Chapter 65 Georgina
GEORGINA
“Georgie,” Dad whispers, rubbing my arm. The edge of my bed lowers with the weight of his body. “There’s a delivery guy at the front door. He says he’s got a stationary bike for you. Does he have the right address?”
“Oh. Um.” I rub my eyes and glance out the window. It’s dusk. Nearly dark. When did that happen? When I crawled into bed it was just past noon. “Yeah, uh, the bike is mine. It was a gift.”
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up—a sure sign he knows that bike wasn’t cheap.
“It’s from my boss,” I add quickly. “CeeCee Rafael gives every new intern a stationary bike. She says it helps with productivity.” I hate lying to my father, but I don’t have a choice. There’s no way I’m going to tell him the bike was a gift from the CEO of River Records.
Dad turns on the lamp beside my bed. “That’s quite an employment perk, especially for a summer intern.”
“CeeCee is generous.”
Dad looks at me for a long beat, his eyes letting me know he thinks I’m full of crap. But, whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he stands and says, “I’ll accept the delivery, then. I thought for sure there had to be some sort of a mix-up.”
“Nope. It’s mine.”
When Dad leaves the room, I grab my phone to check the time. But my phone is still turned off. I turned it off two days ago while sitting in the back of that Uber—right after I’d started receiving frantic voicemails and texts from Reed—and I haven’t turned it on since.
When my phone springs to life, a backlog of text- and voicemail-notifications comes up—a bunch of them, not surprisingly, from Reed. My stomach churning, I slide into my texts, and, consciously ignoring Reed’s messages, head to one from Alessandra.
Landed safely in Boston. I hope you’re feeling better. I love you.
I tap out a reply.
I just woke up. I got back into bed after driving you to the airport this morning. Don’t worry. I’ve decided to stop wallowing now. I love you, too. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Next up, I’ve got a text from Zasu, my co-writer on the special issue.
I’ve secured a 2:00 meeting with CeeCee on Wednesday, so we can go over all the interviews we’ve got lined up. It was hard to get onto CeeCee’s calendar that day, since it’ll be her first day back from vacay, so the meeting will be short. Make sure you’re super prepared with your pitches!
I write back to Zasu to say I’ll see her on Wednesday, and I’ll be ready to slay.
Next up? A text from CeeCee’s assistant, Margot.
There are three boxes here for you from the courthouse. I put them into Conference Room D.
I reply to Margot, thanking her for the information and telling her I’ll come to the office tomorrow, Tuesday, to go through the boxes.
Next up, there’s a text from Kat Faraday, giving me some options on dates for my trip to Seattle. One, as early as the end of this week. I reply to Kat, telling her I adored meeting her on Saturday and can’t wait to see her again. I write:
Let’s tentatively plan on Friday for my interview in Seattle. I’ll confirm after I meet with my boss on Wednesday.
And that’s everything in my inbox... except for that slew of texts and voicemails from Reed. With a heavy sigh, I steel myself for whatever bullshit I’m about to read and then swipe into his first text. It’s time-stamped mere minutes after I’d hopped into that Uber with Alessandra.
But before I’ve read more than two words, Dad pokes his head into my bedroom. “I had the guy leave the bike in the living room. I was thinking I might want to try it out, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course. Enjoy it.”
Dad enters the room and stands over me, his bullshit detector visibly flashing “RED ALERT.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s a really nice bike, Georgina Marie.”
Uh oh. It’s never a good sign when Dad uses my middle name. “Mmm hmm. My boss is really generous.”
Dad sits on the edge of my bed. “Are you sure that’s not an apology of some sort, maybe from whoever made you crawl into bed and cry for the past two days?”
Oh, jeez. Each and every time I cried these past two days, I put a pillow over my face. Damn the paper-thin walls of this condo.
Dad strokes my hair. “I could tell you were trying to muffle your crying, but I couldn’t help hearing. You want to talk about it?”
I exhale. “I’m sorry, Dad. I lied to you about the bike.
It was actually from a guy I really liked.
” No, a guy I loved, I think. But, of course, I’d never say that out loud.
I continue, “I thought this boy liked me the same way I liked him. But it turned out, he didn’t.
He rejected me at a party on Saturday night.
That’s why I came home and cried my eyes out. ”
“Aw, honey.” Dad grabs my hand. “You can’t let a boy rejecting you send you to bed crying for two days.
It’s the same thing you did when that stupid basketball player broke your heart.
You came home for a weekend and cried your eyes out the whole time.
And before that, the same thing happened during your senior year of high school, only worse.
You crawled into bed for a week that time, after whatever stupid boy broke your heart. ”
My stomach clenches at my father’s unwitting reference to Mr. Gates, and the way I imploded after he attacked me.
For a solid week after Mr. Gates shoved his tongue down my throat and his fingers into my body, I felt literally dysfunctional.
I couldn’t sleep or eat or concentrate. I couldn’t stop tears from streaming down my cheeks or my stomach from twisting into knots.
So, I went to bed and told my father I had the flu.
But when he said, “This isn’t the flu. Did something happen with a boy?
” I took the bait and nodded. And said nothing else.
Dad continues, “That time in high school, you’d just gotten the news you were accepted into UCLA! You should have been on Cloud Nine. But, instead, you were in bed, crying your eyes out for a week over some stupid boy.”
Bile rises in my throat. My stomach physically twists. “I don’t want to talk about that, Dad. Please.”
Dad’s face softens. “I’m not trying to upset you. I’m saying you can’t let boys get you down the way you always do.”
“I don’t always do that. That’s a massive exaggeration.”
“My point is only that there are plenty of fish in the sea. And if this latest dumb boy isn’t smart enough to want you, then you’re lucky to be rid of him. Ciao, stronzo, right? Time to move on.”
Despite my clenching stomach, I can’t help smiling at my father’s invocation of my mother’s favorite expression.
Literally translated, Ciao, stronzo means, Bye, asshole.
But Mom always said it in a broader sense, not just in relation to people.
It was her way of saying “good riddance” or “I’m done with you” to any person, place, or thing, even something as small as a malfunctioning can opener that might have broken her nail.
I look down at my mother’s wedding ring on my hand and hear her feisty voice, telling me to move on from Reed. Ciao, stronzo, she says. He cheated on you, love. He thought he could buy you with that grant.
But it’s no use. My head might be conjuring my mother’s voice to help me move on.
But my heart still only wants Reed, despite everything.
I could have sworn he was falling in love with me the way I was falling for him this past week.
My brain knew it was a long shot, given his renowned womanizing and public declarations of eternal bachelorhood.
But, still, my heart felt so sure he was experiencing my exact feelings.
Dad brushes his fingertips against my cheek. “What about your job?”
“What about it?”
“Nobody expected to see your pretty face in the office today? It’s Monday.”
“No. Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m not screwing up at work. I worked on Saturday night, into the early morning hours of Sunday, so Zasu told me to take Sunday and Monday off. I just now texted the office to let them know I’m coming in tomorrow to look through some documents.”
Dad looks relieved.
“Plus, nobody expects to see me at Rock ‘n’ Roll’s offices, just to show my face—not unless I’ve got a specific meeting. They know I’ll be working mostly out of the office this summer. Out in the field, or at home, or at a desk set up for me at River Records.”
“Speaking of home, where is that these days? You never texted me the name of your hotel. You know I like knowing where you are.”
“Oh, yeah. I wound up staying with my co-worker, Zasu, this past week.”
“Oh. How fun. Send me that address, would you?”
“Sure. Of course.”
Crap. I think I might be a sociopath. Over the years, I’ve lied to my father, here and there.
Simply because he’s always been crazy-strict with me and girls just wanna have fun.
But I’ve never lied to my father about important stuff.
And I’ve certainly never told this many lies to him in rapid-fire succession.
I squeeze my father’s hand. “Don’t worry about me, okay? My job is going great. I’m going to be doing a whole bunch of cool interviews of famous artists in the next few weeks. One of them, as early as this Friday in Seattle, if my boss gives me the green light on Wednesday.”
Dad’s face lights up. “Any artists I might know?”
“Remember that show I used to watch: It’s Aloha! on Disney?”
“Oh, sure. You loved that one.”
“Aloha Carmichael is a pop star now, signed to River Records, and I’ll be interviewing her.”
Dad flips out.
“Have you heard of Laila Fitzgerald?”
Dad shakes his head.
“Oh. Well, then I guess you won’t be excited to learn I’m interviewing her, too. How about the rock group 22 Goats?”
Dad shakes his head again. “They’re called ‘22 Goats’? As in, the farm animal?”
“Yep. They’re super popular, Dad. If my boss says yes, I’ll be flying to Seattle on Thursday to interview them on Friday.”
“Are there twenty-two people in the band?”
I chuckle. “No, only three. You know how random band names can be.”
“That’s true. What the hell is a ‘Led Zeppelin’?”
We talk about nonsensical band names for a bit, and, with each passing minute, my mood lifts and brightens.
“Don’t worry, Daddy. I know this job is the chance of a lifetime. I promise I’m not going to blow it. Not for anyone. Least of all, some stupid boy who doesn’t love me back.”
Dad juts his lower lip, making a classic “sad face.” “Aw, I didn’t realize you loved this boy.”
Crap. How did I let that slip? “I thought I did.”
“Aw, honey. I’m sorry.”
I shrug and say nothing. Because... what is there to say? I was a fool to give my heart to Reed Rivers, any way you slice it.
Dad says, “Well, then, this stronzo is obviously more than dumb. He’s crazy.”
“It’s for the best,” I say, trying to convince myself, even more than him. “I should be focusing on my career, not trying to make some dumb, crazy boy fall in love with me.”
“Amen. Focus all your energy on your internship and getting hired for that magazine you’ve always wanted to work for.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I bolt upright.
“In fact, I’m going to get back to work right now.
” I point to the cardboard box in the corner—the one filled with the three settled lawsuits I got from the courthouse the other day.
For some time now, I’ve been meaning to read the third lawsuit Reed settled—the one filed by Troy Eklund for breach of contract, fraud, and assault—but I haven’t had a spare moment to dig into it.
“Could you hand me that box? There’s something I’ve been dying to read, and there’s no time like the present. ”
“Nope. You’re going to eat something now and read whatever is in that box later.”
“No, I’ll eat later. I want to capitalize on this burst of energy.”
“What have you eaten today, Georgina Marie?”
My middle name, again? “Coffee this morning, when I took Alessandra to the airport. And a banana.”
“And that’s it?”
I nod, grimacing.
“That’s what I thought. Your appetite is always the first thing to go when you’re upset. Well, you’re in luck, Amorina. I’ve been slow-cooking meatballs all day.”
I fist-pump the air, and Dad chuckles. He doesn’t always know how to talk through my feelings with me, though he tries. He doesn’t always know how best to console me when I’m down. But the man sure as hell knows how to feed me.
“I’ll put together meatball sandwiches for us,” Dad says. “While you take a shower and get into some fresh jammies.”
“It’s a date.” I hug him. “Thank you, Daddy. You’re the sweetest.”
Dad kisses my cheek. “I know you wish Mommy were here to talk to you about boy stuff. And I don’t blame you. But I’m here. Any time. If you want to talk.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, shower while I make us dinner.”
“I’ll shower after dinner. I’ve got some texts and voicemails to go through, real quick.”
“All right.” Dad rises from the bed and points at the cardboard box in the corner. “As long as you don’t start reading whatever’s in there. I know how laser-focused you get when you work. Two hours pass without you even realizing it.”
“I’ll deal with my texts and voicemails and come right out.”
“Good girl.”
Dad kisses my forehead and heads out. And the minute the door closes behind him, I grab my phone, steel myself for whatever bullshit explanations and apologies Reed has left me over the past two days, and swipe into his first voicemail.