Chapter Eighteen
Autumn
By the time the first leg of Nix's tour starts winding down, nobody is talking about wrapping up anymore.
The campaign has worked better than we planned for.
Manchester has added another date, Amsterdam is confirmed, and the interview requests coming in are pushing against a schedule that was already full.
Nix is beside me going through the new routing when Gemma turns her laptop around. "They want another Manchester press day."
Nix looks at me. "Do I?"
"Yes."
"You answered that very fast."
"I've had practice."
Her expression suggests she finds that personally disappointing, but my phone starts ringing before she can argue. Anna's name is on the screen, so I move far enough away from them to hear her.
"They want to keep you through the extension."
"I figured they might."
"You don't have to stay."
That isn't what I expected her to say. Anna gives me the clean version. The campaign worked. The album moved. Nix is in a different position than she was when I got here. The job I was sent to do is done, and if I want to hand the next leg over, nobody is going to read anything into it.
I glance back at the table. Nix has taken Gemma's laptop and Gemma is trying to get it back without spilling either of their coffees.
A few months ago, Anna's offer would have made the decision easy.
Finish what I was sent to do. Leave things better than I found them.
Go home before anybody has to wonder whether I stayed too long.
"No," I say.
Anna goes quiet.
"I want to stay."
"You do."
It isn't really a question, but I answer it anyway.
"I want it." Saying it out loud feels stranger than it should.
"I built this campaign. I know where it works and where it still doesn't. I know which reporters Nix trusts now and which ones are waiting for an excuse to drag the old story back out.
This got bigger because we were good at our jobs, and I want to see what we can do with it. "
Anna is silent long enough that I wonder whether I've surprised her or myself more. Then she laughs. "That might be the most selfish thing you've ever said to me."
"Probably."
"I've been waiting a few years."
I lean against the wall. "You could've mentioned that."
"I did. You kept interpreting every conversation as a request to become more efficient."
"That does sound like me."
"It really does."
I'm smiling when we hang up. When I go back, Nix has surrendered the laptop but not the coffee.
I tell them I'm staying through the extension, Nix grins, and Gemma shifts the routing toward the empty space in front of me.
Five minutes later we're arguing about Manchester again, and it already feels normal.
After a few days of pulling the new dates into something resembling a schedule, Priti starts telling us about a BBC producer she dealt with years ago.
The story gets worse every thirty seconds, and by the time she reaches whatever he said after the interview, Tom has folded forward over the table while Gemma keeps asking Priti to stop and demanding she finish at the same time.
I'm still laughing when I pick up my phone. I unlock it, open a message thread and start typing.
you are not going to believe this
Then I see the name at the top.
Sam.
My thumb stops over the screen. Nothing dramatic happens around me. Priti is still talking, Tom is still trying to recover and Gemma has started accusing her of making half the story up, but I'm staring at an empty message box because for months this is where stupid things went.
Something happened that made me laugh, annoyed me, pissed me off or confused me, and eventually Sam heard about it. Half the time texting lasted three messages before one of us called because it was easier. I hadn't decided to tell him this story. I'd just started.
"Autumn."
I lift my head and find Priti waiting for me. "What?"
"You missed the best part."
I lock my phone and put it facedown beside me. "Then go back."
Tom groans. "Please don't."
Priti ignores him and starts again, and by the time she gets to the end, I'm laughing just as hard as I was before. My phone stays where I put it.
The new routing keeps growing until I reach the week I already have blocked off for Chicago.
SUMMER'S BABY SHOWER.
I stop with my hand on the trackpad. I put it on the calendar before I knew there would be a second leg, back when getting home for it looked simple enough that I didn't think much past buying a ticket. Now Amsterdam is sitting three days before I'm supposed to leave.
I pull up the rest of the schedule and start moving pieces around.
Manchester can shift. Two interviews can move with it.
A press dinner is annoying but fixable. Amsterdam isn't. I try anyway, then build another version, then a third.
Twenty minutes later I'm still staring at three different routes that all lead to the same answer.
Somebody else has to do Amsterdam.
My first instinct is to keep looking. There has to be another flight, another handoff, some ugly overnight connection that gets me through the press day and onto a plane without giving anything up.
Then I look at SUMMER'S BABY SHOWER sitting on the calendar again and realize I'm solving the wrong problem.
I'm going home. That was never the question. I pick up my phone and open my messages with Summer.
Me: working on flights for the shower. what time do you actually need me there?
Her answer comes almost immediately.
I smile.
Me: Summer.
Summer: Fine. Friday would be nice but Saturday morning works.
Another message follows before I can answer.
Summer: you are coming right
I look back at Amsterdam.
That part is easy. I put the phone down and turn back to the routing. Amsterdam hasn't moved, and neither has the answer. Gemma can do it. I've known that for the last half hour. I've just been treating the possibility like admitting it will make six weeks of my work disappear.
It won't. She knows the campaign, she knows Nix, and more importantly, she doesn't need me standing behind her telling her exactly how I would do it. That last part is considerably less comfortable.
I open a message to her.
Me: I want you to take charge of Amsterdam. It's yours if you want it. I need to be in Chicago.
Her reply comes quickly.
Gemma: Of course I want it Babe, are you serious? do you want me to use your file or build my own?
I sit with that longer than I should. My file would be easier. The contacts are there, the notes are there, every decision I've already made is there. It would also mean Gemma spending the whole day executing my version of it instead of making the day hers.
Me: build your own
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Gemma: okay
I set the phone down, then pick it back up before I've made it ten seconds. There are at least four things I could tell her. People to watch for. A question one reporter always asks. The order I would schedule the room. Gemma's got this, I know she does.