy bar, waiting for the one person whom I knew could relate to me well.
Sarah.
Thankfully, unlike what I suspect Adrian or any of the other Vales might have done, she did not keep me waiting. We had arranged to meet at six-thirty, and she showed up right on the dot. After a brief hug and asking me what was going on, I went into everything.
I told her about the night I spent at Adrian’s. I told her about how hurt I was that he had chosen business over love, but how I had retreated into the same. I explained the job offer I had, and how I was left uncertain what to do.
“You know I went back to Phoenix at one point, thinking that I’d never return, right?” Sarah said. I nodded; I knew that moment well. It had felt like a tear in our friend group, a surprising return of one of us that was suddenly yanked away. “There’s one key difference between our work, though. Me, as an artist, I could go just about anywhere at anytime. Hell, if I had wanted to move to northern Canada or to Nicaragua, I could have. Would have been foolish, but I could have.
“You, though, have to go where the work is. You can’t be the work, if that makes sense. That all said, that’s just a question of logistics. Do you want to know what I think this is?”
“Of course, it’s why I have you here,” I said with a gentle smile.
It felt nice to wear one of those. Around Adrian, around Eric, around my coworkers, such smiles always felt like they had to carry undertones of some kind. Not with Sarah.
“I think this is your way of trying to reclaim your agency,” she said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but as a journalist, you need independence and objectivity. Taking this job would give that to you in full. In a way, it’s choosing your professional livelihood not just practically but philosophically. It would allow you to be who you were before Adrian.”
“Ye… yes,” I said, “but is it odd that I still ache for Adrian? Or for what I thought Adrian was?”
“Oh, definitely,” Sarah said reassuringly. “There is a reason we ultimately wound up back together. But I think it’s important to recognize how unlikely that was. Me, deciding to return to Vegas. Him, being as much of a changed man as he proved to be. Both of us, looking past the misunderstandings. Each of those three things probably happens in less than ten percent of breakups. I’m no math girl, but that seems like a long shot.”
That, it was.
And Sarah had made a great point. She did the work wherever she traveled; I covered the work wherever I traveled. Being a remote journalist was technically a thing, but not for the kind of things that I covered. If I truly valued my career, I needed to break out of the Vale-Morril war and Adrian’s shadow.
But still.
