Why did Ava have to let her family and all of their relentless ambition get under her skin?
“If you hold it all in, you’ll get constipated, Sims,” Luc said, still playing with her hair.
She smiled, in spite of herself. “Is that what they teach you at the police academy?”
“More like street smarts learned from being the youngest in a family of five. You’ve got lots of opportunities to watch your older siblings sulk their way through high school. Also, Sims? You’re stalling.”
“Fine, okay,” she said on a huff, pushing back from his chest to sit up. She reached for her wine. Took a sip, took a breath.
“I told my dad all about my story. About how it had been approved for the prime-time spot. And he was thrilled, of course, and then because I fed off his praise like I’m a pathetic seven-year-old, I kept going. I told him about all the praise I’ve been getting from the boss, and the boss’s boss, and how I think I’m going to get a promotion out of it…”
“Okay,” Luc said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“And then I realized…I don’t even know if I want it. I don’t know why I’m doing it.”
He frowned. “Don’t know why you’re doing what?”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Any of it.”
“You mean, like…this story?”
“That. And all the other crap stories CBC gives me. No offense.”
He grinned. “None taken.”
“It’s just…” She nibbled her fingernail. “I don’t want to just recite facts that are handed to me, I want to find the facts. I want…I want to tell the stories that matter. Not the ones that everyone else is telling because they’re popular. Is this crazy talk?”
Luc’s smile was gentle. “I’m going to ask you something, and promise to think on it for a second before you answer, okay?”
“’Kay,” she said warily.
“Why are you in broadcast journalism instead of investigative journalism? Not that the two have to be mutually exclusive, but I’ve seen the way you latch on to topics. I doubt you’ve ever been satisfied with trying to squeeze a juicy story into two minutes of the evening news.”
Ava looked at him. The question sounded so simple rolling off his lips.
The answer, she realized, was alarmingly simple as well.
She’d pursued this path because it’s the path her parents put her on. Starting when she was sixteen and her father had gotten her an internship with the local nightly news. It had continued to her college essay…her college major…her first job…all driven by her parents.
Ava groaned and rested her head on Luc’s shoulder.
“I’m pathetic.”
“You’re not,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Plenty of people get started on the wrong career track for the wrong reason. There’s no shame in it. And you have plenty of time to course-correct.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “I know what I have to do, I guess. It’s just…All I’ve ever wanted is for them to be proud of me, you know? And I know that the good parents are proud of their kids for trying their hardest, or pursuing their dreams, or whatever…my parents really will only be proud of me once I’m anchorwoman. And if they’re not proud of me…who will be?”
Luc said nothing, his blue eyes steady. I will.
“Sims, do you want to be anchorwoman?”
“Of course,” was on the tip of her tongue. Even now. As though her brain had just programmed itself to perk up at the word.
She waited for the old burst of anticipation to rush through her. She used to be able to picture her future so clearly. The gorgeous clothes, the cushy chair, the easy banter she’d have with her co-anchor during light stories, and the quiet intensity she’d convey during the heavier stories.
But for the first time since she’d loaded up her used Toyota Corolla and taken a one-way trip from Oklahoma to New York, Ava had a seed of doubt:
What if it wasn’t enough?