Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Gianna
“How was your weekend?” Francine leans against my office door with a smug grin on her face.
“If you’re asking how my date was with my new boyfriend, it was great,” I say, laughing. “Every time I call him my boyfriend, I feel like I’m in middle school again. But it’s so fun.”
“Between you and me, if I were younger and single and Drake Bennett wanted me to call him my boyfriend, I wouldn’t blink twice.” She laughs, too, and enters my office. “I take it things went well?”
“He took me to the cutest place to eat called Hess.”
“I’ve heard of it,” she says, nodding along. “A friend of ours went there for their anniversary last weekend and raved about it. I heard more about their brussels sprouts than I’ve ever heard about brussels sprouts in my life.”
“Whatever they said, multiply it by a thousand. It was seriously the best food, the best ambiance, the best everything.”
“The best company?” She smiles knowingly.
“I have to say, I didn’t see this coming between the two of you, but it’s great.
It makes sense. And God knows it’s good for our show.
I asked Tommy to get our reports from last week early, if possible.
I have a meeting with the executives this afternoon, and I want solid data on hand.
This dating bet has just propelled you into outer space, and I want to make damn sure they know it. ”
It makes sense? What the heck is she talking about?
My mind wanders, wondering if other people think Drake and I make sense.
The idea of the office chattering about us amuses me more than it should.
Are they whispering at the water cooler about how they saw this coming?
Because there’s no way. I don’t believe that for a second.
We aren’t two people you pull out of a lineup and think, Oh, those two go together like bread and butter.
Right?
I shake the thought out of my head and focus on work. “When do you think they’ll have a decision about who they’re moving to the Thursday slot?”
She shrugs. “I was hoping we’d know something by now. I’ll poke around about it today and see if anything shakes out.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do. Now, Juni will get in touch with you shortly. She was thrilled when I asked her to be the moderator for you and Drake. You should’ve seen the look on that girl’s face.
” She laughs. “I didn’t know whether you wanted to do it in here or in the studio, since it was more of an informal thing.
But if you need me in the booth, just text.
I’ll be around until one thirty, then I head into meetings for the rest of the day. ”
“Great. We’ll probably record it in here as long as Drake doesn’t object—and I can’t see why he would.”
“Sounds wonderful.” She heads to the door. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Thanks, Francine.”
I exhale, sitting back in my chair and letting my mind replay our conversation.
I never dreamed that I’d be in contention for the prime slot until Francine mentioned it, but now that the excitement has simmered down, I don’t want to get my hopes up.
The odds still aren’t in my favor, and even if they were, I don’t want to be disappointed …
although I’m already imagining the office conversion I have planned for one of the bedrooms in Goal House.
“I have to say, I didn’t see this coming between the two of you, but it’s great. It makes sense.”
This line bounces around my brain like a Ping-Pong ball.
I must admit that I had more fun with him on Saturday than I’ve had in a long time.
And it really felt like a date, which was nice.
There was intention and forethought, and it really felt like he curated the night for me. Who knew those things could be so sexy?
“You gotta stop thinking about him,” I groan, grabbing my phone. I haven’t spoken with Audrey since Saturday, when I updated her and Astrid about my date.
Me: Auddddiiiieeeeeeee.
Audrey: Hiiiiiiiiiii.
I smile. That’s a good sign.
Me: Whatcha doing?
Audrey: I just got out of a yoga class. I thought it would help me get out of this funk.
Me: Did it work?
Audrey: Meh. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Me: I’m making sourdough tonight. It should be entertaining at the least if you want to come over and watch me try to be domestic. I’ll even buy you dinner.
Audrey: Thank you. That’s very sweet. My mom asked me to meet her for sushi tonight. They’re leaving for Vegas on Thursday.
Me: Is Andrew fighting?
Audrey: No. They’re just going for the fun of it.
Me: Well, if you change your mind, come hang out with me.
Or come over after dinner, and we can have some fresh-baked bread for dessert.
Bring your jammies, and we can have a midweek slumber party like irresponsible adults.
I know you’ve never tried that before, but maybe that’ll bring you out of your funk.
Audrey: We’ll see.
Me: Don’t “we’ll see” me. It sounds like my mother, and it makes me want to sneak out and go on the hunt for a delinquent.
Audrey:
Me: Call me if you need me. Love you, Auddie.
Audrey: Love you, Gianna.
She didn’t cartwheel emoji me once. That’s concerning.
I read through our conversation, analyzing each of Audrey’s responses. She’s going out and doing things to try to feel better. That’s progress. And she knows it’s just a funk. That’s good, too. Hopefully, Mrs. Van will be able to lift her spirits at dinner.
If not, I’ll just bring her to my house and force her to paint. It always helps me.
I start to close my phone and move on with my day when my gaze lands on my second-to-last response.
Don’t “we’ll see” me. It sounds like my mother, and it makes me want to sneak out and go on the hunt for a delinquent.
I haven’t thought of this in years. So many nights I’d sneak through my bedroom window and dart into the night, telling myself that I needed freedom.
In retrospect, I probably needed the opposite.
I probably needed attention. But doing something over the top was the only way to get more than a half-assed conversation at dinner, and I’d stopped trying to impress my parents years before.
They made it clear that I would never live up to their expectations, and I chose to believe that.
Eventually, pissing off my parents became a badge of courage—a war patch.
Dating men on motorcycles covered in tattoos, much too old to be with a sixteen-year-old girl, was where my power was harnessed.
The more my parents tried to strip me bare of who I was as a person—no art, no rap music, no colored streaks in my hair—the more I pushed back with all my might.
I craved some form of control over my existence.
I wanted someone to love me for who I was and not what they wanted me to be, even if it was a liar named Dale waiting for me on a bike at the end of the darkened street.
This isn’t an epiphany. I’ve known this since my parents sent me to a therapist in high school to try to root out my behavioral issues. But seeing the words typed out by my own fingers hits different.
I scroll to my sister’s name on my phone.
Me: Was I a bratty kid?
Lucia: Obviously.
Me: I’m serious.
Lucia: Anchor me into this conversation. What are we doing? Where are we coming from?
I get to my feet and pace around my office. My brain is spinning too quickly to sit still any longer.
Me: I don’t have a five-year plan.
Lucia: Are we supposed to have one? Who is checking?
Me: Audrey just told me “we’ll see” and I could hear it in Mom’s voice. And I just had a moment when my past and my present kind of collided.
Lucia: What does that have to do with a five-year plan?
“I don’t know,” I say, groaning. But they feel linked.
Me: Forget it.
Lucia: No, you weren’t a brat. Mom and Dad were hard.
I remember all six hugs they gave me, and I’m not sure Dad ever told me he loved me.
But no one is without issues, Gianna. I’m sure we both have shit that a few good night kisses could’ve fixed, but we are who we are.
And I’m proud of us both. We’re doing the best we can.
I hold my phone to my chest and stare out the window. We’re doing the best we can.
Are we? Lucia has curated an intentional life that she loves. She’s doing the best she can—the best anyone can. But am I?
Me: I’m proud of you, too.
Lucia:
Am I doing the best I can?
I noticed Drake’s pause when I told him about my house and fulfilled life. He didn’t look convinced, but being the gentleman that he is, he didn’t call me out on it. But the momentary pause was noted.
As I stare out the window, I note the sun is out, but the rays don’t quite touch the ground.
The park is empty. Everything below is still.
It’s like it’s all waiting for something.
More sun? Rain? Snow? A thunderstorm? The world is clinging to the bleakness until something comes to bring it back to life.
Hmm …
My life has been shaken up recently, and it’s felt a little sunnier.
A smile touches my lips as his name comes to mind.
He’s felt like warm sunshine and powerful thunderstorms all in one.
Never did I imagine that I’d be going on dates with a guy like him and talking.
Staying up late at night texting about everything and nothing.
Plotting outfits to drive him out of his mind because he thinks it’s cute to frustrate me sexually.
I open the coat closet and check out my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of one of the doors.
A black skirt with a texture that makes you want to touch it in a length almost too short for the office.
A white tank that hugs every inch of my torso and the wicked curve fading into my hip.
My hair looks intentionally messy—like I just rolled out of bed like this.
A pair of heels makes my legs look impossibly long. But the pièce de résistance?
A red lip that will undoubtedly draw Drake’s attention right where I want it. To my mouth.