Chapter Twenty-Six
Yael sits tucked in the corner of the East Burnside Heart Coffee Roasters with a partly drained oat milk mocha in her hand and Sanaa in her headphones.
If she had any doubt that Jami was serious about this, it should be quelled by her choice of restaurant—Luce, the upscale Italian spot right across the street, is a peak Portland wine and dine joint if there ever was one.
And yet, the agreed meeting time isn’t for another ten minutes and Yael’s been sitting here, overcaffeinated and trying not to panic, for the last twenty.
“What are you wearing?” Sanaa asks.
“I came from work!”
“Oh, you’re gonna act like you didn’t fall asleep planning your outfit?”
At least Sanaa isn’t here to see her guilty blush. “Something normal but cute,” she says.
“Define ‘normal,’” Sanaa says, laughing.
Yael balks. “Bitch, if you say ‘Define cute’ next, I swear to God.”
“I’m not that mean.”
“My sunflower corduroys,” Yael says, “my burnt-orange sweater with little tassels, and my embroidered boots.”
“See!” Sanaa says. “Not normal but definitely cute.”
“Sorry I’m not cool enough to wear all black.”
“Please, it’s because my closet has about one cubic foot of storage,” Sanaa says, even though they both know that’s half the reason at best. “Are you feeling sufficiently distracted?”
“Odds are fifty-fifty on whether I throw up the house-made bread. I dreamt last night that Jami looked me up and down, and when I extended my hand to shake hers, she said, ‘Psych’ and walked out.”
“Jesus, you need therapy,” Sanaa says.
“Rude.”
“But true. You’ll be fine. She clearly wants to sign you. I’m pretty sure this is just the last thing before she sends a contract to look over.”
“Yeah,” Yael says. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I guess I’m just worried … I don’t know. That I won’t be what she expects me to be when I’m not scripted.”
“You’re very charming when you need to be. It’s fine,” she says.
“Okay,” Yael says. “I should probably walk over there now.”
“Want me to stay on the phone until the last second?”
“Yes, please.” Yael stands and slides her arms into her coat. As she deposits her mug in a bus bin by the door, a text flashes across her screen.
Kevin
Can we talk after the Renegade dinner?
A pit forms in Yael’s stomach. She hadn’t even told him about the dinner, too afraid she’d mess something up. But she knew Kevin had rescheduled his call with Jami for today. If Jami mentioned it, and now Kevin wants to talk, he must know something she doesn’t.
Yael
Sure. Is everything okay?
Kevin
Just promise me we can talk
“What was that noise you made?” Sanaa asks.
“I just got an extremely ominous text,” Yael says, typing back Sure, I hope you’re alright. He fails to reply immediately, and the pit grows deeper. She elbows the walk button at the crosswalk.
“Oh no,” Sanaa says. “Try not to think about it until after dinner.”
“I’ll do my best,” Yael replies. She forces one deep breath, then another. When she reaches the other side of the street, her phone flashes with another text, this time from Jami.
Jami
I didn’t realize your editor was also based in Portland until we chatted today! I invited him along. See you soon xJ
Yael stops in her tracks, a few short yards away from the entrance to Luce, her heart pounding so hard she fears it might quit on her. “Sanaa,” she says. “Apparently my editor lives here.”
“What?”
“He lives in Portland,” Yael says.
“Ravi moved to Portland?”
“Ravi?”
“Yes … Ravi Kissoon, your editor.” Sanaa laughs. “Oh, I’m sorry, I mean ‘Kevin Kissoon on audio editing,’” she says in a poor Elle Rex impression.
The half of the mocha that made it into Yael’s stomach sours. “Holy shit. Holy shit, Sanaa.”
“What?” Sanaa demands, the laughter leaving her voice.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” Yael says, and hangs up.
She’s breathing heavily now, her hand on her chest. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, forcing herself to slow down. That text … He must be worried about how she’ll react to meeting him in person.
God, he has no idea. When Yael finally moves again, pangs of guilt compete with her nerves.
She wishes she could warn him, but as she passes the windows, she catches his side profile.
He has already been seated at a table, engrossed in conversation with a small white woman in a Sanaa-approved outfit.
Yael steels herself before pushing open the door. Inside, Jami catches her eye first, waving her over with a wide smile. She lifts her hand in return, making her approach.
And then Ravi turns toward her. Their gazes lock, and it only takes a split second for her smile to falter.
He knew.
And the way he’s looking at her now, the trepidation in his eyes, the tic of his jaw—he knows she can tell.
For a moment, her mind empties. She’s not sure how long it takes for her to recover, but she prays that Jami didn’t notice. And that her last few steps don’t look as much like a march to the gallows as they feel.
Jami stands, offering her hand for a firm shake. “I’m so happy to finally meet you in person!”
“Me too,” Yael says, the room around her blurry.
“Do you still want me to call you Elle, or…?” Jami asks, her eyes sliding from Yael to Ravi.
“You can call me Yael,” she says, looking at the table. They’ve already removed the fourth setting; she has no choice but to slide in next to Ravi.
Maybe it would be worse to be looking right at him.
“Okay, great! I got the impression that you were collaborating virtually, so I wasn’t sure if you’d actually met in person yet,” Jami says.
Yael takes a sip of her water, feeling Ravi’s eyes on the side of her face. There are a few seconds of dead air, and then he says, “We don’t record together, no. But we’ve met.”
Jami’s eyes narrow a fraction. Yael guesses she can hear the tension crackling between them.
She takes one more sip of water, giving herself the time it takes to swallow it to get her act together.
“Sorry, I’m a little nervous,” Yael admits with a smile, hoping the partial honesty will buy herself some goodwill.
“But we’re so excited about potentially working with you. ”
“Please don’t be nervous.” Jami grins. “Cards on the table, I got the go-ahead this afternoon. I’m here to convince you, and I’ve got my company card. Should we get a bottle of wine for the table?”
“Yes,” Yael and Ravi say in unison, and Jami lifts her hand to get the waiter’s attention.
RAVI WOULD GIVE almost anything right now to be able to read Yael’s thoughts. The look in her eyes when she walked in was somewhere between hesitant and hopeful, but whatever she saw in his made her turn icy.
I’m sorry, he thinks at her with everything in him while she answers Jami.
She doesn’t look at him when she doesn’t have to, and it’s so much worse than those two weeks she was ignoring him at book club.
There’s a pain simmering under the surface.
One that he feels, too, and he has no idea what to do about it.
The waiter comes with their wine, giving them a brief respite, then Jami turns to him. “And you, Ravi? What is your vision for the future of The Sophomore English Agenda?”
He pauses with his glass halfway to his lips. “I’m following Yael’s lead,” he says. “She’s already got such a strong vision. I just help with the parts that are easier for me than they are for her.”
Jami raises a brow. “There’s nothing you can think of?”
Ravi shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Em, a while ago, we talked about trying to expand the bonus-episode content. I think it could be cool to do some of the films that are shown in class a lot. Maybe as a miniseries on the main feed, I don’t know. It might be nothing.”
“I love that,” Jami says.
“Me too,” Yael says, her eyes flicking toward him before settling back on her glass.
“Interstitials in general could add some breathing room,” Jami says. “I mean, in theory, you’ll eventually run out of the classics, so filling out your content before you have to pivot would be helpful.”
Yael nods. “That’s something that’s worried me,” she says. “That there might just be an end point. I mean, will people still listen if I get too obscure?”
“My secondary school reading lists had some overlap, but many of the titles were new to me,” Ravi says. “I still love listening to you.”
Jami snaps twice and points at him. “Exactly. If it becomes something different, or you even move on to a new series entirely, a lot of your listeners will follow you, because you’re why they’re listening in the first place.”
Yael tucks her braid behind her ear. “That makes sense, I guess.” She takes a sip of her wine and does a quick roll of her neck as she leans back in her chair.
Ravi has watched her do that at book club so many times. At Stepping Stone Cafe. And once, in her kitchen, only minutes after she’d come apart on his tongue. He takes a long sip of his water, focusing on the cool sensation sliding down his throat.
It’s like that the whole dinner. Yael seems to loosen up with the food and drink, and he supposes he does, too.
But he doesn’t talk much. Rarely when he isn’t addressed directly first. And he watches Yael—the drop of wine that collects in the cleft in her bottom lip, the column of her throat when she swallows.
What would it be like to be able to nudge her elbow with his when she gets to the punch line of an anecdote? To put a comforting hand on her knee when she’s nervously jiggling?
Routinely, he has to remind himself to look at Jami, to busy himself with his food. He wonders what they look like to her. Maybe it doesn’t matter what he does. Maybe it’s obvious that he’s in love with Yael—and that she’s furious with him—regardless.
It’s a kind of torture, having to get through this meal with a smile on his face.
She promised you she’d talk, he thinks.
But that was before she knew who you were. That was before she knew you knew who she was.