Chapter 23 Girl Trouble
Chapter 23
Girl Trouble
A fter a sizeable portion of both the cheeseboard and the bottle of wine had been consumed, Fiona hugged me goodnight and headed out. My phone buzzed a whole bunch while I was cleaning up, but I—ignoring both my ADHD and irrational hope that it could be Chloe—forced myself to get everything into the dishwasher before checking. It was actually more texts from the latest formation of the group chat.
There were only about a million reasons I hadn’t responded to anyone so far. Navigating my life post-Will had been tricky enough, but the truth was that no matter how much Fiona and Hailey hadn’t understood my actions or maybe even had been on Will’s so-called side in their heads, they’d been my friends first. There was never any doubt that I could go to them. But even with all these texts sitting there, on a thread created just for me, it didn’t feel straightforward to me. Sure, I followed enough sapphic meme accounts to know the stereotypes about staying friends with your ex, but did it extend to your ex’s friends if your—well, it felt deeply disingenuous to refer to Chloe as my ex anyway. We hadn’t been real, and also we hadn’t even broken up. We’d each made our feelings known to each other, and what was there left to say about that?
But it couldn’t have been clearer that they were making an effort, so I decided to at least respond. Thanks, everyone. Sorry I’ve been MIA. I’m OK—for proof of life you can check with Phoebe who’s seen me every day.
I thought about Fiona’s big push for vulnerability and started typing a second message. I honestly don’t know the politics of this so it feels awkward. But I do miss everyone and if dinner offers are real I would love that. I haven’t eaten anything since Santa Barbara that wasn’t attained through Grubhub, a drive-thru, or a Chili’s.
Then I took a deep breath as if texting was a cardio workout and started a new text just to CJ. If you have time/headspace for this, I’m pitching a department expansion to Phoebe this week, and I know you mainly just work on the back end of digital advertising stuff, but I’d still love your POV from your side of things.
CJ responded as quickly as Fiona had earlier. Clementine, all I like to do is sit around and talk about media nerd stuff and normally no one wants that from me. Want to grab a drink at Johnny’s tomorrow?
I realized that I did, and so we made plans for the next evening. Walking down the block from work, I thought back to the night that random terrible men shouted random terrible things about my ass right before Chloe came to my rescue. Back when I’d truly been a baby gay, with no idea what to expect from this new world. What would have happened, I wondered, if there’d been no terrible men, no heroic Chloe, just me and a bar I was a little afraid of?
Despite everything, I was glad there had been all those things that night.
I was the first to arrive at Johnny’s, so I grabbed an open spot at the bar and waved hi to Sadie, who made her way over.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, which was a nicer greeting than I expected from a bar I wasn’t sure was my territory after the—could I call the end of a fake relationship a breakup? A fakeup?
“I just got in new menus and wanted to show you,” Sadie said, leaning over to grab a thick sheet of paper from a box behind the bar. “Before you ask, yes, they’re still in Comic Sans.”
“Is that like a thing the youths like?” I ask. “Bad fonts?”
She laughed. “Clementine, I’m in my thirties and I have no idea what fonts the youths like. It was my uncle’s favorite font, so here we are.”
“Oh,” I said. “The titular Johnny? Amazing of you to honor his font then.”
“I try,” she said with a grin, placing a new menu in front of me. “Check out the exclusive cocktails section.”
I scanned the menu, landing on it with a start. Girl Trouble. “Oh my god.”
“I hope that’s a good oh my god ,” she said with a laugh.
“I’m honored,” I said, legitimately overwhelmed at having even inadvertently left a tangible mark on this place, only months after walking in for the first time. “And I’m ordering one, of course.”
“Yeah, obviously, and this one’s on the house,” she said. “Also we should finalize everything on your family party. It’s coming up soon.”
“Ugh, yeah,” I said, and she laughed.
“It’ll be good. The part with drinks, at least. The rest I can’t help you with.”
CJ walked in and sat down next to me, and I couldn’t believe how happy I was to see them and their perfect buzz cut and button-down and jeans. Sadie poured a second Girl Trouble for them, and we clinked glasses and got right into talking about my presentation without dwelling on anything awkward at all. I attempted to order tacos for us, but CJ said if I’d been subsisting only on delivery and Baby Back Ribs that I deserved a well-balanced meal. We ended up wandering down to Bulan, where Sofia met us for vegan Thai food, before the three of us headed to CJ and Sofia’s apartment, where the conversation turned from the digital media landscape to the latest episodes of Selling Sunset and And Just Like That , two shows we all hated and watched vigilantly.
It was all less awkward than I expected, because we really had all become friends since that first brunch, but walking back to my car later without Chloe, I felt so alone I actually shivered.
One of the last things she’d said to me flashed back, probably just a paraphrase now, a game of telephone I’d played with myself as I’d passed it back and forth in my head since that confusing and then glorious and then even more confusing Sunday. You’re so afraid to be by yourself that you’re trying to make this work . It was the kind of thing, I knew, that had hurt because there was truth buried in it, at least a little. How much truth? Was it all because it felt lonely walking from a vibrant warm apartment toward an empty car, no one to share those little post-hang-out bits with, like how stunning Sofia’s artwork looked but also especially in comparison to the second bedroom—next to a tech-nightmare array of CJ’s gaming stuff? How their cat watched me from a high cabinet while I ate, like a sniper ready to handle things if I made one false move?
They were real people, too, which was a thought I almost immediately dismissed for being ridiculous—what else would they be?—but at first, Chloe’s group had felt practically like this starter pack of queer friends or something, a queer Pantheon Cinematic Universe group of superheroes. It was the kind of thing I wanted to confess to someone— Can you believe at first they were like the Queers of the Cosmos or something ?—so maybe I did hate being alone, wanted it to be someone else, anyone else, more than I wanted to admit.
Except that it was Chloe’s laugh I heard, imagining if I’d confessed that to her, whispered Queers of the Cosmos , somehow just lightly mocking enough to let me in on the joke too. That, I knew, was why I was lonely now, driving back home. I didn’t miss being part of a couple. I missed being a part of a couple with Chloe.
“How embarrassing is that?” I asked Small Jesse Pinkman when I arrived home. “We weren’t even an actual couple.”
He mewed at me and I decided to read it as but weren’t you, kind of, at least?
“You’re very wise, Small Jesse Pinkman.” I kissed the top of his head and had gotten more than halfway through my nightly skincare routine before it hit me that D-Day was tomorrow; I had an appointment with Phoebe in which my fate was up in the air. And I was as ready as I could be—well, I thought, almost . Since Fiona had brought up vulnerability, I could admit to myself—at least a little—how much I pushed back on so I didn’t have to deal with it. Before my appointment tomorrow afternoon, I’d need to do the scary thing and walk in to talk to her.
I Slacked first, because I could read people well enough to know who actually appreciated an office drop-by and who would say sure, come in now while silently resenting the intrusion.
“Is this still a good time?” I asked, leaning into Aubrey’s office. She looked up from her computer and nodded curtly, so I made myself step in.
Our office vibes were actually very similar—despite the years worked here, minimalist and impersonal. Like most people, I’d read that piece of advice that you should never keep more in your office than you could carry out in a bank box if you were let go. That wasn’t my reasoning; of course it was just that I wanted to keep my personal life far away from this building. I’d always wondered if Aubrey felt the same, though of course to find out would be to violate that very belief system.
“So this may surprise you,” I said, hoping that covered you will likely think this is an extremely stupid plan , “but I’m actually interested in expanding my department.”
Aubrey nodded. “Sure. Makes sense.”
“Wait, what?” I asked.
She lifted an eyebrow in what looked like confusion. “You’re the one interested in expanding your department but you don’t think it makes sense?”
“No, I do,” I said. “I just didn’t think that you would.”
Aubrey shrugged. “All right.”
I sat down across from her, even though the vibes were less than pull up a chair . “You’ve said plenty about the future of media planning and buying. And I guess about advertising in general.”
“I lead the analytics team,” she said. “I realize that’s only me and half an assistant, but I still take it seriously.”
“Well, you know, same.”
“Of course. Anyway, staying on top of industry trends is an important part of why I’m here.”
“Sure,” I said, wondering now why I’d thought this was going to be such a great idea. “OK, so the thing is that I’m curious to hear what your concerns would be. I think there’s still a lot I can bring to BME, but ignoring potential threats isn’t going to help me get there.”
“No, why would it?” Aubrey asked in such a genuinely confused voice that I laughed. “Why do you think it’s so important to me to survey the landscape?”
“Well, let’s just say that if we were defending a piece of property, you’d be the one checking the perimeter and I’d be hiding inside pretending there isn’t a perimeter, maybe,” I said.
“Do I have a gun in this scenario?” she asked, frowning. “This is troubling.”
“Sorry, I made it weird. Anyway, tell me your concerns. What should I be ready for? If you want to, of course. I get that I’m using you for free business advice.”
“We’re on the same team,” Aubrey said. “Also I’m on the clock so this isn’t free.”
“I’ll buy you a latte, or whatever coffee thing you like,” I said.
“Again, I said we’re on the same team,” she said, though she smiled faintly. “I’m sure we’ve read all the same materials. But I’m happy to just tell you a few things top of mind for me. And the coffee thing I like is just hot water with lemon.”
I made a face without meaning to. “Sorry, that’s just—”
“It’s very invigorating,” Aubrey said. “People underestimate it. My wife once told me that she thought it sounded terrible, but since then she’s come around to my side.”
“OK, I’ll take you out for hot waters and lemons to thank you, sound good?”
“Very, thank you,” she said, and smiled more widely. “Let’s dive in.”
It wasn’t a talk I expected to leave feeling good —and, to be fair, it wasn’t—but I felt neutral at worst, slightly empowered at best, and by the time Phoebe and I sat down together in the conference room later, I felt as ready as I could be.
“I’m excited to dig into all of this with you,” Phoebe said, leaning back in her chair. Since it was Friday, she was as casual as she got at the office, a floral-print button-down and expensive jeans over AF1s, and I realized I missed seeing her on weekends when this was more her norm.
“Thanks for taking the time,” I said. “I could of course give you a PowerPoint presentation—and, to be honest, originally I’d planned to—of my budgets this year versus last, versus the year before. But I’m sure you already know all those numbers.”
“Well, not by heart,” Phoebe said with a laugh. “But, sure. I know the general trend and that it’s been going upward.”
“So I’d rather just talk.” I wouldn’t, of course, rather at all! But I trusted Fiona as well as that gnawing pit of recognition in my stomach that perhaps my feelings shouldn’t be under the strictest of lockdowns. “I thought a lot about what Jeremy from Celebration said, as well as Aubrey’s thoughts on the matter.”
“I like having people like Aubrey on the team,” Phoebe said with a nod. “I have this level of pie-in-the-sky, dream-big irrationality in me. I couldn’t have left the studio and started this place when I did without that part of me. And that’s exactly why I need people who are nervous about everything, so that this whole place isn’t constructed atop pies in the sky.”
“Unstable, maybe, but delicious,” I said, and smiled. “I’m glad you feel that way, and I’m so glad you did. This is my favorite place I’ve ever worked, and I admire you so much for founding this place with a sense of creativity and fun. I genuinely like coming here to work every day. And I think our clients love working with us too; I know we do incredible campaigns with strong results, but I think a lot of boutique agencies do as well. But not with our attitude or our sense of creativity or the way we approach solving problems. And I’m sure that’s why people come back here, even with other options.”
“I think you’re right,” Phoebe said. “We’re not the cheapest and we’re not the youngest and coolest, and yet our clients keep showing up.”
“Exactly. And that’s why I think expanding my team makes sense. We’re already not building our business on automated, standardized approaches. We work closely with our clients, and with each other. So, yes, media planning and buying is changing, and I’d definitely like to investigate how those changes can help us work smarter or faster when it makes sense. But I also think our individualized and personal approach is what we’re great at, it’s why clients seek us out, and it’s why they stick around. I don’t think it’s old-fashioned to focus on what sets us apart, and I also stubbornly don’t think a robot can do my job better than I can.”
“For the record,” Phoebe said with a smile, “I don’t think a robot can either.”
“The other day I was talking to a friend who’s a high-up at a huge entertainment company, and she said that for all the focus business has on data, people like stories, and hope for something exciting. It’s the whole thing where we can show clients exactly what their target audience is watching, and those shows just feel wrong and so we buy ads on other shows anyway. That part doesn’t come from knowing data or fine-tuning an algorithm, you know? It comes from knowing people and knowing this job.”
Phoebe nodded, but stayed silent, so I kept going.
“I’m not asking for a huge new allocation of budget and resources,” I said. “I think we actually could benefit from some research subscriptions to help us level up and let our clients feel that we’re looking out for them in that arena. And I’d love to have someone like Tamarah full-time. Tamarah specifically, if she’s interested. And I’d ideally promote her, and then a coordinator could work under the two of us. I know that would take away half an assistant from Aubrey, but I’m sure there’s some kind of solution there, maybe even working together more so we can let the data that matters guide some of our decision-making. And basically that’s where I’d love to start, and if our growth stays consistent, I’d look at adding some individual media specialists in the future.”
I slid a packet toward her. Tamarah had designed the layout, and Fiona had sent me notes on it this morning that were only slightly terrifying. A victory already.
“Here’s all the numbers you basically already know, as well as some forecasts, my budget requests, and all the words I just said aloud, but, you know. In print and therefore a bit more eloquent.”
“You’re plenty eloquent,” Phoebe said. “But thank you. I’ll review all of this, but I have to tell you now how much everything you said means to me. When I thought about the kind of company I wanted to run, I wanted it to be people’s favorite job. Working studio gigs there was so much Game of Thrones shit, so many politics and so much fear. And I never thought that was how people did their best work. So to hear all of that from you is really validating.”
“Honestly, I should have said some of that sooner.” I shrugged and tried to look more casual about all of it than I was. “I’m not very good with saying how I feel but I’ve decided to work on it.”
“Well, this world can really do a number on us,” Phoebe said. “As queer women we’re used to guarding ourselves in a culture that’s still not always amazing for us, even in this industry—sometimes especially in this industry—and it’s no wonder it bleeds into the rest of life. Before you think, wow, Phoebe, that’s so perceptive , that is straight from the lips of my therapist.”
I laughed. “That is perceptive, to be fair. My compliments to your therapist.”
“She’ll love it. Seriously, though, at least as far as I’m concerned, don’t worry about any of that bullshit, OK? I’m around for real conversations about the company and the industry and how you’re feeling about any or all of it.” Phoebe leaned forward in her chair, resting her chin in her hand. “And—I don’t know. Should we say something about the current elephant in the room?”
“I think this is a necessary evil of dating your boss’s friend,” I said. “Or—well, I’m sure Bianca’s told you. Of not dating your boss’s friend.”
“Bianca did tell me, yes.” She raised her eyebrows. “We both think the fake-dating thing is absolute bullshit, though.”
My stomach clenched. Why did I continue this conversation after the business side of this had just clearly gone so well ? Vulnerability was one thing, but I felt like I just threw a grenade and then chased after it. “I’m sorry. Like I’ve said, I really had no idea that Chloe’s group of friends included you, and if I’d known going in—it was definitely not on my list of good ideas to spend months lying to my boss.”
Phoebe cracked up. “Oh, stop it, Clementine. The bullshit part is that you two thought it was fake . OK, maybe you had some weird array of rules and—sorry, let’s pretend we’re not at work right now—maybe you weren’t sleeping together—”
I tried to keep my face neutral but obviously something slipped, and now Phoebe was laughing even harder. And, against every fiber of my being, I was, too.
“You two idiots—sorry, don’t tell HR I called you an idiot—were just dating . You can call it whatever you want, but I wouldn’t say that either one of you is particularly good at faking anything. We’re a pretty honest group in general.”
“We weren’t, though,” I said.
Phoebe adjusted her glasses. “Spending all your time together, helping each other with your various projects—”
“I mean, it was arranged. And that also sounds like friendship. Or at least the way your group does it.”
“Sure,” Phoebe said. “I was also going to say hooking up, which I know some friends do, but I also am aware those aren’t the kind of friendships you or Chloe tend to have.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that.
“I know this is hard,” she said. “And complicated. I’m your boss, and I’m also your friend, and I only want to make you uncomfortable in a way that’s fun, and not actually do harm to you. So I’ll let you get back to your office, but I hope you do know that I still do consider you a friend, and I hope that if you need anything or want to talk that my door is figuratively—and usually literally—open.”
“Thanks,” I said, standing up but still trying not to look too desperate to escape to the safety of my office. “I genuinely appreciate it. I’m just bad at—well, maybe all of it.”
“Only some of it, I think,” she said with a laugh, hopping to her feet and following me out of the conference room. “Let’s circle back on this sometime next week, OK?”
“Oh, god, the stuff I’m bad at?” I asked, and she laughed so loudly that our office coordinator Aiko gave us a look of judgment mixed with concern that only a Gen Z youth could manage.
“No, the media planning proposal,” Phoebe said, holding up the printouts I’d given her. “Sound good?”
I met her gaze and nodded, feeling—well, accomplished, maybe? I’d said exactly what I’d wanted to say, and I could tell it had landed with Phoebe. Maybe it wasn’t enough to make all of my work dreams come true, but it still felt like I’d done exactly what I’d set out to do.
Fiona, who’d known my meeting time, had already texted on the group thread—its first new message in weeks—to see how it had gone. When I responded with the truth, that was, positive-with-a-side-of-maybe-nothing-actually-changes, she and Hailey still sent the kinds of emojis and gifs befitting a victory (champagne bottles, Oprah shouting YOU DID IT! , etc.) and asked if I wanted to celebrate after work.
I started messaging that we should wait until I had an actual victory to celebrate, but then two things hit me at once. First, I’d just thought to myself how much like a victory this felt no matter what, and it was OK if other people—my very best friends, at that—knew that. And also my very best friends, notoriously harder and harder to schedule with, were making time for me in a few hours, the exact thing I’d wanted from them. Why on earth would I say no to any of it?
We met up at L & E Oyster Bar, and Hailey pulled me into a tight hug like one of us had been off at war.
“I should say that I don’t hate hearing about your kid,” I said. “Sorry my insecurities made it seem that way.”
“Oh my god, don’t put Fiona’s words in my mouth,” she said with a laugh. “I’m sorry I don’t always know how to be a person who makes and keeps plans anymore. I’m sorry I barely talked to you at Ellie’s party except for shrieking about soda. I’m sorry it seems like sometimes I’m just saying poop emoji over and over. If you can try harder with me now, I promise I’ll make it up to you once Ellie’s in kindergarten. Or middle school. Maybe college. But eventually.”
“Deal,” I said.
“OK, I ordered us two rounds of drinks like we used to do at the ends of happy hours,” Fiona said, sitting down with us. “A lot of oysters too.”
“You know, we aren’t young and broke anymore,” I said. “I can drink cocktails at normal speed at whatever price they normally cost.”
“Please, I love a bargain,” Fiona said. “Oh, Clem, I thought of the solution to your whole not-being-able-to-function-alone problem.”
“What are you talking about, and also, could we not call it that?”
“I heard your creaking joints the other night. If you need other people involved to keep you accountable to yoga, can’t you just take a class?”
I made a face. “No offense to you two thin blonde people, but I don’t feel like taking an LA yoga class with a bunch of thin blonde people. And don’t say I look great in yoga pants, I’m aware, but the world is not always such an open-minded place about butts like mine in yoga pants.”
“They can’t all be like that,” Hailey said. “The classes, at least. I know we can’t speak for all the thin blond people.”
“I think it’s sweet you still consider Hailey blonde when her roots look like that,” Fiona said, and the three of us laughed so hard we were in tears.
“Actually,” I said, something flashing in my memory. “Bianca said something about some all-sizes gym she goes to. I’ll see if they have a yoga class.”
Fiona gestured as if she was waiting, so I got out my phone and texted. Bianca’s response was fast: They do have yoga classes! I’ve never gone because I’m not really a zen person, but I’m willing to give it a shot if you are. I’ll send you a link to the class schedule.
“OK, it’s happening,” I said, putting my phone back in my bag.
“Good girl,” Fiona said. “Now tell me everything about your pitch meeting. Word for word, like I need to take minutes.”
I glanced at Hailey. “I have a feeling it’ll be extremely boring for anyone who isn’t Fiona, so don’t worry, I’m not going to do that.”
“Everyone likes corporate intrigue!” Fiona said. “Think of all the movies!”
Hailey and I exchanged a look, and the three of us burst into laughter, and it felt so good and solid. We threw back our drinks like young people trying to score a deal, and caught up on each other’s lives without any huge deal made about the last few months. No, we wouldn’t have a weekly brunch, but we scheduled another night out in three weeks, per my recommendation, at the Chili’s up in the suburbs. I really did love the Baby Back Ribs. Though not nearly as much as I loved my friends and was committed to finding whatever it was to keep us going. And if that was chain restaurant food up in the place I’d been desperate to move away from, that was more than fine with me.
At home later, tipsy more on the evening with my friends than the cocktails, I felt a warm glow pulse through me, and I decided not to extinguish it with—well, whatever I usually tamped down earnest feelings with. I picked up my phone while I sat on the couch with Small Jesse Pinkman and I scrolled through my texts.
I miss you.
And then, as if to prove I hadn’t completely gotten good at being open with my feelings yet, I promptly turned off my phone and retreated to the coziness of my bed. Chloe’s response either did or didn’t exist—Schrodinger’s text—but I knew that telling the truth was one of my best moves in a long time.
It flashed at me, brand-new, the next morning. No text, just a gif of Gillian Anderson as Dana Scully, and a warmth surged through my chest.
I wanted to believe.