“Devin, thank you!” I leapt up from my chair, and prying eyes be damned, I threw my arms around him for a hug. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”
Devin peeled my hands from around his neck, laughing and settling me back down to Earth.
He pointed his finger at me again and said, “I’m giving you one shot. Don’t disappoint me on this.” I was elated enough that his unnecessary advice barely scathed. “And Layla? Please don’t forget about our little magazine when The New Yorker inevitably comes to call.”
His tone was light, but his words weren’t. I thought there was more to that statement than he was letting on.
But all I said was, “I won’t let you down.” And I meant it.
I practically soared out of his office and spent the rest of that day in a daze.
On Wednesday, I got the official go ahead, Devin letting me know by throwing me a whistle from his doorway. When I turned around, he simply gave me a smiling thumbs-up, and I could barely contain my excitement.
I floated through Thursday and Friday, doing as much research as I could to prepare for my big interview the following week.
Devin kept saying it was “cute”, but I didn’t let that bother me. I thanked him all throughout Friday night, and then once more on Saturday.
Chapter 7
AFTER SEX
I awoke with a start, the buzzing of my intercom like a chainsaw through my brain. I groggily checked the clock on my nightstand and wondered what type of psychopath would ring my doorbell at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning.
I stumbled to the door and pressed the talk button. “Hello?”
A staticky, pissed-off voice answered back, “Wake up, sleepyhead! Open the damn door already!”
Of course it was Lisa.
I buzzed her in and watched as she stomped loudly up the stairwell, loaded with two brown grocery sacks in her arms and a humongous Louis Vuitton travel bag slung over her shoulder, which was banging into the walls on her way up. I’m sure my neighbors downstairs just loved that. But when it came to Lisa, I was already well aware that there was no curbing her volume. Thankfully, however, she waited until she made it inside my apartment before adding her voice to the racket. “Holy crap! Thank God you opened the door finally. There was this weird-looking old guy sitting on the bench out there that kept saying stuff to me in Italian.”
In spite of my interrupted shuteye, I laughed. “Lis, that’s just Angelo. He’s harmless,” I explained, relieving her of the Louis Vuitton.
Lisa unloaded the grocery bags onto my kitchen table before looking at me like I was nuts. “Oh, really? ‘Cause what the hell is Dutchie bonjovi coza?”
I followed her into the kitchen, correcting her pronunciation, “Dolce giovani cosa. It means ‘sweet young thing’. He says it to all the girls that walk by. He’s not a perv, I promise.” I dove into the grocery bags as I asked, “But more importantly, why the hell are you here so damned early?”
“Uh, more importantly, what the hell are you wearing?” she shot back.
I looked down at my Mr. Bubble T-shirt and rainbow-striped stretch pants. Guessed I wasn’t looking too haute couture with my sleeping garb. “It’s not like I was expecting visitors,” I defended.
“Obviously.”
That made us both laugh as she started unpacking along with me. “Sorry for coming so early, but I couldn’t sleep. I knew you had nothing else on your schedule except for our lunch today, so I figured we could do breakfast instead.”
“Gee. Thanks. I just love a weekend wakeup call, you wacko.”
“Sounds wike you have a wisp.”
I rolled my eyes as I pulled out a carton of eggs, some bread, OJ... when I got to the bottle of champagne, I held it up and asked, “Oooh. But you brought stuff for mimosas? I may have to forgive you.”
Lisa was unpacking her bag, and dug around to pull out a second bottle. Jeez. I was barely even awake and yet there I was, staring down the distinct possibility that I’d be drunk before noon on a Sunday. Sister Jean would be so disappointed.
She held it up and pointed to the label, informing me, “Yeah, for you, maybe. This one’s sparkling cider. I can’t drink the champagne.”
I started to say, “Oh, real nice, Lis. What-you want me to be the only lush this morning? You love champagne. Since when can’t you-”
Her lips curled into an irrepressible grin as I was speaking and holy shit oh my God there was no way Lisa was telling me what I thought she was trying to tell me.
I looked at her face—she was trying so hard not to bust out of her skin—and I realized it was the truth.
“NO! Lisa! You’re pregnant?!”
“Yep. Preggers. Knocked up. Bun in the oven.”
“Lisa!” Holy shit. “Oh my God! I-I don’t even know what to say!”
I came around the table and threw my arms around her, my pregnant best friend. This was unfreakingbelievable. “A baby! Oh my God. I’m so happy for you!” It was unfathomable.