“Yes. That. File your notice and come work with me. I have some pull, you know,” she winks. “Or go to LA with Sienna. Mal, you’re single. Young. Gorgeous. There’s no reason you have to stay here. Do something that your soul tells you to.”
I laugh. “Whoa, wait. When did you get deep?”
“What?” she blushes.
“Do something your soul tells you to? Really, Joy?”
“It was on a card at the pharmacy,” she shrugs. “I liked it.”
Taking a deep breath, I set my tea on the table. “I don’t know what my soul tells me to do. I just want things to be . . . okay.”
I can’t tell Joy the rest of the truth, that I hope Graham is okay too. My heart breaks for him. I worry that he’s hurt or sad, and I wish I could show him how great he is and how capable he is of more than just being a CEO. Although he listens to me sometimes, I know he wouldn’t listen to that.
She opens the box of brownies and hands me one. It’s gooey and soft and the icing almost runs off the end. After getting herself one, she holds it in the air. I clink mine against it.
“Sucks being an adult, doesn’t it?” she asks, her mouth sticking together with chocolate.
“Yeah. It certainly does.”
We sit for a while, Joy eating brownies and me watching her. I’m not hungry. And even though chocolate bingeing is how girls deal with things, it doesn’t seem appealing. I don’t need emotional support. I need answers. Solutions. The fact that I realize this is empowering.
Joy leaves, promising to check on me tomorrow. I lock the door and wind up at my computer. The email from the university is still in my inbox.
With a slight hesitation, I click on it again. The form is at the bottom to apply for enrollment. It sits there, luring me in with the promise of excitement and possibility.
I could be done in a couple of years. Most of my generals are done and transferable, and I know I qualify for student loans.
I remember Graham’s words, that I have potential. Is he right? I know I could do it if I had him to ask questions, but I may not have him at all. In any capacity.
A fleeting feeling falls over my soul. My spirits fall, my excitement dampening, as I know what I’m going to have to do. There’s only one answer that’s logical when it comes to Graham. At least I can see it now.
“Fuck it,” I say, filling out the interest form and clicking “Submit” before I can stop myself.
Graham
Ford’s face lights up as he recounts a story of giving a child a soccer ball somewhere on the other side of the planet. His tale is interesting, but watching him light up like I’ve never seen him before is the best part of it all.
“He would come up to us every time we saw him and say, ‘Thank you,’” he says, leaning back in his chair. “It was really gratifying.”
“Well, look who it is . . .”
We look up to see Barrett walk in the kitchen of the Farm, Huxley on his heels. He pulls Ford into a quick hug and then smacks me on the back. “What’s happening in here?”
“We were discussing the security company,” I say. “There’s more to do with this than there was your fucking campaign.”
“Just think,” Barrett jokes, “you would be bored out of your mind without us.”
“Or sane,” I mutter.
“Hi, Graham. Hey, Ford!” Huxley, the well-mannered kid that he is, waits his turn to talk. He dashes to Ford’s side.
Lincoln has always been Huxley’s favorite, but after spending a few days fishing with Ford while his mom and Barrett did political things in Atlanta, I hate to tell Linc that he has competition.
“Want to go see if the fish are biting?” Huxley asks.
“Hey, Hux. Ford is working with Graham today,” Barrett says, ruffling his hair.