12. Margot
12
margot
My boss, Karah, looks me up and down with mild concern. Her salt and peppered pixie cut and green pencil skirt makes her look like an elegantly aged Tinker Bell. “I know I asked you to stay on, but are you sure it’s not too much with the semester starting?”
She’s asked me this at least six times already, and every time, I assure her I can handle it. It’s not like this is Rolling Stone . Destination Tampa is a small magazine with a dedicated group of local readers, mostly retirees who wouldn’t know how to unsubscribe if they wanted to.
Not to mention, I could use the money. Jackson offered to pay for my trip to see him, but I want to do this myself. He has enough on his plate, and I know he doesn’t have much money left over after pitching in for studio time.
“It’s three days a week,” I say with a reassuring smile. “I’m not exactly burning the midnight oil when I come here.”
She purses her lips, still unconvinced. “But you’ve stacked your other two days with a full load of classes.”
“Karah,” I say with a tilt of my head. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll let you know. ”
She points a finger at me playfully. “You better.” Changing gears, she adds, “When will you have the small business feature done on that local bookstore?”
Glancing back at my computer, I say, “I was just going over my notes. I’ll have it done by the end of the week.”
“Great. We should be able to put it in this month’s issue then. Have it to me by Monday.”
“You’ve got it,” I say with a grin.
She taps the door frame before waltzing away, and I’m left alone in my tiny office. Glancing out my one window at the rear parking lot, I see one of the pizza delivery drivers walk by. We’re located in a plaza, crammed between a pizza place and a dental office, so my people watching is mostly limited to the delivery drivers who park in the back.
The office may be small, and the walls may be a dingy yellow color, but Karah and her team really make this place feel like a home. She’s flexible, everyone has a positive energy, and this guy Derek always brings in his leftover culinary masterpieces. Seriously, the guy should be a chef, not an editor.
I’ve loved working here this summer, and I’m excited to stay on board as an “extended intern” as Sarah calls it.
My phone vibrates on my desk, and I look down to see a message from Rae.
Rae:
Braden said he’ll bring home stuff for pasta tonight. Are you good with eating over there?”
Margot:
Is it that pesto pasta he makes?
Derek might not be the only culinary genius. Sometimes Braden makes dinners I’m convinced could draw a crowd.
Rae:
I think so. Do you want me to tell him that’s what you want?
Margot:
. . . It wouldn’t hurt.
She doesn’t text back right away, so I give her time to relay my message and turn back to my computer.
The bookstore feature is my most recent project, and I’m still waiting for the owner to email back her responses to my questions. I’d rather wait until I have all the information before I start writing, so I look over the store’s Instagram page, compiling a group of photos to send to the owner to approve for use.
I’ve scrolled back to the store’s grand opening by the time I get another text from Rae.
Rae:
He says if you want pesto pasta, he’ll make pesto pasta.
Margot:
Such a gentleman.
I stare at our texts. Even though I’m thrilled, I can’t ignore the uneasy feeling in my gut. Braden is single, and even though I’m not, we’re always together.
I quickly add another text.
Margot:
Tell him thanks.
If he sees me as anything more than a friend, he does a decent job of hiding it. He doesn’t give me extra attention the way Keith did, and he’s never said anything that oversteps a line. He and Jackson even get along well .
But it’s a feeling I can’t shake.
I open an email to the bookstore and attach the pictures I saved. Before clocking out for the day, I ask the owner what she thinks and for her approval to use the pictures in the feature.
As I gather my things, my phone vibrates again. This time, Jackson’s name appears on the screen. He’s sent me a picture. Swiping it open, I tap on the message to find an old RV staring back at me.
Another message from him pops up shortly after.
Jackson:
Well, we can’t have sex in the van. How about this thing instead?
Letting out a light laugh, I text him back.
Margot:
Is that your new home?
He answers right away.
Jackson:
You’re my home.
I stare at the words on the screen, reading and rereading. He’s never said anything like that. It makes my heart thud in my chest, and I bite my thumbnail, unsure of what to say back.
Jackson:
But we can still fuck in the RV.
The breath I was holding comes out in a gust of laughter, and I roll my eyes. I send him a text back as I walk out of the office.
Margot:
Not likely.
Whose RV is it ?
I give my phone my full attention as I wait for his next message.
Jackson:
Our new manager called in some favors. I think it belongs to a friend of a friend of a friend.
Or something like that.
I blink when I read the words. A manager? Jackson had mentioned them needing one once or twice, but I had no idea it was actually in the works.
Margot:
You guys have a manager now?
He’s only been gone for a couple of weeks. Did they secure someone before he left?
Jackson:
Yeah, don’t ask me how I feel about it yet. I haven’t met the guy. But he’s saving our asses, so he can’t be all that bad.
Dave accidentally murdered the van.
Margot:
I have so many questions.
Jackson:
We all do. I’ll fill you in as soon as I meet him. He should be here any minute.
How are your classes?
A slight frown pulls at the corner of my lips when I look at the last message. It’s such a mundane question. It’s boring. Compared to his dynamic, ever-changing scenery, I’m stagnant. Okay, I’m not really stagnant. I’m doing things. I know that, but I still hate that he has to ask me how classes are going. I hate that such a boring question is so necessary for us now because I can’t fill him in on how my life is going organically. I can’t get home from work and tell him about what I’m working on, and for some reason, the things I’m working on just don’t feel important enough to text him about throughout the day.
The sound of Karah’s heels gracing the hallway with her delicate clicks pulls me from my thoughts and I quickly text him back saying classes are going well before turning my phone over and getting back to work.
My classes are going well.
But I don’t want to fill Jackson in on my day-to-day life.
I want him to be in it.