Chapter 22 Tell Me a Story
Chapter 22
Tell Me a Story
S taring at countless search results showing me exactly what I didn’t want to be true about the future of my career hadn’t exactly been my favorite hobby when I wasn’t—was it fair to call it heartbroken? Tracking what I felt and if it made sense that I did or did not feel it was exhausting. Everything these days was exhausting—and I still had a huge, potentially career-making or -wrecking presentation and a family party with similar stakes to get through. Was that just what adult life was like? Always having at least a figurative presentation and family party to get through?
The appointment with Phoebe had seemed so far away when I’d gotten that Outlook meeting request, but now it seemed to be racing toward me, full throttle, while I metaphorically flailed. My flailing, I know, looked very calm to a third party, just quiet googling while my heart sunk further with each new article read, but inside I looked like one of those flappy guys outside of a used-car dealership.
Finally, absolutely out of all other ideas, I picked up my phone and texted. You’re probably too busy for this, but I have a work presentation later this week and could use some professional advice.
I had no idea if it was the right thing to do, if I should have worked up some preamble first, but I barely got the chance to get the thoughts out when my phone buzzed. Fiona had never texted back so quickly on a weekday; it was as if she’d been typing before I’d even sent the request. Yes of course! How’s tonight?
I was more than surprised in about a thousand ways, from the speed of the offer to the possibility that she could make time that quickly and of course that we hadn’t actually made plans or seen each other outside of Ellie’s party in practically months—nor had we even tried. Still, I agreed immediately, and Fiona promised she’d head out from her office as early as possible. After work I swung by Whole Foods, despite the hellscape of their parking lot, and took my time selecting fancy cheeses and a wine I picked out by googling best cheap wine at whole foods , knowing that Fiona’s as early as possible had a vastly different definition than my own. But I was still assembling everything and giving Small Jesse Pinkman samples of cheese when my doorbell rang.
“Your consultant has arrived,” Fiona said, brandishing a greasy paper bag from Tommy’s and a drink carrier I was certain held two fountain Diet Cokes. Her bob was freshly sharp since I’d last seen her, edges that could cut a man, and she was in a beautifully tailored blue button-down with black pants I was fairly certain cost about as much as my entire wardrobe did. Perfect classic Fiona.
“You’re earlier and … fast food-ier than I expected,” I said.
“Number one business tip,” she said, walking past me and unloading her things onto my coffee table, right next to the cheese tray and wine bottle. “Surprise them with the unexpected.”
“Hang on, should I start taking notes?”
She laughed and grabbed a loose French fry from the bag. “I’m joking. Remember when I lived across the street from a Tommy’s and we’d start out our pre-gaming with chili cheeseburgers?”
“That feels so long ago,” I said. “As well as poorly advised.”
Fiona stepped out of her pointy-toed five-inch heels and sat down at the coffee table. Small Jesse Pinkman approached her hopefully. “I forgot you have this cat now.”
“His name is Small Jesse Pinkman, and he’s like at least half of my Instagram grid now, so I don’t know how you could forget.” I didn’t want to feel prickly about my kitten, but it was weird that this tiny being I loved more than I could have ever expected seemed proof to some of my singlehood, my loneliness, my propensity to end up dying alone.
“I apologize to you and to Small Jesse Pinkman,” Fiona said. “May his tiny meth empire reign. Sit down, these things are only good while they’re hot.”
“We’re adults now, you know,” I said. “We could sit in chairs. Even at my kitchen table.”
Fiona waved her hand. “Much cozier this way.”
I eyed her shirt, the luxe material conveying all the expected wealth-and-power signals someone in her position, I supposed, should be conveying. “What if you get chili on that?”
“The dry cleaner’s gotten out worse, trust me,” she said. “Alex got himself an Instant Pot and some book about soups.”
I laughed at her tone. “Do you mean a cookbook?”
“Come on, sit. Why are you hovering like an untrained waitress?”
At that I felt whatever was tight in my chest loosen, at least a little, and I sat down across from her. What sounded like dozens of my bones and joints seemed to pop at once, and I couldn’t shrug it off when Fiona’s eyebrows lifted up high.
“You sound like someone just poured milk on a bowl of Rice Krispies,” she said, which was true and cruel and so funny I burst into laughter at my own expense. “What happened to your whole yoga thing? That used to be about a third of your personality. Work, cat toys, yoga.”
“Ha, ha,” I said, fighting an actual smile. “I don’t know. When Will moved out, I kind of fell apart—”
Fiona’s expression migrated into that oh poor you look, that Laura Linney look again. “Clementine. I’m so sorry you had to see him at—”
“No, don’t,” I said. “I fell apart schedule-wise . I stayed up too late and I hit snooze too many times, and I took seventeen photos of Small Jesse Pinkman instead of getting into the shower when I was supposed to. The cat toys were easy to keep making; people kept ordering them and I don’t flake on customers. Yoga? It’s so easy to ignore. Feel sad all you want for my core, which undoubtedly has suffered, but—well, no, at the moment, I wouldn’t say I’m fine , but—no, I’m fine. As far as the face you’re making goes, I’m fine.”
Fiona held up her hands. “Sorry, I won’t say another word.”
“No, don’t, I’m not saying to shut up. I’m saying that you don’t understand and no matter what I said, you and Hailey kept treating me like breaking up with Will, a thing I did very intentionally, was the worst tragedy that could befall a person.”
Fiona watched me silently and then plowed into her chili cheeseburger, so I decided to do the same.
“You’re right,” she said, finally, when we were on the other side of the burgers. “But it’s been months and we don’t actually understand what happened, you know. You seemed so happy, and then, wham, it’s over, and we’re suddenly expected to take your side against Will.”
“There’s no sides ,” I said, and glanced over at the cheeseboard. “Will you be horrified if I have cheese as dessert?”
“Cheese as dessert is an underrated choice,” Fiona said. “No judgment here.”
“Ha,” I said, and then focused intently on slicing a chunk of brie to sandwich between two apple slices. “You’re full of judgment. That’s one of your main things.”
Fiona laughed. “Sure. Not about this, though. In fact, I’m joining you in your cheese dessert.”
I watched her survey her options as I weighed exactly how to word it. “I honestly didn’t know how to talk about my feelings about Will to you and Hailey because not wanting marriage and kids and all of that, these sort of expected so-called adult life goalposts, I never wanted to seem like I disapproved of your lives and your goals. It just wasn’t for me. And for a long time I thought Will and I were on the same path—and I loved that path, I loved being on it with him. But when he started bringing up kids and weddings and, you know, maybe moving to someplace with better school districts, gearing up to talk to my dad for permission, I knew that we had to let go of each other so we could get what we wanted with people who wanted it.”
“That makes sense,” Fiona said, and I waited for the but . “I’m glad you told me.”
I smiled and ate another slice of cheese. “I’m glad I told you too.”
“So,” Fiona said, drawing the word out. “What is it that you want anyway?”
“You know, just a little more freedom than that. Living where I want, like exactly right here. Having a cat be the biggest of my responsibilities as far as keeping someone else alive. And, you know, who knows how this presentation at work will go, but even if I’m not expanding my team at work I think my role’s stable enough for now that maybe I can travel a little, have some adventures. Have hobbies that aren’t my Etsy thing or—well, work. Someone to do all of that with. I think that’s everything I thought of before, you know, bye, Will, and now I’d better lock down someone else fast or I’ll die alone .”
“Ha!” Fiona literally covered her mouth. “Sorry. I hate it when I sound so clearly triumphant. I just knew that your whole deal with the dog groomer was a rebound thing.”
“Her name is Chloe, and she wasn’t a rebound,” I said. “To be honest, she wasn’t anything. We weren’t anything. You and Hay seemed so fucking sad for me, no matter how many times I tried to explain. And Chloe needed a date to her friends’ wedding, so—”
“Wait a minute.” Fiona set down her cheese. “Are you telling me, Clementine Hayes, that you hatched a motherfucking fake dating plot?”
“Now you wait a minute, Fiona Stockton. You know about fake dating?”
“I read at least two romance novels a week,” Fiona said. “Obviously I know about fake dating.”
“You’re running the entire finance team at Pantheon and you have time for two romance novels a week?”
“I read on the elliptical,” she said. “Sometimes audiobooks in the car. Holy shit. I don’t know whether to be highly offended at all of the lying you’ve been doing, or extremely impressed.”
“Don’t be impressed,” I said, leaning back from the coffee table. “I did the most clichéd thing I could have done.”
Fiona nodded knowingly. “You caught feelings.”
“Yep. I fell for a person who went out of her way to tell me repeatedly she didn’t want a relationship with anyone.”
We laughed, together, even harder. Somehow it felt like the hardest we’d laughed in a very long time. It barely made sense to me that I’d told her basically everything and yet I hadn’t felt this safe with her in longer than I could remember.
“Bold question,” Fiona began, and I steeled myself for—well, with Fiona, it could be anything. “Did you try telling her how you felt?”
“Well, sure, I tried ,” I said. “I told her I thought what we had was good. It’s not easy saying, Oh, hey, I know this was supposed to be fake when it started but I find you very funny and kind of a swoony hero and it probably shouldn’t have taken sleeping together for me to realize how I felt but— ”
“I mean, Clem, you could have literally just said that ,” Fiona said. “You could have also literally just told Hay and me about wanting something different than Will did. Just because Hailey and I are old married women and, yes, Hay did literally move back to the outer suburbs for the school districts, none of that means we wouldn’t have understood that you wanted something different. All three of us want something different. There are a lot of ways to do this whole life thing.”
I shrugged. “You two have all your chats without me these days, like just because I’m not planning on my own babies that you can’t discuss any of that in front of me. Just because I don’t want that for myself doesn’t mean I’m not interested. You’re my best friends, and I love that two of the coolest and smartest women I know are going to raise very cool and smart kids. But the way Chloe’s friends are with each other—I don’t know. I shouldn’t be thinking about Chloe or her friends. But they’re all doing different things with their lives and yet it’s like they’re all in it together.”
Fiona arched one of her eyebrows, a power move I was certain she launched in powerful meetings in front of powerful executives. “Clem, I wish I had videos of your face any time Hailey or I discuss anything to do with children. Even on a generous day, I’d hardly call you interested .”
“I’m just …” I stared down at my lap. Why did it feel so gross and messy saying feelings aloud? “I’m worried. We used to see each other multiple times a week, and then once a week, and now it feels like if we manage every other month it’s a miracle. We don’t even text every day anymore. And that was before all of this, so don’t blame it on how I kind of disappeared into my fake relationship. Once you both have kids, maybe we’ll never see each other again. Definitely not me, the one who has nothing to contribute about babysitters or whatever toys are in style or pediatricians or whatever else.”
“First, I will always have a lot more going on than babysitters and toys and pediatricians—and so does Hailey.” Fiona shot me a look. “Also, wow, Clementine admits aloud to a fear? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, even though it struck a resonant chord somewhere way down in my gut. “I mean, you’re a badass bigwig. You know being vulnerable is the worst.”
“Sure, sometimes. This isn’t business, though. This is one of my longest-running friendships, and I didn’t think the same rules applied.
“Let me ask you something,” she continued. “Did you ever tell Will about this path you thought you were on together? When he started bringing up all the babies he wanted and school districts he had his eye on, did you say, Hey, Will, this isn’t in my cards and maybe we should discuss what we’re both looking for since we’re hardly getting any younger ?”
“Excuse me, I am only eleven months older than you,” I said.
“Yeah, and your skin’s still dewier and I resent you deeply for it,” she said. “Seriously, though. I love you very much but you’re shit at letting people in. Hay and I are your people , and yet look at everything you’d never bothered to tell us.”
“I thought you were coming over to give me business advice,” I said, trying to wipe my eyes in a way where it wasn’t at all obvious I’d teared up a little.
“This is business advice!” She let out her brusque laugh. “I’m joking. Only a little. Let’s get to it. And uncork that bottle of wine, dammit, I’m not sure camembert is supposed to be paired with Diet Coke .”
I grabbed the corkscrew while thinking of Chloe and her friends, the somehow incredible conversations that had centered around Diet Coke and other beverages. Of course I’d always known they were temporary, a fake girlfriend and a fake new friend group, but I missed them and their presence almost as much as I missed Chloe. I wondered if it would be OK to reply to that very sweet group chat, acceptable to iron out some new dynamics even if Chloe never talked to me again.
“You know,” I said, carefully uncorking the wine as if it wasn’t the first search result in that cheapest wines list, “one thing I loved about fake-dating Chloe or whatever was the way her friends really prioritize each other in a way that—I don’t know. I know the three of us are busy and it’s not always easy for Hailey to drive down, but maybe we could try harder. I talked to Chloe’s friend Bianca about it—her daughter is around the same age as Hailey’s, and she said it’s easier for her because she has the money for a lot of childcare. I get that Hailey doesn’t, so maybe we could make it easier for her.”
“Clem, are you suggesting we actually make a habit of driving up to the land of box stores and chain restaurants?” Fiona asked, holding out an empty wineglass to me. “Pour heavier if we’re discussing future dinners at a Red Lobster.”
“First, do not besmirch the good name of Cheddar Bay Biscuits, and, second, yeah, I am suggesting we make it easier on her, if that’s how we get to see more of each other,” I said. “And in return I will try to occasionally tell you one of my feelings.”
“Great opening offer,” Fiona said, nodding. “I look forward to negotiating the terms of the deal with you. OK, let’s get into your work thing while we’re still completely sober.”
I explained my initial idea, my light pitch to Phoebe, and barreled past the little voice in my head telling me not to be so revealing about business to Fiona, a person who knew so much more than me, and told her the rest, too. The client saying he’d automate it all if it were up to him. Aubrey’s doom-and-gloom prophecies. The campaign I wasn’t even working on. Every article I’d found suggesting the exact same thing. I hated how na?ve Fiona must have thought I was, how weak and small this attempt of mine must have seemed to her.
“Well, obviously, that’s all terrible,” Fiona said, refilling her wineglass. “But on some level, I’m sure, none of this is exactly news to you, right? So tell me, despite all of this, why you’re making this presentation.”
I gulped down a mouthful of wine, then another. Opening up about my business instincts to Fiona was exactly the kind of scary exercise that had made me hold off asking for help for this long to begin with. She was a shark and I was like a well-meaning fish who helped Finding Nemo along his way. “I could look at last quarter’s numbers against the numbers from the same time last year—”
“No, don’t worry about last year’s numbers right now. You’re very smart and obviously you pitched this idea because you believed in it, so if it’s bad on paper why did you say it in the first place? Everyone thinks business decisions are only made on data, but there’s this other element no one wants to talk about, the draw most of us have for hope and new ideas and the story of how we’re getting there. So tell me a story.”
So I did. I tried to forget that she was my most intimidating friend, and that my research had only led to warning signs, and that talking about my deep feelings—even about entertainment marketing—was hardly my strong suit. I just spoke. And even though Fiona had some feedback for me, I could tell she connected with my words and saw almost precisely where I was coming from. To see that recognition from your toughest critic of a friend felt more validating than I realized possible, and I tried to hold on tight to that feeling.