Page 55

At least that one night, they gave some to me. Because I went back right before closing, and Marcus and I feasted until dawn.

• • •

A dawn that found me feeling terrible, and not just because my body was now at least sixty percent fried dough. No, because I woke up to my phone dinging with a calendar reminder. I blinked at it. Emerson Leigh’s party. It was tonight.

Oh hell no.

I might have been feeling slightly better than before, thanks to Alice, Jada, and Marcus, but there was no way I could work this party tonight. I didn’t think I could paste on my big fake smile tight enough to keep it from springing a leak in front of all the guests.

Much less Bennett. My face swelled up with tears and spilled over.

I wiped my nose, then wiped my eyes, then realized I probably should’ve done it the other way around. I’d call Mr. Decker and feign illness. I certainly sounded congested, from the crying now and, okay, the crying last night after I got home. Surely, he wouldn’t want me giving his guests a cold or the flu or anything.

“Hello?” he said into my ear. Even though I knew his screen said Julie Zimmerman Cell, because I’d programmed my number into his phone myself. I suppressed a sigh.

“Good morning, Mr. Decker, it’s Julie.”

“Oh, good morning, Julie.” He sounded distracted, like he was reading the paper while he spoke to me. He probably was. “I’ll see you later tonight, right?”

“That’s the thing, actually.” I forced a cough. “I woke up not feeling so—”

“Because Emmy is so excited to have you there, helping out. You’re the only person she asked. Will there be a problem? You’ve always been such a good, reliable assistant. I would hate for that to change.”

My fist clenched around my phone. Something beeped in my ear. I eased up a little bit, but not because of the sentiment.

Mr. Decker had just as good as threatened me. Told me I’d fall in his eyes if I didn’t show tonight. He probably wouldn’t fire me, but what if he did? It could be hard to get another job as good as this one, with ample free time to do my own thing during the day, and dental insurance, especially knowing that I wouldn’t get a good reference from him. I’d be stuck temping again, or else working as the assistant at some scrappy start-up where the head honchos paid partially in fun snacks and required you to work overtime every day. I couldn’t do that if I wanted to keep reviewing.

I sighed heavily, then swallowed down an actual legitimate cough. Maybe I was getting sick for real. It would serve him right if I gave it to him later. “No, no problem,” I said weakly. “Just . . . um, I’m supposed to be at the boutique at five thirty, right?”

“Make it five fifteen,” he said. “Emmy might want to train you to recite a poem as you rotate through the room.”

Horror shuddered through me. Fortunately, Mr. Decker wasn’t so pedestrian as to say things like “goodbye,” so he just hung up without expecting me to say more.

19

I spent most of the rest of the day directing my ire at the terrible yellow dress I had to wear tonight. I hadn’t owned any yellow clothes since yellow looked terrible on me, which meant a trip to the thrift store. This terrible dress had been the least terrible option out of all the other even more terrible options. It was an almost golden, kind of mustardy color with puffed sleeves and a weirdly high neckline, but the silhouette was at least flattering, the fit tight over my boobs before it nipped in at my waist and flared out into a full skirt. The effect of all that ire direction meant that I was slightly less focused on Bennett and Emerson Leigh when it came time to leave, but also that I felt extremely ugly when I looked in the mirror.

“What do you think?” I did a twirl for Marcus, who’d returned by then, bearing tales of a hookup who looked eerily and suspiciously like Santa Claus.

Marcus’s nostrils flared. “It’s . . . something.”

I sighed. “I guess that’s the best I can expect.”

“That color just isn’t the most flattering on you,” he said. “The shape is nice, though. At least from the chest down.”

I sighed harder. “Thanks?”

I couldn’t focus on my book on the subway no matter how hard I tried even though I had a plum seat along the side of the car, so I stowed it away in my bag and turned to stare out the window as the Q train trundled over the bridge into Manhattan. I’d have signal here, but I didn’t want to look at my phone, either. Anything I’d pull up would only make me feel worse.

Unless . . .

I’d gotten a lot of support the night I’d been honest with my followers after Bennett’s and my cooking disaster. It had made me feel better. And Jada had talked about how she loved being honest and authentic with her followers. Obviously, I wouldn’t spill everything—I didn’t want to be that open online. But I could be vague.

I opened up my video and stared into my lens. Made a funny face to break the tension I was feeling. “So . . .” I began. “Do you ever have to go somewhere that you just know is going to be the worst? Like, when you’re back in your hometown, and your friends want to take you to the local chain restaurant where all the food is microwaved to soggy death, and then you show up and your friends aren’t actually there at all. It’s your childhood bullies there to laugh at you all night as you choke down lukewarm, unsalted mozzarella sticks?” This metaphor was getting away from me a little. “Oh, wait, that was just a nightmare I had.” I tilted my head back against the subway window, inviting millions of mutant bacteria to take up residence in my hair.

If one could make me sick enough where Mr. Decker couldn’t in good conscience make me work, they were welcome. “Anyway, that’s where I’m going. If you have any good thoughts for me, DM away.”

I really hadn’t done much. And yet as I tucked my phone back in my bag beside my unread book, I felt a little bit lighter.