Chapter 34
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and tap the green button, then put the phone on speaker.
I clear my throat, but still my voice wobbles. “Hey, Erica. I’ve got you on speaker with Fitz and Maya.”
Fitz places a hand solidly on my shoulder, and it’s just the thing I need to ground me.
“Mack, I’m so glad I caught you,” Erica says, “because I have news.”
I hear background noise like she’s driving. The tone of her voice is flat and neutral, and it makes me assume the worst. She’s
seemed so on our side thus far that it must be her own disappointment bleeding through.
“How free are you next week?” Erica asks.
My stomach drops. Another audition? Or an interview now? What more can we show them at this point?
Fitz speaks up. “For the network, of course we’re available.” He gives me a gentle nudge.
“So, are we—? Was there any feed—?”
“Sorry,” Erica cuts me off. “I’m driving back from shooting in the North Carolina mountains, and it’s torrentially downpouring.
Let me be clear—the producers love you guys and they want to shoot a pilot.”
The three of us chirp in yelps of excitement as well as several silent screams complete with hands flung out.
“Erica, that’s incredible news! We’re thrilled,” I say, doing my best to sound professional.
She chuckles. “I wanted to catch you before the weekend so we can get going on a contract. That’ll need to be signed before
we start shooting the pilot, so I’m hoping we can get it finished next week, then get back to shooting the following week.
It’s a bit tight, but everyone’s excited to get this pilot done and out to our audience. Holy City Flip is the name we’ve got going for it so far.”
“Ok. I’ll be watching my inbox,” I say. “We’re happy to move quickly. Thanks for everything you’ve done to get us this far.”
“Like I’ve always said, you’re easy to film. But I’ll let you go. The roads are getting twisty.”
“Sure thing,” I say. “Talk soon.”
My phone hits the tabletop with a clunk, and I drop my head into my hands and let out a whole-body breath. A pilot. This means at least one episode of our very own show, Holy City Flip , set right here in the most beautiful city on earth with my very own team, will exist. It’s not a contract for a full season—that
would only come after a good response to the first episode—but we’re one step closer.
Fitz screams. “Amazing. Yes!”
Maya grins and hops in place. “Everyone I talked to on the organization side said they thought we had a good chance. I didn’t
say anything in case I got everyone’s hopes up and then the tide changed, but still, I’ve got that good feeling in my stomach.”
“We need to celebrate! Champagne? Dinner out?” Fitz says.
I laugh. “I’ve got the magpie coming soon, so whatever we do, it needs to be tame.”
Fitz huffs. “Hal wouldn’t begrudge us a little fun.”
I smile and let myself feel the moment. It’s only now that I allow myself to honestly try on the dream, to let myself envision our show, because before, it was all too uncertain. Before, it was so much like the fellowship dream I’d tried on so often that I’d practically worn holes in the knees of it. And my excitement is not even about the potential for stardom that a successful series could bring; it’s the fact that even the smallest steps beyond the grip of my mother’s influence are like letting the light sweep in. It’s freedom and success of my own I want, not fame.
I look around this studio, at the papers we scribble on, the books of samples, our shelves of books by designers we admire.
The seats so well-worn from our dedicated rituals of doing the work. This moment of recognition makes it feel real, like we
haven’t just been pretending all along.
“Thank you, guys,” I say, looking between Fitz and Maya. “This place wouldn’t be the same without either of you.”
“Thanks for trusting us,” Fitz says. “Even at my family’s firm, they wouldn’t let me pick a finish before twelve others approved
it.”
“I’m excited to keep learning,” Maya says. “I’m lucky to have fallen into this industry.”
Fitz tuts. “Computers really are quite a bore—even if we are all reliant on the little ones in our pockets.”
I turn to Maya. “I will be learning until the day I die. But you’ve earned your place here, Maya. You’re not a rookie anymore,
so don’t be afraid to act like it.”
“Mm-hmm,” Fitz says. “A pinch more swagger, please.”
It takes the three of us a while to settle, and I don’t begrudge us the enjoyment. But eventually we resume our work talk—even if it is punctuated by pilot-related comments—and formulate our calendar for the following week. Eventually we each grab some food brought from home and bakery leftovers and make lunch for ourselves.
Soon after, the front doors click open, and a gust of warm air follows a backlit Hallie and Foster inside. Each carries a
crinkled paper bag, the tops tight in their fists, and they charge like an over-caffeinated pair of donkeys. They screech
to a halt in front of my desk with pink-and-blue candy stains and even a few smudges of chocolate around their mouths.
“Mom,” Hallie says. “Mr. Lincoln is the best babysitter I have ever had.”
Fitz creeps closer to us.
Foster nods in a sugary hurry. “Hallie is welcome anytime! Really. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, but she lives next
door and we’re best friends now so she’s basically like a superfriend and maybe we could get walkie-talkies?”
I stand. “Well, I’m glad y’all had a good time. You’re both lucky to have such a good friend.”
Lincoln appears in the doorway looking out of breath. “Those two are fast ,” he says. “I’m going to need to train for the next time.”
Next time. As the words soak in, they sizzle beneath my skin. Not that either of us would stand in the way of the kids’ friendship at
this point, but naming, out loud, that we expect these encounters to be routine in some way, in any way at all, feels like
flipping the world upside down. Like dropping into another world where he never left, a world where I was enough to make him
want to stay.
“You might stand a better chance of keeping up if you ate half your body weight in sugar,” I say.
He grins and shakes his head as his chest rises and falls. “I’m strongly against doping.”
I laugh and it feels like my exterior is cracking like eggshells, like the sensible cover of adulthood might not matter in the company of a man who once made me feel so alive. “Touché.”
Fitz glides over. “Hello, Lincoln Kelly.” He pulls himself up to sit on my desktop and crosses his legs. “I’m sure you could
surmise, but I’m Fitz.”
Lincoln nods. “Yes, nice to meet you.”
“Tell me, how’d you get back here?”
The protective edge to Fitz’s words is palpable, but just below the surface is a hopeless romantic who would cry buckets over
a one-who-got-away scenario made right.
“It’s a long story,” Lincoln says.
Fitz checks for the kids and finds them outside in the courtyard, bouncing off the walls. “I think we deserve more of an explanation
than that, yes? Especially after you left our girl here heartbroken and devastated for months.”
“Fitz.” I step forward, waving him off. “No, no, no. We’re not doing that. It was a very long time—”
Maya joins me, standing at my side and hovering like she’s ready to jump in to help.
“And quite frankly, you’ve never truly been the same since,” Fitz says, crossing his arms defiantly as we lock eyes.
I shoot him a look that says, I could kill you right now.
Lincoln’s face flashes with something like surprise. It must be in response to Fitz’s forwardness, because even if Fitz is
laying it on, the basic facts of what he said aren’t untrue. There’s no surprise there.
“Well,” Lincoln says, “after my father died last year, I wanted Foster and me to be closer to my mom and sister here in North
Charleston. And since we’re all being honest , I guess I found some of what I was looking for in New York—”
“Yes, your illustrious photography career,” Fitz says.
Lincoln sighs like Fitz is testing his patience. I get it because he’s testing mine too.
“I did find success, and I’m grateful for it. But with time comes wisdom, and I’ve realized that not everything is about career
and success. That there are other things in life that are”—Lincoln glances at me—“important too.”
Fitz bugs out his eyes and whips his head to look between us while my gaze stays locked on Lincoln. Fitz then catches Maya’s
eye, and she gives him a knowing smile.
My mouth falls open a hair, and a flush runs over my face. Did Lincoln really mean to look at me when he said those words?
Is he admitting fault? Or even regret ? For a moment it feels so good to imagine that him showing up here really could undo the hurt of years ago. That in some
way, I might find relief from the guilt of taking my mother’s side.
“Anyway,” Lincoln says and clears his throat. “Foster and I should be going. It was nice to see you all.”
Lincoln strides through the office and calls Foster in from the patio. The moment is gone, and I’m sure now I was just making
up that look. Of course, he wasn’t wrong: He got the career he wanted. He got to quit the day job crunching numbers, so it
was the right choice. Surely he wouldn’t change a thing.
Lincoln wrangles Foster inside and through the office.
“Thank you,” I say before they tumble onto the street. “Hallie had an awesome time with you guys. I owe you one, Lincoln.”
He glances back. “You don’t owe me a thing, Mack. See you around.”
I turn on my heel and work hard to hold myself still as I walk back to my desk. I already know Fitz will be circling, so I
preemptively hold up a single finger to him when he approaches.
“No. We’re not talking about this. Not today when I want to celebrate our pilot.”
Fitz sighs. “I guess that’s fair.”
“Where to for dinner tonight?” I ask, solely to move the conversation on.
Fitz and Maya begin batting ideas back and forth, discussing reservations versus something more casual. I sit there pretending
to listen, but I can’t stop thinking about Lincoln, just here, right now. I loved him. I loved him with the most real parts
of myself, parts he’s one of a very few to know even to this day. I loved him then, and just because he left and I was too
proud to go after him doesn’t mean I stopped loving him.
It really does create a bit of a complication for me, seeing as he’s living next door. A quagmire , as Mother would say.