Chapter 22
BARISTA JOE COULD TELL RIGHT AWAY that something was off.
It was Monday morning, and Simone had just trudged up to the counter and ordered a good old-fashioned vat of cold brew.
Joe leaned in and whispered to her like they were spies exchanging crucial information: “Keep it on the DL, but I can still make you a maple spice latte even though we’ve switched to the spring menu. ”
Actually, no! My ex-boyfriend loves those and I’m trying not to think about the complete and utter implosion of our relationship!
If she said that out loud, she’d end up having a full emotional breakdown in the coffee shop and scaring away customers.
She shook her head at Joe. “I appreciate it, but I need the strongest stuff you’ve got. ”
Barista Joe leaned in even closer and lowered his voice even more. “Listen, if you need something really strong, I can hook you up…”
Simone’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Oh! Oh, no, but thank you so much, Joe,” she stammered awkwardly. “I should be all set with the cold brew.”
With a quick nod, he snapped back to his usual professional demeanor. “Room for milk?”
“No, thank you.”
“Coming right up.”
She shuffled to the end of the bar, wishing she could text Ryan and tell him about the absurd interaction she’d just had.
“Um, I think Barista Joe just offered to sell me drugs?!” But she and Ryan were broken up now, and hadn’t spoken since he’d stormed out of her apartment on Friday night.
She’d spent the weekend crying, moping, and doing random tasks around the apartment in an attempt to distract herself from crying and moping even more.
She’d slept terribly, tortured by nightmares involving Ryan: There’d been one where she’d had to confess to him that she and Bree had gotten married; another where Ryan had told her he’d gotten a carpentry job in France, but he didn’t trust her enough to do long-distance.
Her pillow had been soaked with tears every time she’d woken up.
At least the cold brew would give her the energy jolt she needed…
even if it also reminded her of Ryan. She would go back in time if she could, to spilling her cold brew all over his white T-shirt, if it meant she could do things differently the second time around.
She stared at her feet as she walked into the Rainbow Museum.
It was another form of torture to have to work among sets that Ryan had built by hand.
There was no escaping him when he was literally all around her.
Upstairs, she dropped her bag and made a tired beeline for Lucy, who was already at her desk.
She’d bought her a chocolate chip cookie to say thank you for comforting her over FaceTime on Friday night.
She wished she’d picked another kind of baked good, because the sweet smell coming from the paper bag was reminding her way too much of the stairwell leading up to Ryan’s apartment.
As Simone approached the finance team’s desks, Lucy’s eyes stayed glued to her laptop screen. Her shoulders were up by her ears, and she was frowning.
“Hey, you,” Simone ventured, as cheerfully as she could when she also wanted to collapse. Lucy waited a beat before glancing up. When she did, she looked murderous. “Luce, what’s wrong?”
Lucy exhaled a jet of air through flared nostrils, like a fire-breathing dragon. “Frankie.”
“What’s he doing now?”
Lucy peered around to make sure the coast was clear, then lowered her voice.
“We’re figuring out the staffing budget for the Queer Makeover Extravaganza.
Obviously, we’ll need all hands on deck when it comes to the guest experience team, but he’s throwing a fit about having to pay them any overtime.
Like, I’m sorry, do you expect these hourly workers to volunteer for you out of the goodness of their hearts? ”
Simone was confused. “We can afford it, can’t we?
” The Rainbow Museum had been killing it since opening its doors in February.
Frankie had now been a guest on several morning shows, radio shows, and podcasts, insisting that if you loved and supported the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, you had to come visit the Rainbow Museum.
There was a permanent line down the block of people desperate to come inside, pose for photos, and splurge in the gift shop.
“Of course we can afford it,” Lucy muttered. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, here. I brought you a cookie to say thanks for the other night.” She placed the paper bag on Lucy’s desk.
Lucy furrowed her brow. “The other night?”
“Our FaceTime.”
“Oh! Right. Of course.”
“I really appreciated it.”
“No prob—and thanks so much for the cookie.” Lucy’s eyes darted back to her screen.
Simone had the sense that she was distracting her.
With a wave, she said, “Talk to you later,” and returned to her desk, where Seth was unpacking his things.
Simone, Seth, and Nina had a check-in with Frankie in a few minutes to discuss influencer marketing plans for the Queer Makeover Extravaganza.
Simone hoped their boss would be less of an asshole about this than about paying his workers what they deserved.
In the conference room, Frankie paired his laptop to the giant monitor on the wall, so he could show them the accounts of influencers he wanted to work with, and what kind of promotional content he wanted to them to create.
Simone looked at the posts and captions, but she was too exhausted to really see any of it.
Words, shapes, and colors blurred together before her eyes.
All she really saw was Ryan—the pain on his face when she’d told him she felt trapped.
She nodded at every slide—at every idea Frankie suggested.
It all seemed fine compared to the actual disaster she was dealing with.
The next time Simone nodded her head wordlessly, Frankie squinted at her suspiciously. “Really? Nothing you want to contribute?”
“All of this seems perfect.”
“Is that so?” he pressed, his tone eerily calm.
“Mm-hmm,” Simone squeaked, recalling her Cardinal Rule of Working for Frankie Marlow: Don’t get on his bad side.
But it would seem that ship was already setting sail.
“Simone, I need you to listen to me.” Frankie tented his fingers on the tabletop.
Then, with Seth and Nina sitting right there, he continued: “I am not paying you an above-market-rate salary so you can sit there like a bobblehead, telling me everything seems perfect.”
Whatever Barista Joe had tried to hook her up with earlier, there was no way it could have jolted her awake the way Frankie’s words had just done.
“Um… uh…” She was sputtering like an overheating engine, her mind casting around for something insightful to say.
Anything. Across the table, Seth gave her a look that said, You got this.
Think. But all she’d been thinking about since the meeting began was Ryan.
And then it came to her: something she’d talked about with Ryan and his moms when they met at the Common Loon that night. She stopped sputtering and cleared her throat. “Actually, um—on the general topic of promoting the event—one thing we might want to consider is the actual name of it.”
“Oh yeah?” Frankie countered. “You have a problem with ‘Queer Makeover Extravaganza’?”
Good lord, he was really on a tear today.
Did he want feedback, or did he just want to butt heads?
“I don’t, personally,” Simone said slowly, “but I know there are still some people in the community, especially in the older generations, who think of the word queer as a slur. And I wonder if it might be more inclusive to call it something like the Pride Makeover Extravaganza, or the Rainbow Make—”
“Got it—thanks,” Frankie said curtly. Seth closed his eyes and grimaced.
Simone’s face was on fire, which meant she must be turning the color of a ripe tomato.
“In the future,” Frankie continued, “the time to bring up an issue with the event name is not weeks into planning, when I already have Phillip’s team designing assets with this name. ”
“Sorry,” Simone said, trying not to cry.
“In any case, I think the name’s fine,” Frankie muttered. “We’re not catering to old people anyway. Nina, Seth: do you agree?”
“Totally,” Seth replied, then shot Simone a desperate, apologetic look.
“I can see Simone’s point—I also know people who don’t love the label—but I agree it might be challenging to rebrand the event when we’re this far along in the process,” Nina answered diplomatically.
“Great,” Frankie said.
“Sorry,” Nina whispered to Simone.
Frankie snapped his fingers, like he was remembering something.
“Oh, Seth—I had an idea I wanted to run by you. We’re going to be bringing in a photographer to take people’s portraits after their makeovers, and I was thinking we could have you there helping people post them.
And, you know, giving expert consultations on how to make sure your social media is giving off maximum queer vibes. ”
Seth looked a little confused, but gave Frankie a thumbs-up anyway. “Love it,” Seth said.
“Great. I gotta run. Nina, send me the names we have on the invite list so far, and Seth, Slack Simone the rest of the design notes we had for Kiera, so she can send them off to her ASAP.”
Seth nodded.
“And Simone,” Frankie added, “look alive.”
While Frankie, Nina, and Seth stood up and carried their laptops out of the room—Seth mouthing I’m sorry on his way to the door—Simone stayed where she was, her face on fire, wishing she’d called out sick today.
Only then she’d be home, crying and moping like she’d done all weekend.
There was nowhere Simone could be at peace. Not when the pain was in her heart.