“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Louise says, sitting up to fill both our glasses once again, probably hoping her enthusiasm will erase the somber tone of what I just said. “So this show: you get to meet lots of hot guys, right?”
I shrug. “We only just filmed the first episode, and yes the guy was hot, but he had the personality of an exit sign.”
“That was only one guy. Are you going to do it again?”
I let out a sigh. “I have to—it’s a series.”
Louise grins roguishly. “Who’s the next guy?”
“I don’t know,” I say, leaning back against the cushions and looking up at the ceiling, the champagne going to my head a little now. “Owen and I agreed to find dates for each other this time.”
“No way!” Louise says, sitting bolt upright on the edge of the couch now like an excited puppy.
“Yes way,” I say, somehow peeling myself forward and grabbing my phone from the table. I swipe a few times and hand it to Louise. “We’re supposed to use this app.”
Louise looks down at the phone, her mouth open and smiling, knees bouncing with giddy pleasure. “This is incredible! You get to pick Owen’s date? Why didn’t you tell me this the second I came through the door?”
“I forgot, to be honest.”
My sister rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Like you haven’t spent day and night searching this site for the worst girl on it.”
“Why would I do that?” I exclaim, shocked.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Louise says, glancing at me for a second, barely able to peel her eyes away from the screen she’s swiping rhythmically now. “You could find some horrible, spoiled, annoying girl—like this one! Look,” she says, holding the screen up, “her profile has more ridiculous demands than a hostage-taker. Six-figure salary…owns his own home…take her on vacation multiple times a year…you think Owen could handle her?”
I groan loudly and set my glass down. “I’m not setting Owen up with a bad date, Louise. Whatever…mess I’m in mentally, he’s still my friend, and I still want to see him happy,” I say, moving closer to Louise on the loveseat. We both lean in to look at the phone screen as she swipes through photos of girls. “Besides, we already promised we’d pick nice dates for each other.”
“You could say it was for entertainment value!”
“No. Seriously.”
“Okay. Hmm,” she muses. “So…what is his type?”
I think about it for a second, then say, “Hot.”
Louise waits for more, then turns to look at me.
“Is that it?”
“As far as I can tell? Pretty much.”
“Come on, give me something else, there must be some type.”
I frown as I think, Louise still swiping occasionally on the phone she’s holding in front of us. A minute later, I try again. “Well, she should be sort of relaxed, chilled-out, you know? Owen hates drama. He needs a girl who can go with the flow.”
“Great,” Louise says, almost triumphantly. “That rules out about half the girls I’ve seen so far. What else?”
I squint at the wall, thinking deeply again.
“Intelligent—that’s a necessity—so probably someone with a four-year degree. Owen comes across too relaxed to show it, but he’s smart as hell, and he appreciates wit. Even if it’s only one date, he’ll be bored out of his skull if she can’t keep up with him. Oh, and confident: Owen needs a girl who can tell him what she thinks. He can get carried away with himself without someone grounded enough to play off.”
“Ok, maybe—”
“Supportive, too. He’s got ambitions and dreams. He deserves someone who’ll encourage him—he could achieve great things with someone like that,” I add.
“How about-—”
“And open-minded—that’s important too. Owen’s got really wild tastes, in food, in things he likes to do, so he needs someone adventurous who’s willing to try new stuff. Oh, and he should really be with a girl who—”
“Margo,” Louise says with enough firmness to stop me talking. “You do realize you just described yourself, right?”
“I—” But I close my mouth as my phone dings with an incoming email notification.
Louise looks down at the screen for a second and says, “Who’s Cassandra Beale?”
I freeze for a second, then take the phone from her and open the message. It’s a short email, but I read it multiple times before it starts to sink in, my heart pounding, my breath coming in short gasps.
“What is it? Did something bad happen?” Louise says, and it’s only then that I notice I’ve been pacing up and down my living room while reading.
“It’s the woman from the New York Month—the one I spoke to last week—had the phone interview with last week…”
“And?”
“She wants to do another call with a few other editors. Tomorrow. Tomorrow in the morning.”
Louise’s face goes as bright and big as the sun, before she starts squealing loudly, stamping her feet and punching her arms in the air.
“You’re going to New York!”
“Oh fuck,” I say, falling onto the comfy seat and downing what’s left in my champagne glass before filling it up again. “I’d completely given up hope…I was sure I blew it…”
“What exactly did she say?”
I look at the phone again, already disbelieving what I thought I read just a moment ago.
“She said…let’s see…that she really liked me, she loves the breadth of my work, and that she thinks I’m just what they’re looking for—”
“Holy shit. Margo, it’s your dream!”
“And she wants some of the editors I’d be working with to meet me on Skype to see if they feel the same, but that there could very well be a place for me there…”
Before I can look up Louise has me in a hug as constricting and forceful as a wrestling move. When she pulls away, still smiling uncontrollably, I allow myself to laugh.
“I don’t even know how I’ll do it—it’s during work hours.”
“Oh whatever, just go out and do it from your car. Nobody will notice.”
“I might be gone awhile though.”
“So what?” Louise says, dismissing my worry with a shake of her head. She’s bouncing up and down on the seat now with excitement. “I can’t believe you’ve really done it! I’m so happy for you!”
“It’s not an official offer, just a second interview.”
“Just a second interview away from New York and the dream you always wanted,” Louise reminds me. “From leaving all this stuff behind. TrendBlend, dating shows, Carl.”
“Owen,” I find myself saying, the champagne making me think out loud. “You.”
Louise puts a hand out and squeezes my knee affectionately.
“I’ll be visiting you every chance I get—don’t worry about that,” she says. “As for Owen…if there’s no way to make this work, maybe a bit of distance is a good thing.”
“Maybe,” I say, before remembering Owen’s words on the video.
What I need and what I want feel like opposites right now—and I’m not even sure which one Owen is anymore.
11
Owen