“That’s a thing people give bonuses for?”
Jay smirks. “Not on my watch. I’m guessing you’re not here to give me all the latest Gossamer gossip.”
“I could?” I offer.
Jay reaches for my hand and cuts right to the bone. “He still hasn’t been back to the office.”
“You’ll let me know when he has?”
Jay’s smile droops.
“I guess it makes sense that he’d get you in the divorce,” I say.
“Honey, I belong to no one. But you’ve got to understand, Henry’s spent most of his life playing second fiddle to someone’s career.”
“So he knows, then? He knows why I wasn’t there?”
Jay narrows their gaze. “You’re a real sneaky one, aren’t you?”
“Hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying to read between the lines.” I push my sunglasses up into my hair so that they can see my eyes and, somehow, I can hypnotize them into delivering this message for me. “Listen, I’m leaving tonight for Italy…I don’t expect to see him before then, but can you just tell him that I’ll be back…and at the very least, I’d like to talk about what happened. To apologize.”
They nod pointedly. “I can’t promise anything, but have a safe trip. Think of me wasting away at the Olive Garden in Times Square while you feast on fresh pasta.”
“Hey, when you’re there, you’re family. And yes, I’ll clean every plate,” I tell them. “Just for you.”
The Gossamer offices remind me of my classrooms at Parsons. I have my own work desk complete with all the technology I could ever need and my own personal cobbler station so that I can craft prototypes before sending them off to our manufacturer for official samples.
Beside me is Freja, a Danish designer fresh out of school in London. We’ve been practicing a few Italian phrases every day at lunch, and she’s convinced that I’m going to meet a great European rebound guy in Italy. Multiple rebound guys if she gets her way.
“Buongiorno, Cindy!” she calls over her shoulder. “I’m running home to get my suitcase at lunch, so maybe we can get to the airport a little early. Get a little vino to kick off the trip?”
“You know this is a work trip, right?” I remind her.
“You Americans are such prunes,” she says.
I let out a snort.
“What? Did I say it wrong?”
“I think you were going forprudes.” I sit down at my desk and pull out the shoe I’ve been pecking away at for the last few weeks. Even though most of us have been in the office for a little while now, our team doesn’t officially assemble until the trip to Italy, so when we’re not doing HR trainings, we’ve all been encouraged to just…play.
My phone chimes, and I find a text on my group thread with Sara Claire and Stacy.
Stacy:
What if I told you I was already moving back in with my ex?
Sara Claire:
RED ALERT TOO SOON
Cindy:
Meh. Life is short.
I got their numbers from Beck a few days after the finale. That night, the three of us talked over a video call for almost five hours. I told them everything. Meeting Henry on the plane. Erica. My parents. Anna and Drew. And it turned out Sara Claire and Stacy had secrets of their own. Sara Claire’s father had bribed someone on the craft service’s team to give her a cell phone, and of course Stacy spilled all the details about her ex crashing our hotel room.
Sara Claire was upset at the finale, of course, but has fully embraced her status as America’s new favorite meme. Since I’ve bowed out of the next season, it looks like Sara Claire is being eyed for my position. She’s already made it very clear that the only person choosing the winner will be her. And Stacy is happy to be back to life as normal, though Beck has already reached out to say she’d love to have her on her queer take onBefore Midnight, which was just greenlit, should Stacy’s girlfriend ever once again become her ex.
