“Oh, it’s a mix. A couple of the guys have long term girlfriends who always go; you’d fit right in.”
Malcolm, who did not seem to realize that I was beginning to delicately pry, butted in. “Yeah, and a bunch of them bring their kids, too. They wear eye black and tiny jerseys.”
He smiled down at Bri, and my heart softened. I recalled the baby clothes in the Team Pro shop. If Ryan had a kid, his could wear a tiny little jersey with a tiny number seven and one of those pairs of tiny little Leopard ears...
Okay, I was definitely getting ahead of myself. That was just embarrassing.
“Anyway, it’s a lot of fun.” She spoke lightly, as though trying to draw my mind away from the thought of babies. Which were not, actually, something I ever really considered, except in a hey-those-are-almost-as-cute-as-puppies way.
After Ryan left for Baltimore, I spent Sunday brunch with Nanami and Jen, and then I spent the rest of the day and the next working on the website with Alexa. She’d thrown herself into the revisions and marketing with incredible energy; her time in New York had patched up her old friendship and left her clear headed and more relaxed, and I found her both a quick friend and a solid partner.
Gretchen had accepted the revised manuscript when I brought it to her, though she hadn’t shown much interest. My heart had pounded and my palms sweat, my words blurring together as I presented the website, while Gretchen had given it the same bland-faced indifference she used on a regular basis. Still, she hadn’t brushed me off, and in the end she’d told me she’d “think about it.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but since I was still recovering from the stress of pseudo-pitching a book, I’d decided to just lay low and work on marketing with Alexa.
Laurel, on the other hand, paged through the site with fascination during our Monday lunch break. “I had no idea you knew anything about websites. And how’d you get all these site views already?”
“Massive networking. Alexa actually tweets really cleverly and she emailed all her grad friends about it—and I guess those departments are gossipy, because it’s made the rounds. And I have some friends who have book blogs so they’ve sent their readers this way, too. Oh, and I’ve been emailing a bunch of humor sites and seeing if Alexa can guest blog, and they’re really receptive.”
Laurel shook her head. “Damn, you should get a job.”
“Thanks.” I hoped that meant she thought I deserved one, rather than that my hobby had consumed me. “So should you.”
She gave me a smile so dry it almost patronized. “No, I shouldn’t.”
I tilted my head.
She shrugged. “I like publishing. But it’s...I don’t know. Besides, I just found out how much Gretchen makes, and she’s been here for ages.” She took a sip of her diet soda and shuddered. “And you want it so much. I think it’s fun, but...does it make sense to work so hard when you get paid so little? I could be an assistant somewhere else and make double what Marie gets.”
“So then what are you thinking? Would you join your dad’s company?”
She swirled the dregs of her soda around her cup and frowned. “I didn’t take a job at the firm because I thought that would be cheating, you know? I wanted to do something on my own merit. And I was sick of him looking over my shoulder all the time.” She shrugged. “But if I’m still taking money from my parents to support myself, shouldn’t I be working somewhere where I can make that much money? Wouldn’t it be stupid to get forty-thousand a year and borrow the rest from Daddy instead?” Self-recrimination filled her voice. “And that’s assuming I got a job at Maples&Co, and what if there was only one position and I got it instead of you? That would hardly be fair.”
I tried to phrase my next words carefully. “I’m not sure it’s about being fair. I think people do what they can to get work.”
Her smile was unconvinced. “Yeah, but—if I don’t get the job, nothing about my life will change. I’ll still have the same apartment, and shop at the same stores, and eat the same food. If you don’t, you won’t even be able to afford to stay here. And then you’ll have to go to law school.”
I was with her completely until the last sentence, when the inanity of our conversation struck and I started giggling convulsively. She frowned. “What?”
I smiled, embarrassed. “This is so upper-middle class I want to vomit.”
Her lips twitched. “Please. I’m Park Avenue.”
“Oh, excuse me.”
She groaned. “Now I just feel bad all over. Maybe I should do some sort of volunteer work. Didn’t you work for the Peace Corps for a year?”
“AmeriCorps. I was in Maryland doing a literacy outreach program. Yeah.” We spent a moment picking at our sandwich remnants.
“I don’t care, it’s still hard. Even if it sounds silly. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m doing and what makes sense and what’s right. I don’t know how to do that.”
“I think you have to make a lot of mistakes. Though I don’t think Maples&Co was one. I’ve definitely learned a hell of a lot from them.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She sighed. “I’m telling Gretchen this week that I’m leaving.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “So are you working with your dad?”
“Yeah. I’m starting with HR. Don’t be too sad.” She smiled knowingly. “Gretchen likes you.”