“About you and Alex Harrison?”
I nod, thinking back to that girl at the Christmas party who snapped our photo.
Fari pats my shoulder. “At least Molly didn’t leave you time to stew on it.”
Small victories.
I pull out my phone and fire off a panic text to Alex: Did you get a touchbase from HR?? After five minutes of no response, I check his calendar; he’s in meetings until noon.
“Fuck,” I whisper again.
We filmed our second video for YouTube yesterday. It was the Day in the Life working vlog. Andre, who was assigned to me, met me at 7:00 A.M. at my Brooklyn subway station with a portable camera. Eric met Alex at a coffee shop in the West Village (I’m expecting artsy shots of a cappuccino and a pastry while Alex luxuriates in his work clothes, looking gently amused at life). Saanvi’s vision was for Andre and Eric to each film us commuting to work. Alex rode a Citi Bike—which is apparently a thing he actually does? Even in the winter? Like, not just for the camera?—and I took the subway. Because I’m not deranged.
Once we got to the lobby, Sara-who-does-sound suited us up with professional-grade mics. We did office tours, a lunch haul to the Whole Foods hot bar and back, and a Q&A session about the magazine industry, plus the highlights of our specific workday routines. Fari, Benny, and Brijesh even got to make cameos.
It was fun, but I’m glad we got the second video out of the way. I don’t think my heart would have been in it if we’d already heard back from the board with bad news.
I glance at my phone. Still no response from Alex, and it’s 9:58.
I take a deep breath and stand. Fari gives me a closed-mouth salute.
In college, I was in a sorority for only one year before I dropped out of it. Between my aversion to strangers and a growing distrust of the Greek system, I called it quits before dues came around the second year and I had to suffer through recruitment again. But in the short window that I was Greek, I got familiarized with disciplinary standards after a drunken date function where Lance slammed an expensive statue to smithereens. And since my date was “a reflection of me,” I was punished accordingly: no social functions for the rest of the semester. Philanthropy events only.
The joke was on them; I’ve always loved volunteer work, and the social functions scared me anyway.
I feel like I’m headed back to sorority standards right now, about to be punished for my transgressions. Only this time, I’m actually culpable.
My phone pings with a new email. I glance down, and my composure shatters.
Hey BTH project team,
Thanks for your time last Friday and an incredibly thoughtful business presentation. While I was impressed, there are external factors making your proposed timeline infeasible. We will plan to delay the subsidiary launch and reevaluate based on company circumstances in roughly six months.
Best,
Douglas Dawson
Well. That’s that.
We’re getting acquired, and my legs don’t work anymore.
The vision in my head—me, with an Away suitcase and a map (because for some reason, I always envision myself holding an old-school paper map), jumping off a red double-decker bus and looking around at London, wonderstruck—vanishes, replaced by another vision: packing up my apartment, forced to go back home to Nashville because nobody else in Manhattan wants to hire me. I don’t get what I want, and even worse, I don’t get to keep what I have.
I wonder how close the voting was. Did we ever stand a chance? And would I really want to know if it had been a close call?
What do I even do from here? I can’t tell anyone about the acquisition. Panic would undoubtedly spread among the employees, and somehow, I just know Tracy would trace it back to me. Plus, I’d be a hypocrite to harp on Alex for sharing privileged information if I turned around and did the same thing.
“Casey.” I glance up. Molly flashes me a smile. She’s round faced and sweet, the picture-perfect image of an HR businesswoman. “Come in. Please close the door behind you.”
I do as she says, a new kind of dread pricking at my skin. As I sit, I realize I never bothered to check the company policy on coworker relationships.
But after that email, it suddenly seems like the least of my concerns.
Has Alex read it yet?
“You’re probably wondering what this is about,” Molly says, her voice coming to me a little hazy. She clasps her fingers on the desk between us.
I gulp. Nod. What is it Jerry used to secretly whisper to me when Dad wanted to ground me? Deny, deny, deny.
“A job opening in the London office has just posted, and I think you’d be perfect.” Molly pauses, watching me.
I don’t have the capacity to hide my confusion. “I … You … What?”
“Do you know who Sinclair Austin is?” she asks.
Sinclair Austin: manager of travel cost at Take Me There. We’ve never met, obviously, but I’m aware of who she is, what she does. Sinclair is responsible for researching and analyzing the true consumer cost of travel features in the magazine. She also creates budgets for each writer and helps plan their trips.
And here is the coolest part: Sinclair Austin has a byline. In some of Take Me There’s issues, she writes budgets for readers who are interested in specific travel destinations. Sometimes she even takes the trips with the writers herself.
“Yes,” I say to Molly, a little shakily. “I know who she is.”
“Well, she just got promoted to director of finance for the mag, and she’s looking to replace herself. It’s earlier than you planned. Your start date would be the first week of February. But I think you should interview at the very least, and consider that this job may interest you more than what’s available come summertime.”
All the background noise in my head quiets down and reduces to what she just said, over and over and over.
London office.
First week of February.
You’d be perfect.
“Wait,” I say. “I can’t. It’s not going to be…”
“Breathe, Casey,” Molly says. “I know what you’re thinking, but the job isn’t going anywhere, not for years. The acquiring company is going to have plenty of regulatory hoops to jump through, and you’re a valuable worker anyway. If I were you, this opportunity is something I’d seriously consider.”
“You—you know about the acquisition?”
“Yes. I’m in HR. We know everything, all the time. I won’t tell you there’s no risk. But I’m telling you I think it’s a risk you should take.”
“February?” I repeat.
Molly nods. “February.”
Here is the thing about want. Sometimes, it’s a dull pulse, a tickle on the back of your neck. And other times, it pushes in on you so hard that you can think of nothing else. You just want and want and want. A person. A place. A feeling.
* * *