34
O bviously, the content isn’t always age appropriate,” MC said, stuffing her hands in her pockets as the lower echelons of Jawbreaker watched her from their swivel chairs. “But ultimately, this is a legitimate journalistic enterprise.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about us,” Joe announced.
He was at the back of the conference room, hip propped against a console-cabinet contraption, arms folded across his chest. He was wearing a silk button-down patterned like a Kandinsky print, a reference MC had heard Sheena make just before the meeting had started. She still needed to look it up.
“So, yeah,” she said. “I think it’s a great fit for high school students.”
Joe nodded. “I’m in if you guys are.”
“I love the idea of an intern program,” said the politics editor.
A newer guy with a severe widow’s peak said, “I’d be happy to run the marketing end.”
There were murmurs of agreement, though less enthusiasm than MC had hoped. Not everyone was trying to take teenage wannabe journalists under their wing.
“MC will send around the pitch so everyone has info,” Joe said, gesturing at the deck on the screen. The final slide read, Not Every Child Hates You! Joe’s addition, of course. “Shall we move on to fancy chocolate?”
Jerome had just published a feature on a popular new Brooklyn chocolatier that’d built its reputation on handcrafted confections, while actually just melting down Godiva bars and throwing in some fancy add-ons.
The chocolatier’s main competitor, a century-old family business in Ditmas Park, had sent several overflowing gift towers to the Jawbreaker office in gratitude.
Joe pulled MC aside as everyone filed out of the conference room.
She thought he’d have something to say about the meeting, feedback or maybe some excitement of his own—MC had come up with the internship idea as she was wrapping up her applications to teaching programs, because she hoped to have something on her résumé besides just her work with Explorations .
But when they were alone, he showed her his phone. A selfie had arrived.
From Nico Price.
MC smiled. “World-record turnaround time for hometown romance.”
“Please. We’re strictly fucking.”
“You say that now.”
“I guess you’d be the expert.”
“Am I, though?” She sighed. “Nora barely texted me all weekend.”
Joe looked pensive. “No matter how much of an asshole Jen was, it doesn’t seem like Nora to be intimidated.”
MC shrugged. “Her writing’s a sensitive subject. As you know.”
He perused the beautifully wrapped boxes of truffles scattered around Jerome’s desk. “Just keep trying her.”
“But what if she’s realizing that some old flame from Green Hills isn’t worth keeping on the hook while she’s off kayaking in Myanmar? Or whatever she plans on doing.”
“What if she’s worried she won’t be able to get on the plane if she lets you into her pants again?” Joe finally settled on a chocolate. “I just have a feeling this will get resolved.”
“Because it’s the most annoying possible outcome?”
He popped the truffle in his mouth. “How is it annoying?”
“Not to me. I just thought you didn’t like her.”
“My opinions are evolving,” he said, still chewing. “And you like her. So.”
“So you actually support me now?”
He frowned. “Do you genuinely feel like I don’t support you?”
“I guess it’s just that we had a bad patch there.”
He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass, the last salvos of April showers sheeting across the panes, blurring Broadway. MC trailed after him.
“I know I haven’t officially apologized,” he said.
“So, maybe I should just get it over with already.” He took a breath and turned to her.
“I’m really sorry for putting you in the position that I did.
With the article, with Seth, with all of it.
For what it’s worth”—he lowered his voice—“I’m looking for another job. ”
MC blinked. She’d already forgiven Joe in her mind, or told herself she’d forgiven him. But now, hearing the words, she realized some small part of her—a core part—had still been hurt. Had been waiting for this, if not exactly daring to hope for it.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you like that,” he went on, looking out the window again.
“It was selfish. I was freaking out, and I knew you’d come through for me.
I told myself you’re such a great person, you could do something morally iffy and come out golden, you know?
And you kind of have.” MC frowned. “Okay, fine. Regardless. It was a shitty thing to do. Not best friend behavior at all.” He puffed out his cheeks.
“The fact that you’re still in my life feels like a miracle I shouldn’t take for granted.
I do plan to earn back your trust somehow. ”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I appreciate that.”
“So magnanimous.”
“Would you prefer ‘apology accepted’?”
“That works.” He pulled away slightly, giving her the side-eye. “As long as you mean it.”
“I do.” She smiled. “Actually, speaking of earning back my trust, there is something you could do for me...”
When she left the Jawbreaker office an hour later, her steps were light.
Joe had agreed to her plan. She’d been turning it over in her mind for a few weeks, trying to convince herself it was ridiculous, maybe even pointless, then revving herself up about it all over again.
But Joe was game, and it gave her a new rush of confidence.
Soho was a mess. Miserable and soaked. Winter had done a number on the concrete, riddling it with potholes.
Chunks of asphalt were stuck in the sewer grates.
MC headed for the subway with her hood up, her windbreaker not doing much to prevent her button-down from getting soggy.
At least there was a hint of warmth in the air, a tentative April balminess that made the scent of a halal griddle by the subway entrance carry for at least a block.
The subway arrived just as MC pushed through the station turnstiles.
She hopped in and was carried uptown. Her mom was in the city for a conference.
They’d agreed to meet for a late lunch before MC went back to Green Hills.
The restaurant her mom had picked was her usual scene: an upscale pub, this time outside Penn Station.
MC had made it clear that she preferred Lance sit this one out, and Dr. Linda Case-Calloway had agreed, without complaint, to the mother-daughter moment.
Her mom was already seated in a capacious booth, willowy shoulders drawn together, gaze fixed out the window, when MC arrived.
“Sorry I’m late,” MC said, scooting in across the table.
“You’re on time,” her mom said, blinking rapidly. “I got here early.”
“How was the conference?”
“Useful.” She tapped a tall glass of ice water with one hand. MC expected her to continue with the abstracts she was interested in, or observations on the state of the field. But she was quiet. Then: “I wanted to ask you about something—”
“Good afternoon,” a waiter said, obsequious in a half apron at MC’s side. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
MC ordered a Diet Coke. Her mom said she’d stick with water. MC fidgeted some more. It wasn’t like her mom to be nervous.
When the waiter finally swept off again, MC realized she was holding her breath.
She didn’t even know what she was bracing herself for.
These now-and-then lunches were always perfunctory, a way to let her mom know, in broad strokes, how her life was going, the status of her living situation, maybe a detail or two about some interesting thing that’d happened to her since the last time they’d spoken. They were never serious.
At last, her mom blurted, “Conrad told me that he and Gabby are living apart.”
MC hadn’t realized Conrad had finally fessed up and wasn’t sure how much detail he’d included. “For the moment,” she said carefully.
A long silence stretched between them.
“Well,” her mom said, “what the hell happened?”
“Uh...”
“I’m sorry.” Her mom pushed her glasses onto her head and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I’m just a little shocked by the news.”
“Everyone was.”
She lowered her hands suddenly. “And I suppose I’m the last to know.”
“No. Not necessarily. I mean, he didn’t want to worry you.”
“Is that really why?”
Of course, MC was about to say, but the waiter was back. “Ready to order, ladies?”
Flustered, MC’s mom picked up the giant plastic menu and squinted. She got a Caesar salad with minestrone soup. MC got a cheeseburger and fries.
When the waiter left again, MC popped a straw in her pint glass and took a long sip, letting the fake-sweet rush give her courage. “This is Conrad’s situation to explain,” she said, “but as for why he didn’t tell you sooner... I think part of the reason was that he thought you’d judge him.”
Her mom’s expression suggested total devastation.
“That sounds more intense than I meant it to,” MC said, remembering that there were legitimate hazards in truth telling.
“I’ve been a terrible mother, haven’t I?”
“Oh god, Mom, not at all.”
“I just wasn’t very good at it, right from the beginning.
I told myself if I focused on Conrad’s academics, his achievements, I would do less damage.
” She sighed. “Both of you, in your own way, seemed so self-sufficient. Everyone told me how lucky I was, that independence was something I should nurture as much as possible. And your father, well, he was a stoic himself.”
MC shook her head. “Aren’t you?”
“Hardly. Look at what a mess I made of my marriage.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But I did.” She swirled her water like it was a glass of wine. “I was unhappy. And I wanted to be happy.”
“Which is understandable.”
“But it’s also a mess.”
MC was at a loss for words. They’d never discussed the divorce directly. Everything had always been about living arrangements, splitting assets—logistics. “Breaking up is super common,” she said feebly.
“Yes, well, that doesn’t make it pleasant.” She frowned. “I just don’t want Conrad to jeopardize what he has, what he will have, unless he truly wants something else.”
“He wants to stay with Gabby. And I think they’ll pull things back together.”
Her mom took a deep breath, wistful. “I remember how it was, early in the marriage. The loneliness. The lust . ”
MC looked around, panicked, searching for any kind of distraction.
“My body was crying out for something different.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I thought I could ignore it. But when I met Gregor, when I saw him, those eyes, those arms...”
“I get it.”
“I want Conrad—and you—to know that I do care, more than anything, even if I’ve done such a poor job of showing it. And in this case, I could give him advice.”
“Well, I’m sure he’d appreciate if you told him that.”
Dr. Linda Case-Calloway sat up straighter. “You’re right. I’ll do it tonight.”
“Yeah, call him.”
She shook her head. “I’ve already tried that for days. He won’t pick up. I need to go to him in person, like you did.”
“Hang on, don’t you have a flight to catch?”
“I’ll book another.”
“What about Lance?”
“He can extend our stay at the hotel. We’ve been absolutely loving the sauna.”
MC stared out the pub window, traumatized, as her cheeseburger arrived.
Her mom took her phone out without even touching her fork. “I’ll tell him to change our travel arrangements.”
“Shouldn’t you at least text Conrad before showing up at the house?”
“No,” she said firmly, “it has to be an ambush.”
Her mom texted for so long that MC got out her phone too. She pulled up the thread with Nora.
Remember that time I saved you from your parents?
“Save” is a little gratuitous.
MC tried not to get too excited by the prompt reply.
I would really appreciate if you returned the favor.
Where are you?
In the city, but my mom is about to make us rush out to my brother’s so she can “ambush” him about his affair.
Lol.
MC tried to think of something that would make Nora take the situation seriously. As she racked her brain, Nora sent another message. A link.
It was a promotional post from their local movie theater, still barely in business. A Matrix trilogy marathon running every night of the week.
MC held her breath.
Another notification from Nora popped up at the top of the screen.
Should I get us tickets for tonight?
MC grabbed her soda and sucked it down to the ice.