Chapter Thirty-Two The Signing Off
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Signing Off
“I am unemployed,” I said to Will as he stumbled, half-asleep, into his kitchen the next morning to find me already making coffee.
“Cool,” he said. “How do you like it?”
“Well, I’m not sure.” I paused, then threw an extra spoonful of ground coffee into the filter before I shut the lid and hit the button.
“How long has it been?”
“Since I had no current job? Six years. Since I had no current job and no upcoming job? Twelve years. Since I had no job to go back to, no school to go back to, and no plans for the future at all? Probably since I was about fourteen, just sitting around and taking quizzes in Teen People. ”
“Listening to, what…Amy Winehouse? Alicia Keys? Cooooldplaaaaay?”
“What do you have against Coldplay?”
“I might have had a fight with my ex about them. Not about them, but they have a song that she really liked that rhymed ‘lost’ with ‘lost’ about fifteen times. She played it whenever she was unhappy about anything.”
“Well, I’m sure I was listening to something very cool at that time. And look how it turned out—I’m here with you, and she’s…wherever she is.”
“She moved to Boston,” he said, “and the next thing I knew, she was in love with her longtime best friend.”
“Oh, so you got When Harry Met Sally- d.”
“Well, except for the fact that they’re both women, but yes. It was all very modern.”
“Please don’t tell me you think it’s very modern that your ex is bisexual.”
“Not at all. I knew that part. I thought it was very modern that I found out about her new relationship by watching a TikTok where she danced around in a T. rex costume.”
“What was she doing in a T. rex costume?”
“I don’t know. Holding her girlfriend in her tiny tiny arms?”
I could see the edge of his smile poking his cheek out wide. I went over and wrapped my arms around his waist, inhaling in the space between his shoulder blades. “Good morning,” I said softly.
“All right, all right, I’m going to make eggs, don’t distract me.”
“I have to tell you something,” I said, not letting go, speaking into the back of his shirt.
“What is it?”
“I really like that Coldplay song.”
He laughed again, and it went into my fingertips, which were pressed against his ribs.
“What’s on your agenda for today, now that you have no obligations?” he asked as he stirred the eggs.
“I have one left,” I said. “But it shouldn’t take long.”
—
“Well, hi!”
I hadn’t known whether Eliza would be willing to talk to me. I hadn’t heard a peep from her about what happened in the last episode; I sort of hoped Marcela was now at war with Toby. But when I asked her whether I could drop by the house, all she texted back was “Of course!” And then there was a party hat emoji. I didn’t know that we were going to have a party hat kind of discussion, but why not go with the flow?
I should have known that this was what would happen when she opened the door. That she would say, Well, hi!, because nothing deterred her, and because she probably had a hundred new deals already, her bottled cocktail and her sneaker collab and whatever else her team of agents and reps had negotiated on her behalf as she paced her home office, probably doing lunges at the same time. I was entirely in her rearview mirror.
“Hi,” I said. I held up both hands. “No microphones, no nothing.”
She grinned. “Of course, come in!” When I stepped inside, I saw that she’d made a massive change to the aesthetic of her living room by adding three bright blue throw pillows to the white sofa. She saw me staring. “Do you like the pop of blue?” she said. “I’m experimenting with it. My friend who does interior design is obsessed with throw pillows.”
“I do like it,” I said.
“Well, come sit in the nook,” she said, gesturing into the depths of her house.
“I can’t stay, actually, I have to go meet my sister for dinner. I just wanted to come by because I didn’t want to leave things the way they were the last time we talked.”
“Well, I’m glad,” she said.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry I didn’t take more responsibility for how things went toward the end,” I said. “You weren’t wrong that it was my decision to make the thing, and that I should have been more honest with everybody. I hope you don’t feel upset about the finale.”
“You know what?” she said. “The beautiful thing is that nobody cares. Everybody got to hear me set you up with all those great guys, they know I did my best for you, and now, whatever happens…” She shrugged. “It happens. I’m still on track, I have a zillion dating clients hitting me up, and I think I’m going on Seth Meyers next week.”
“Wow,” I said. “Well, that’s great. You’re happy, and I’m even happy. I know it wasn’t your choice, but I’m seeing Will, and it’s going well.”
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Yeah. It seems really good. It’s a happy thing. Obviously it’s new, but right now, very…yeah, very happy.”
She held up both hands. “If you say so.”
I crossed my arms and looked around her entryway, over to the poster of her wedding and her magazine covers. There just wasn’t any point in defending the coffee ritual in my kitchen, pastries with his sister, talking about photography. She didn’t have to like it. And so I took a big breath and went on. “I also came over here to thank you.”
“For what?”
“Well, I’m sure you know I quit,” I said. “I didn’t hesitate, I didn’t feel guilty, and when Toby told me that I was going to hurt a lot of other people and that I was being selfish, it actually didn’t work on me. And that’s new. And as soon as I started thinking about new jobs, I realized I’d never get myself walked into a situation like that again. I’d never let somebody own my work just because I liked them, or loved them. If somebody tried to steal my idea, I honestly don’t think I’d ever sit there and take it again. And I think I owe some of that to you.”
“So you liked my advice?” She brightened a little.
“To be completely honest, I don’t like your advice. I learned all that from just who you are. I might not know what goes into a bottled cocktail, but I know that if you didn’t like the idea they brought you, you would tell them no, and you wouldn’t feel bad, and you wouldn’t have regrets. You’d tell them to go to hell. You’d have one of your reps say it, maybe, but it would come from you. I got a lot from watching how you are in the world. I do admire that.”
She didn’t say anything at first. She nodded, and then she looked me up and down. She smiled. “You know, I’m still such a fan of you. I still think I could help you meet somebody,” she said.
“Eliza! I met somebody. Do you understand? I met somebody.”
“But is this really the right person, or are you just—”
I put my hand on her arm. “Please stop. We don’t have to do this anymore.”
I watched her face, and I believed briefly that I could trace so much of her story there: how she started off making little videos for fun, and then one took off, and then another one, and she had tenacity, and she got on the phone, and she picked and chose and strategized, and she studied her website and agonized over the colors, and there was a book deal, and another book deal, and all she’d ever done was what was next. And just like me, she could feel it slipping away from her, the chance to make money and do as she chose and make something she’d be proud of. She was at the mercy of algorithms that could change at any time, and she wanted so badly to have something that would be her own, and here she was.
Finally, she shook her head a little. “I want you to be happy, I really do. I care.”
I nodded. “And I really do wish you luck,” I said. “I think you’re very talented. And I’m sorry I didn’t turn out to be a very good Platinum Goddess.”
“Well,” she said, “there’s room for plenty of goddesses in the world, right?”
I nodded. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“You too.” She seemed to have nothing to say, for once. Turnabout was perhaps fair play.
I walked out of her house and down her driveway, to Will, who was waiting in the car.