29. Trina #3
“I won’t argue with that.” A squeaking sound and a grunt tells me Scarlett is shifting to a different position. “Does this have anything to do with Casey?”
Blinking rapidly, I’m stunned enough that the tears almost stop. “Um—”
“Before you try to come up with some non-answer, I saw the way you two were looking at each other that day Imani came in to sign her contract. Ryan thinks I’m oblivious but imagine his surprise when I told him you two have had something going on since before I signed at Anastasios.”
I gape incredulously at the wall in front of me. “How the hell did you know that?”
She chuckles under her breath. “I’m a writer.
It’s my job to observe people. You two sat next to each other at almost every meeting.
You were always talking about one thing or another, and you had a way of beating me to the office when shit hit the fan.
Shall I continue?” Her cockiness is well-earned, though I really did think we had been better at hiding it.
“I feel pretty stupid,” I admit.
“Don’t.” The word is sharp and leaves no room for argument. “Have you told him you quit the agency yet?”
“No.” I sigh. “It’s…complicated.”
“Fair enough.” Scarlett won’t push the issue, and for that, I’m grateful. “But I’ll remind you that you’re my friend. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
I sniffle again. “I don’t think you know how much that means to me.”
She huffs. “I’m no stranger to having literally one person left in my corner.”
“Things turned out okay,” I say, mostly to remind myself that there’s nowhere to go but up from here.
She must sense that I need the reassurance, because she says, “They did.”
We sit in silence for a while, and it’s nice not having to say anything. Knowing she’s there is a comfort in and of itself.
“So,” she says after a few minutes. “What now?”
I take a deep breath, surprised to find it feels really good. “This might sound crazy, but I think I’m going to start my own agency.”
“Hell yeah. I was hoping you’d say something like that. Where do I sign?”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
She laughs. “What do you mean, ‘what do I mean?’”
“Don’t you want to wait until I have a plan or something?”
“Were you not listening to the part where I basically poured my heart out to tell you how much you mean to me? I’d follow you anywhere, Trina. You’re going to have to do something a lot more bonkers than starting your own literary agency to get rid of me.”
“I don’t ever want to get rid of you,” I whisper.
“Good.”
Laughing wetly, I press a palm to my forehead. “I don’t have a contract for you. I wasn’t ready for this.” I glance out the window and am surprised to see dark gray clouds on the horizon. If I believed in signs, I might think those clouds were an omen, but I’m ready for a storm.
“Eh,” Scarlett says as if she’s shrugging. “What we’ve got going on is stronger than a signature on a piece of paper.”
“Damn.” I start crying harder. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“You know, there’s something poetic about being your first client with Northbridge, and now your first client at this new endeavor. It’s almost like we were meant to be.” She laughs to herself again. “You were the best decision I ever made, Trina. I hope you know that.”
“Same,” I say without hesitation.
We talk for a little while longer. Ryan comes home, and I fight the pang of jealousy when Scarlett clearly wants to get off the phone to go spend time with him.
I wonder vaguely if Casey told Ryan anything about us—if he knows we were even together, or that we’re not anymore.
But I don’t ask. Instead, I say goodbye to Scarlett, then turn my phone off.
I’m sick of waiting on pins and needles for a call that isn’t coming.
And getting scared of the calls that are coming in.
Scarlett’s call was a powerful reminder that things might look bleak right now, but she’s living proof that they won’t be bad forever.
Even if Casey and I are so far off the same page that we’re in separate books, signing Scarlett again is a major win—personally and professionally.
I want to hang on to that feeling for as long as I can.
And I’ll come up with a plan to at least tell Casey I’m sorry. Eventually.
I wish I could go back and tell nine-year-old me that things would be okay.
That, one day, she’d have friends and a job worth doing.
That, for a brief moment in time, she’d have a man who looked at her like she mattered.
A man who let her be part of something close to a family.
A man who felt like he could be family, if she’d let him.
Maybe things aren’t okay yet, but they will be. And I wish I could give nine-year-old me—terrified in the back of that car, flying to a new home all alone—a little bit of that faith.
For now, I have to hold that faith close, like a fragile little bird, and repeat it like a mantra until I believe it—It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.
Even if I can’t possibly see how it’ll be okay without Casey.