Chapter Twenty-Nine
I quickly develop a new morning routine.
It starts with checking my phone for any news of Ryser.
I’ve set several alerts for Ryser, for Peter Guo, for my own name.
Six days have passed since I sent the email—and five days since Peter called me for another interview, in which I answered his questions in full, holding nothing back—but nothing’s been published yet.
Next, I eat my breakfast while searching for apartments.
But not in the DC area this time. Now, I take my search to Richmond.
After the weekends Tessa spent showing me around Richmond, I’ve fallen in love with it.
It turns out that when you actually explore the city instead of dismissing it as the place where you failed a lot of hearing tests, Richmond is kind of amazing.
It has that city excitement Greenstead is missing, the energetic atmosphere, the walkability, blocks and blocks of unique restaurants, cafés, markets, and more.
It’s affordable enough that I could live in something bigger than a basement matchbox.
It’s closer to Greenstead, to my family and the people who—I hope—I can consider my friends.
I click through pictures of sunlit rooms and imagine myself living in a new neighborhood. My FIRE spreadsheet is full on sobbing at the sight of these rent prices, but I can’t go back to my old apartment. I want windows. I want sunshine. I want everything I’ve denied myself before.
That’s why my apartment website perusals include looking up their pet policies. I immediately click away from the ones that don’t allow dogs. Which feels presumptuous. But it also feels right.
Next, I scour job listings. Which is a little tough considering I’m not really sure what I’m looking for.
Setting aside the fact that publicly exposing Ryser will essentially blacklist me in the world of corporate PR and communications, I’m not sure that’s a world I’d even want to reenter.
After these last few months at Ryser Cares doing work that actually feels valuable, polishing a company’s image doesn’t interest me.
I start gravitating toward jobs in the nonprofit sector, even though the roles are less specialized and the salaries would make my FIRE spreadsheet wail.
Seeing listings that use terms like mission-driven or community-centered puts a flutter in my belly, and I think that’s something worth listening to.
I inevitably watch an episode of Loving on the Edge after that. I tell myself it’s my reward for doing all of the above.
Also inevitable: fighting the impulse to text Marina about something I know we’d have joked about.
The impulse wants me to ask if she’s watched Love Quest at all since we last did together, because I haven’t.
It wants me to ask if she misses hanging out together, because I do.
But I resist. I carry on watching Loving on the Edge , and I check Jen’s social media to see if she’s ever posted about it (she hasn’t).
On day seven post-email, I don’t get through my entire routine. I wake up to a notification about a new Peter Guo article, and my heart leaps.
Ryser Employees Tell All: Inside the Web of Cover-Ups and Lies
Peter Guo has taken everything we’ve handed him and used it to craft a detailed exposé on Ryser’s misdeeds.
He cites our evidence, interviews with the Ryser Cares team—Randy’s bluff included—as well as quotes from Marina about her house, and from people in Greenstead sharing their accounts of how life in town has changed since the flood.
Mayor Bradley is also cited, giving a quote that denounces Ryser and asserts Greenstead’s strength and spirit.
A Ryser exec is quoted saying a few lines that I’m sure were meticulously crafted by Amanda and her team: “We are saddened to hear that our efforts to support Greenstead through its challenges have not been found sufficient. We vow to take action to provide further assistance in hopes of a brighter tomorrow.”
It’s the vow that intrigues me. Ryser rarely alludes to taking concrete action to address an issue. Our go-to approach was always to dance around the subject, share some meaningless words that sound good on paper. But the vow changes things. They have to be planning something.
I send the article link to Marina and the Ryser Cares team. They respond with celebratory remarks and emojis, but nothing that invites conversation. I can feel their distance through the screen.
I think Ryser’s going to announce something , I reply. I’ll keep you posted.
No one responds.
I skip the job hunt and apartment search today.
I’m too busy searching for more on Ryser, refreshing the press releases page of their website.
In my desperation, I even try to log on to Bill to see if they’re working on something behind the scenes, but that’s when I discover they’ve changed the password. Understandably.
And then, at 2:00 p.m., a new post appears: Ryser Pledges Funds to Support Local Community .
In a glowing statement effused with self-congratulatory positivity, the press release announces that Ryser has pledged to invest five million dollars to uplift the town of Greenstead, Virginia.
In typical PR fashion, it doesn’t mention the mustard flood, but it also doesn’t use the term factory malfunction either, now that Peter Guo has revealed the transparency of their preferred language.
It simply states that Ryser has a long history with Greenstead after building a factory there in the early twentieth century and reiterates Ryser’s belief in supporting small communities.
It’s fake, and it’s trite, but that doesn’t matter.
Unlike their other press releases, this one comes with money attached.
Five million dollars, all for Greenstead.
Perhaps to avoid allegations that this may be another repeat of the Ryser Cares debacle Peter Guo shed such light on, the press release specifies that the money will be donated directly to Greenstead’s town council, which can decide how to manage the funds.
I think of the community center, the vacant storefronts, the dilapidated houses in West Greenstead. This money has the power to make a difference.
I paste the link to the statement in the group chat. Immediately, bouncing dots appear. I brace myself for another tepid response—but before a message comes through, my phone rings.
“Five million dollars?” Marina exclaims. Her squeal instantly brings a smile to my face.
“I know!” My phone vibrates against my ear, singing with messages from the Ryser Cares folks.
“Thank you for doing this,” Marina says.
“We all did it. And this was your idea in the first place. None of this would have happened if you didn’t get the idea to throw the festival.”
“A festival that lost you all your jobs,” she points out, her voice going quieter.
“A lot of that was my fault.”
“It wasn’t all your fault.” She’s almost whispering now. The words are heavy with emotion.
I can hardly hear her over the continued buzzing of incoming texts. I’m curious to know what they’re saying, but I don’t want to pull my phone away for a single second while I’m talking to Marina. I wish we could all be together, in the office, like we used to.
The thought gives way to a question that flies out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
“Do you want to get together tonight?” I ask. “All of us? To celebrate?”
Marina’s response comes quickly. It’s glittering with joy, relief, and maybe even forgiveness. “Definitely.”
***
We may not work at Ryser Cares anymore, but it feels right to meet here, gathering again at the place where we’ve spent so many hours planning the festival, getting to know one another, talking over pretzels and grilled cheese sandwiches, forming the bonds that tie us together still.
Plus Randy still has the key to the office.
Randy and Tessa are already there when I arrive, standing around the air hockey table talking.
On the table between them sits a stack of pizzas from Top Slice, soda bottles, and paper plates and cups.
Randy and Tessa pull me into hugs, and as the others stream in, we pull up chairs and share theories about what the money Ryser pledged will be used for.
“Jess says Mayor Bradley’s talking about putting together a task force to decide what to do with the money,” Marina announces, leaning over the table to grab a slice of pizza.
While the others continue chatting, I place a couple of slices on my plate and turn to Marina beside me. “You talked to Jess, did you?”
Marina’s eye roll doesn’t hide the soft smile growing across her face. “Yes.”
“Do you two talk often?” I tease.
“Mind your business,” she says, making me laugh.
“Do you think you might get some of the money for your house?”
Marina takes a sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful. “I think…I think I’d rather sell it.”
Part of me wants to celebrate her decision to let go of a house that’s done nothing but cause her problems. But the rest of me is thinking about the argument we had outside Ryser Cares.
“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” I ask carefully. “Because I said some things I shouldn’t have, and—”
“So did I,” Marina says, looking at me with serious eyes. “I had no right to judge you like that.”
“Neither did I. And…you were right.” My eyes fall to my hands in my lap, studying my nails as I summon the courage to admit the truth. “I was miserable. I was just so busy planning for a future when I maybe wouldn’t be unhappy that I didn’t realize what it’s been doing to me now.”
Marina scoots closer and puts an arm around me, giving my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze before dropping her arm back to her side. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I will be,” I say, giving her a small smile. “I’m working on it.”