Chapter 4
I wake up the next morning to hundreds of doggy kisses on my face and bright sunlight peering in through the curtains I forgot to close last night. My eyes flutter open as I greet Princess, cooing at her and giving her lots of head scratches, knowing she must be eager for her morning walk. She pants and wags her tail as she soaks up all the attention, only hopping off of me once she deems I have given her a sufficient amount.
I roll over and reach for my phone to check the time, only to be met with a black screen when I press the power button over and over.
Shit.
It’s completely dead. In all the craziness from last night, I must have forgotten to plug it in before I fell asleep, and now I missed my alarm and am certainly going to be late for my meeting—if I haven’t already completely slept through it.
I race out of bed and into the bathroom where the clock hanging on the wall tells me it’s half past seven, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I can still make it. I brush my teeth in a daze while Princess trots happily behind me, and promise to walk her as soon as I get back.
After pulling on the first clothes I could find in my backpack and taking out my laptop bag, I dart downstairs and into the kitchen to fill up Princess’ food and water bowls before hopping in the elevator. I feel bad leaving her all alone like this, but Gigi assured me she was fine to fend for herself for a couple hours while I went to my Monday meeting.
Besides, she’s not totally alone. Elias is there.
Ugh. Elias.
I don’t even have time to think about the complete fool I made of myself last night. All I can do is rush out of the lobby and pray I won’t be late.
Two subway rides and a quick application of makeup later, I’m walking through Flourish Headquarters looking for Amani. Unfortunately for me, my little mishap this morning cost me the extra half hour I had planned to pitch my idea to the editor-in-chief. I now only have about seven minutes before our team meeting starts, and I’m seriously debating putting it off for another week. If it weren’t for the very real fear about what Veda will do to me if I chicken out again, I’d be calling it quits right about now.
I spot Amani coming around the corner with a stack of papers in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, looking as determined as ever.
“Morning Amani,” I call, flagging her down. “Can I help you with that?”
I offer up my hands to the large stack of papers she’s carrying, and she shrugs.
“Sure, thanks Gemma. ”
She plops the heavy stack in my hands and continues down the hall toward the meeting room without batting an eye, and I practically trip over myself trying to get her attention again.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something!” I call out as I scurry after her.
She looks back at me and checks the time on her phone before shoving it back into her pocket and taking a large sip of her coffee.
“Alright, but make it quick.”
Here we go, you can do this. Shoulders back, exude confidence!
“I have an idea for a column!” I blurt out as she raises an eyebrow at me, and I internally smack myself for my lack of poise. “A column that I would write.”
“Continue.”
Alright, no immediate objections. That’s a good sign.
I take a deep breath before continuing on.
“Well I know that Flourish’s target demographic is women in their twenties, mostly students and young professionals, so part of our focus is on money-saving tips and affordable product recommendations. I know we touch on this mostly in the Fashion and Beauty sections, but I think there’s potential there for us to really lean into it. To put it at the forefront.”
I pause to gauge her reaction, but her poker face is so good that I can’t get any kind of read on her. She takes another sip of her coffee, which is my signal to get on with it.
“What if we had a column, kind of like an Ask Abby, where readers can write in for advice on money issues? Real-world things that twenty-somethings actually have to deal with, like What do I do if I can’t afford to get my best friend a birthday gift , or How do I tell my roommate that they’re overdue on rent without making things awkward , or My toilet is busted, how do I fix it myself without needing to hire a plumber ?”
“Toilets? Gemma, no one wants to read about toilets.”
“Okay, forget that part,” I say as she nods for me to carry on. “I just think this could be something fun that gets readers more engaged; gives them a personal stake in Flourish. People love to participate in things, it makes them feel like they’re a part of something bigger than themselves.”
I swallow hard as she considers me, hoping any part of my pitch was actually intelligible. “So what do you think..?”
She sighs and contemplates it for a minute. My heart is beating in my ears and I don’t know if the rush of adrenaline I feel is from the Olympic-level sprinting I did to make it here on time, or the excitement that this might really happen for me. That I might have had a good idea. Either way, every second she spends taping her fingers against her coffee cup feels like a whole century.
“I think it’s great” she finally says, and my heart soars. “But,”
Crap.
“I’m not sure how realistic this is. Even given your education, I have to ask: do you have any real writing experience?”
Double crap.
I have a certificate in creative writing, which is the education she’s referring to. Even though it helped me tremendously with my personal writing, it’s not much in the way of qualifications for a columnist. And that’s precisely the reason why I ended up being a copyeditor for Flourish rather than a writer like I’ve always wanted.
When I first came to the city, I moved in with Veda and Cassie after finding their “Third Roommate Wanted” ad online. They found out I was looking for a job in media and was having absolutely zero luck finding a writing job that I was qualified for, so Veda was nice enough to get me an interview at the then-startup magazine she was working for.
Unfortunately, it seemed the only open position left was for a copyeditor. But since I was desperate to get anything remotely related to my field at that point in time, I was more than happy to take the interview. And the rest is history.
“I do!” I reply to Amani’s question a little too enthusiastically. It’s not a total lie since I’ve written about a dozen short stories to date—I’ve just never had any of them published, let alone shown them to another person. “Mostly for myself, though.”
“Hm.” She doesn’t look convinced. “And what would happen to your current job?”
“Um…” I hadn’t thought this part through.
Would I continue to be a copyeditor on top of being a columnist? I don’t even think that’d be possible; it’d be way too much work. Not to mention the fact that whole purpose of my idea was to step away from editing…
“You could replace me with someone else?” I suggest, but it comes out more like a question.
“Gemma…” she trails off, and I gulp. “I don’t know if we have the budget to take on a new columnist. We’re barely getting by as it is, and that would be a whole new salary to take on.”
My heart, along with all my hopes and dreams, drops to the pit of my stomach. It’s over. Before it even began.
The sound of a phone ringing trills in between us, and she pulls it out from inside her pocket.
“I have to take this,” she announces without looking up, and I know I’ve blown my chance. “Look, I’ll think about it okay?”
I nod, trying to hide the disappointment on my face, because we both know exactly what I’ll think about it really means: Never. Gonna. Happen.