Chapter 5 Now #2
“I mean, I can imagine the wedding will be beautiful, and heavily sponsored,” I try. “But I think there’s a bigger story here.”
“Lina.” Mandy folds her hands on top of her desk.
“‘Real Weddings’ is consistently one of our most-viewed pages on the site. You have a talent for writing about weddings—about love!—in a way that feels fresh week after week. In our last demographic survey, readers said they love your column because they find it accessible. The events that big national publications like Ever After feature are aspirational—way out of reach for ninety-nine percent of people. But the weddings you capture? They’re real!
Women up and down the coast devour it for tips from brides who came before them.
You help them find their footing.” Mandy’s voice drops an octave to emphasize this next point.
“Not to mention all the money we make from it through ads and affiliate links. This wedding is our angle.”
“I’ve got my column planned through the summer,” I say uselessly. When Mandy brings up revenue it means the discussion is over—she’s made her decision. She stands and starts pacing across the room, excitement playing across her usually stoic face.
“We’ll do a photo-heavy spread on the home page with a jump link to the full column.
We’ve been courting Kleinfeld for a digital cover sponsorship for months and this may just seal the deal.
Find the couple’s contact info and email them today, will you?
It’s best you get involved as soon as possible so you can capture some lead-up details.
Maybe you can even tag along on an appointment or two, get some behind-the-scenes quotes.
Readers love to feel like they’re really part of the planning process.
“And Lina?” She stops pacing and faces me.
“I know we’re overdue for a conversation about what’s next for you here,” she says gently, mistaking the dread that’s surely written all over my face for nothing more than career frustration.
“I assure you, I value you more than you know, and I see that you want to move on from weddings. Let’s finish the summer strong, and then we’ll talk about giving you more verticals to oversee. You have my word.”
I make eye contact with David on my way out of Mandy’s office and gesture toward the break room.
He follows me there and gets to work making us flat whites with the fancy Breville espresso machine—a gift a local home goods store had sent to the office after I’d featured them in a short-lived social series called “Registry Rundown.”
“Mandy killed the Bubba’s pitch, and that’s not the worst news,” I say, hoping all the pulling and steaming will muffle my words and deter Debbie’s wandering ears. “She wants me to do Sebastian and Claire’s wedding for my column.”
“Shit,” he says, handing me my drink.
“I know. She dangled a promotion and more verticals to get me on board with the new plan.”
“Mandy has been dangling that promotion for years. What makes you think she’s not just stringing you along again?”
I throw a hand up. “She totally might be. But she thinks she can finally sell Kleinfeld on it, which would maybe give me some leverage. And it’s not like I really have a choice, right? She’s the boss.”
“Maybe this is a good thing,” David says, eyes on his drink like he’s reading tea leaves.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“A great thing, even.”
I throw back half of my flat white. I should have asked him to make me a triple for this conversation. “I’m dying to know how you can possibly spin this.”
“First of all, it gives you an opportunity to make light of the whole witness … snafu and then quickly distract him from it. But more importantly, you say whatever happened between you and Surfer Boy was forever ago, but you’re clearly not over it.
In your mind he’s still that hot, elusive guy from high school.
Your first big crush. A guy who humiliated you and then disappeared from your life.
” I squeeze my eyes shut, shooing away mental images of the day I found out who Sebastian really was.
What he really thought of me. “You’ve been able to, like, preserve him in your mind exactly the way you remember him back when you had feelings.
But there’s no way he’s still that person.
You said it yourself: He wound up being a dick to you in the end, and he’s probably still a dick now. ”
I start to interrupt, but David holds up a finger and continues.
“Spend a little time with him and his fiancée and you’ll probably realize she’s insufferable and he’s just a regular guy—or, more likely, a total asshole who isn’t worth your time.
By the time you finish writing your column you might even feel bad for this girl!
It sounds crazy, I know, but I think writing this article is going to finally give you some closure. ”
Or, I think, what if I realize that he isn’t an asshole at all?
What if I see how happy and successful and in love he is and it reminds me just how foolish I was to have ever thought for a second that I could have been part of his future?
What if I realize that he turned out to be a great guy after all—just one who didn’t want to be with me?
I like David’s version a lot better, because it’s the version that validates my understanding of what happened that summer.
I need David’s version to be true.
“Trust me,” I say, “I don’t think about him in a good light. I did get closure—when I was fifteen and ignored my teenage hormones long enough to see that he didn’t deserve the pedestal I’d built for him.”
“Even better,” David says. “Then this will just confirm what you already know. And give you more leverage with Mandy. You do this well enough and it might be the last wedding you ever have to write about.”
I massage my temples, hoping David is right. Because I can’t imagine surviving this assignment—this whole absurd situation—and winding up with nothing to show for it. Moving on from wedding writing might be the only thing that could make all this worth it.
“I’ve got another call,” David says, checking his watch. “Just send an email—go through the bride so it doesn’t feel so personal. Treat it like any other story.”
I groan, waving him off. I take my time washing our cups and wiping down the espresso machine. Then I notice the counters are a little grimy, so I sanitize those, too.
Once the break room is sparkling clean I know what I have to do.
I walk out the door, unlock my bike and ride toward the boardwalk.