The Honey - Don't List

“You do everything,” I say, trying to wrap my head around it.

“I do not.” She flushes and makes a screwball that’s preposterous face.

“You do.” A strand of hair is stuck to her cheek, and I pull it free. “Don’t lie.”

Carey bites back a smile. “Well. Thanks.”

“I don’t mean this as bad as it’s going to sound”—I quickly take a glance around to make sure we’re alone—“but what does Melissa actually contribute?”

Carey squints at me, her smile flattening. “She’s the head designer,” she says. “The lead on the redesigns.”

Laughing, I say, “Okay, Carey—”

But she shakes her head. “It’s not really as bad as it sounded last night. I was just frustrated.”

I give myself a second to identify the best response to this. Who knows what Carey needs to tell herself to do this job? There has to be a certain level of self-deception on her end, and I’m not sure I want to dig too deep there.

“Well, I’m glad,” I finally say.

“Melly said she had a surprise for me today.” Carey shrugs. “So that’s nice, I guess?”

I echo her hopeful smile. Guests begin to arrive at the restaurant, and so far it seems like everyone is pretty thrilled for the show—though it’s hard to gauge what the external reaction is, since literally everyone in the lunch party already knew about the upcoming announcement, with many of them standing to make a lot of money if the show does well. Still, Melissa and Rusty seem to be in good shape, and it feels like one more situation where things could have gone so much worse.

Neither Carey nor I get a chance to sit, let alone eat, but the lunch goes by fast. She’d probably murder me if she knew how protective I feel. I try to keep an open eye, watching to see if she seems tired or needs anything. But like always, she’s got it under control and makes it look effortless, even though I know now that it isn’t. Carey ensures meals get to the right people, that drinks are always filled, that a dropped napkin is replaced, that everyone knows where the bathroom is and where to exit the restaurant if they need to make a call. She is moving a mile a minute, but smiling the entire time even when I think she might be screaming inside. I try to keep up, to make myself useful to her however I can. Funny that I resent being Rusty’s assistant but am relishing helping Carey.

During her extensive toast, Melissa takes the time to thank everyone in the room and an additional twenty people for all the blessings in her life, and lucky for us she remembers to thank Rusty just after God.

“Last, but not least …” She lifts her glass and looks with melting adoration at Carey, and the room goes quiet again.

Carey straightens and stills, so achingly vigilant, and I realize this must be the moment of Melissa’s surprise.

“Of course I would be a scatterbrained mess without my amazing assistant, Carey,” she says. “This girl has been with me since the beginning, back when all I had was my marriage, my kids, and a little furniture store in Jackson. She keeps my calendar sane! Carey, here’s to another ten years.”

The room fills with a few awwwws and congratulatory Hear, hears. Glasses clink, but somehow a hush falls in the space around me. To anyone else, this appears to be an amazing honor Melissa Tripp just bestowed on her nobody assistant, but I know the truth. And regardless of what she just told me, so does Carey. I look over at her. Her hair has come out of its bun; her face is flushed from running around nonstop for the past two hours. She even has a smudge of powdered sugar on her cheek. Her left hand is tucked beneath her right arm—a sign that she’s tired and struggling with cramping. I watch her hold on to her gracious smile as long as she can, but the moment Melissa turns away, it falters.

I turn to her, nudging her shoulder with mine when she remains as still as a statue. “That was sweet, yeah?”

She stares straight ahead. “I think that was Melly’s surprise.”

My smile falls. “Carey—”

“I’ve given her my whole life, and she just thanked me for keeping her calendar organized.”

What a punch in the gut. I don’t know what to say, so without thinking, I reach down and slide her hand into mine. Although her fingers remain rigid, I hear her breathing ease.

“You know how you can hear someone say a lie so many times that it starts to feel true?” She waits for me to nod and then continues. “I think that’s what happened with me and Melly. She calls me her light bulb switch, like I’m just a button she pushes to get ideas. Does she really think that’s how this works?”