Chapter 34 Lucy
Lucy
When I’m outside, I sometimes remember to look up.
Nine out of ten times I’m met with the tops of palm trees positioned against a bright blue sky.
There’s always a slight urge to take a picture, but there isn’t really a point in that.
It’s not like I’ll find myself years from now looking back at a photo of the sky, nor will I post it to social media right now.
So instead, I just take in the view and breathe.
I breathe in the early-October air that’s still eighty degrees. God, I love LA.
Reconnecting with myself is something I’ve been prioritizing the past couple of weeks.
The second round of layoffs happened at The Journal, and thankfully, I’m safe.
I’ve been focusing on my column, spending more time with my parents, and going to therapy regularly.
Slowly, but surely, I’ll understand what I want in life.
Until then, I’m going to be present in the journey.
I’m a little early for my boxing class, so I prop myself up against the hood of my car and look at my phone. There’s a drafted message in my notes app that I read as if I hadn’t read it a hundred times last night already.
Hey, this is super random, but my name is Lucy.
I’m not sure if you remember me. We met once years and years ago briefly, but we have the same dad.
I know you might not want anything to do with me and that’s totally fine, but I wanted to apologize for not reaching out sooner.
I’m in the LA area if you ever want to get together for a coffee or something.
No pressure to say yes or ever respond to this, but if you’re interested, I’d love to get to know you or just talk. My # is below.
With the help of Jonah, who is chronically online, we were able to secretly find my dad and Natalie’s son.
I’m not ready to call him my brother or even my half brother, but I’m ready to at least extend an invitation.
An invitation to talk. His name is Jordan and he’s eighteen.
A little older than I was when I found out about our parents.
I remember desperately needing someone to talk to at his age, just wishing someone understood what I was going through, and I want him to have that option.
Maybe he’ll want nothing to do with me. And that’s more than fine.
To be honest, I don’t want to be one big happy family, and I don’t think I’ll ever want to have a relationship with his mom, but the same way all of this had nothing to do with me, it has nothing to do with him either.
So not being strangers is at least a start.
I copy the message and then find his social profile. Once I send the message request, I immediately shove my phone into my gym bag. I’m nervous, on edge, but I feel like a cracked surface that’s slowly being spackled.
Throwing my bag over my shoulder I head toward the boxing studio.
For the next hour I push myself, harder than I have in a while.
I don’t think of anything and let my mind become a complete blank.
I lose myself with each jab, cross, and uppercut.
When class is over, I’ve forgotten I sent Jordan a message until I see that I have a text from an unknown number on my phone.
Hi Lucy, it’s Jordan. Thanks for reaching out. It means a lot. I’m at UCLA getting ready for exams. Maybe in a few weeks? I’ll message you when I’m done.
And another text right after.
Thanks again.
My already fast heart rate begins to pick up, and this time, my message comes out a lot more effortlessly.
Sounds great. Good luck on exams, talk soon.
I’m at the office writing a piece called “Are You Being Love-Bombed? Here Are the Signs” when an email notification appears at the bottom right corner of my screen. It’s not the email that causes me to stop, it’s the name: Nadia Lewis.
Subject: Quick Chat
Hi Lucy,
Do you have a few minutes to chat today? Feel free to come by my office at any time.
Instinctively, I peek over my cubicle to Jonah’s vacant desk. If he were here, he would tell me to not overthink the message, get up off my ass, and go see Nadia.
So I do.
I head toward the elevators and hit the fourth floor. The ride is long, tense. Going down there feels almost like trespassing. Like this is someone else’s turf that I should respectfully stay clear of. I assume the feeling is mutual.
When I step out of the elevator, I make a sharp left as opposed to the right that I always used to take.
I don’t even bother looking in that direction.
I’m careful not to make eye contact with anyone as I walk past the news team.
It’s a similar blueprint to my floor but everything feels just a little bit different, like I’m in an alternate universe.
The smell is slightly off, the cubicles are the same but decorated differently, and there are unfamiliar faces all down the hallway.
Approaching the corner office, I see Nadia sitting at her desk, door closed, and she’s wearing a maroon blazer with matching pants. I lightly knock and she looks up and gestures for me to come inside.
“Lucy!” She smiles and then sits back in her chair. “Please, take a seat.”
“Hi.” I sit across from her. There’s a lavender smell coming from her diffuser in the corner. I imagine one would need a lot of calming scents working in a fast-paced environment like The Journal. “How are you?”
“Busy as always,” she says. “Thanks for taking the time to meet. I promise this will be quick.”
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” I say. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, it’s great.” Nadia nods. “So, we have a new role opening on the news team. It’s for a reporter. I’m going to be transparent, it’s more on the junior side—not as many bylines, but considering you don’t have a background in news, I think it’s the perfect transition.”
My mouth opens. That is not what I was expecting.
“Oh,” I exhale. “I-I don’t know what to say…”
“The job posting is live, but I wanted to put it on your radar and let you know that I would love to have you apply if you’re looking to transition,” she explains.
“I’ve been following your column, Lucy, and I meant when I said you’re good.
I know you were quoted for that story on sex work; I read the transcript, and you brought an insightful perspective.
You’d be a great addition to the news team. ”
“Nadia, wow,” I say. “That really means a lot. Thank you so much.”
“Of course.” She starts reading something on her screen. I’m not offended in the slightest; Nadia is a busy woman. “Take a look at it and let me know if you have any questions.”
I stand up and head for the door because I can only imagine how many things Nadia needs to get done. “I will. And, um, out of curiosity. Who would this role be reporting to?”
“Sandra Choi,” Nadia says. “She’s one of our senior writers.”
A breath of relief escapes me. “Got it. Thank you, Nadia.”
While writing for The Journal would be huge, I can’t pretend that it’s what I want. What I want is what I’ve worked toward since the day I got hired: my promotion. I can’t pretend that Nadia reaching out doesn’t mean anything, though. Perhaps this is some kind of sign…some kind of leverage.
Instead of heading to my desk, I hasten through the office. I feel heat in my core as I try to track down Eman. Finally, I spot her in one of the conference rooms with a few other senior staff members. Once her meeting ends I wave her down.
“Eman!” I approach her as she’s walking out. “Are you free right now?”
“Hey, Lucy!” she says. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to quickly chat if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” she says and gestures to the room she just came out of. “Let’s go in here.”
We take a seat and I take a deep breath.
“I’d really like to talk about my promotion.
” Eman’s poker face is stronger than anyone’s I’ve ever seen because she doesn’t look fazed in the slightest that I’m bringing this up.
So I continue talking. “I’ve proved that I’m capable of writing for a different audience and that my column is successful.
I think I deserve a senior writer title.
I know you submitted my name and we’re already at the end of the quarter.
I wanted to see if there was an update.”
“Lucy, I agree with you one hundred percent,” Eman says, and I have a bad feeling of what’s coming next. “But…given the recent layoffs, there just won’t be any promotions happening this year.”
My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach. I’m aware this is how things in a corporate workplace go, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. I wonder how long Eman knew this. When she would’ve told me. If I never asked, would she have ever brought it up?
I ask my next question already knowing the answer. “Are there any guarantees for the new year?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say that, Lucy,” Eman tells me, remaining unbiased, as if she were being recorded by HR. “But trust me, when the time comes, things are looking good.”
“They’ve been looking good for the past two years,” I say, defeated.
“I know,” she says regretfully. “I’m so sorry.”
I sigh, feeling helpless. “I put everything into those relationship stories I did over the summer. You have no idea.”
“And those stories did not go unnoticed,” Eman says. “Leadership knows about them and is aware of your work. They know you by name, that’s huge.”
Respectfully, I don’t give a shit if they know me by name.
“Eman, I’ve been here for four years and have worked my ass off. I love writing my column…but I can’t keep doing this if there’s no payoff in the long run.”
“I completely understand, Lucy. I’ve been trying to get people on the team promoted longer than you and it’s just not that easy.”
All I hear from that sentiment is that there are more people in line ahead of me. If there are people Eman is pushing for since before she promised me my promotion, I sure as hell won’t see that new title in the coming year.
“I hear you,” I say. “Thanks for vouching for me.”
“Of course.” Eman smiles. “You know I have your back, right?”
“Yeah.”
Eman takes her laptop under her arm and then leaves the room, and I’m left sitting by myself. I feel defeated, and hurt, and used. I’ve given everything to my job and unfortunately the reality is that it sometimes doesn’t give you anything back.
I pull up the job posting for The Journal and scan in detail the requirements. My eyes scroll past the description to the bottom and that’s when my heart sinks deeper than I thought was possible. The salary is almost half of what I currently make at The Rue.
My eyes start welling and I feel so lost. I want to talk to someone who might be able to understand, who can help me, guide me…console me. And that person is just a couple floors below and someone I can’t go to. But I want to so badly.
I wipe my eyes and walk back to my desk. It’s then I see two missed calls from Jonah. Reluctantly, I call him back.
“Lucy…” he answers.
“I swear this is the worst morning,” I sniff. “I wish you were here—”
“Lucy,” he cuts me off. “Did you click the link I sent?”
I frown. I’m not in the mood to entertain some viral video. “No.”
“Check your email,” he says cryptically.
“You’re scaring me…”
“Just look.”
I open my inbox, and among other unread emails I see one from Jonah sent three minutes ago with no subject. I open the email and see a link to a story from The Journal. I click it and am brought to the opinion page. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Just read it,” he replies.
I shift my focus back to the screen and gasp when I see the byline.
“Keep reading,” Jonah says.
Why There’s No Room for Pride in Your Relationship—From Someone Who Lost Everything
By Marshall Oakley
October 8
A little over a year ago, my girlfriend of ten years and I broke up. The technicality of who really ended it is still up for debate. I was a shitty partner. She cheated on me. I broke up with her. In that order.
I can count the number of people who know that information on one hand and I’m certain after this article is released, I’ll have to change my number.
A few weeks ago, I went to my ex’s wedding to the man she cheated on me with. I was nervous leading up to the big day; not because I still had feelings for my ex, but because I was nervous about how people were going to see me.
Most people see me as someone who has their shit together, so to say.
The fact of the matter is that I don’t. Not at all.
But it was so important for people to think I was just as happy as my ex.
It’s important for people to think I’m a bigger person than I am.
As if that wasn’t pathetic enough, I was so embarrassed to show up alone that I brought a fake date.
“Fake date” is putting it lightly; this was someone I told everyone was my girlfriend.
The new person in my life. The embarrassing part is that while all of it was supposed to be an act, it felt real to me.
It felt real to me from the first day. We hung out with each other for a month leading up to this wedding and while I told myself everything wasn’t real, I gave it my all.
I allowed myself to care for this woman knowing very well it was going to end.
What I wasn’t expecting was to fall in love with that person.
I wasn’t expecting to fall so head over heels in love with that person it made me forget that my ex even cheated on me.
In fact, it made me grateful she cheated on me.
In her defense, she cheated on me because I wasn’t a good partner.
I’ll admit that. Perhaps my karma isn’t the relationship ending, maybe that’s her good karma.
My karma is that the person that I’m so deeply in love with fell in love with me too.
She fell in love with me and left me.
I think it would have been easier if she didn’t reciprocate those feelings and left.
She called me out and said a lot of things that were true. Things that I guess I never learned from my past relationship. Isn’t that the point? You Love and you Learn?
It’s too late for me to patch things up with her, but at least now I can be honest. Because I learned that there’s no room for pride in a relationship.
A real relationship means showing the ugly parts of you to someone else and having them love you no matter what.
Because if you can’t be yourself in front of the person you love, how can you be yourself in front of anyone else?
I write this not as a therapeutic effort; trust me, it doesn’t feel great. I write this because I’m stripping the worst parts of myself off to reveal a person I like a lot more. The one person who mattered to me is gone, so I’ll at least try to put myself first for once.
Upgrade to The Journal Unlimited to continue reading or try everything featured on The Journal for 50% off: START FREE TRIAL NOW