“Yes she is! This is the first time I’m meeting her and you’re telling me you’re engaged? How far gone are you that you think that’s even normal? You want my advice? Sign a fucking pre-nup.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” my dad growls suddenly, slamming a hand on the table so that the plates and cups jump noisily.
I sit back in my chair and look away, out at the ocean beyond the balcony, in hopes that the deep blue will somehow pacify the frustration gathering within me. “I’m nobody. Just the son who’s watched you hurt women over and over again his entire life. Just the son who’s seen this happen too many times to smile and go along with it anymore.”
I glance at my dad one more time, then push my chair back and stand up.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I’m getting out of here. I’ll see you in a couple of months. Maybe Nancy too, if she’s still around by then, though I somehow doubt it.”
“Owen!” he calls out, but I’ve already turned away, I’m already walking back through the restaurant. “Owen!”
I stop at the ma?tre’d stand to pay the check on my way out, and I’m just about to turn into the corridor that leads to the women’s restroom when I catch sight of Margo and Nancy standing in the narrow hallway. I don’t know why, maybe it’s the idea of having to talk with Nancy, maybe it’s the tone of Nancy’s voice, or maybe it’s just the sheer confusion of my own thoughts compelling me not to engage, but I hold back. I stop myself and step out of view, leaning up against the wall, a few feet away from them just around the corner.
“…understand, honey. It’s a lot for him to take,” Nancy says in that unmistakable southern drawl.
“Yeah…” Margo sighs in response. “I’m still sorry he acted that way.”
I lean a bit closer, suddenly ashamed that Margo’s standing there doing damage control on my behalf, but I can’t hear Nancy’s response. They share a quiet laugh and I take advantage of the opportunity to clear my throat and step into view.
“Hey Margo, come on, we’re leaving.”
“What?” Margo says, stopping suddenly.
“Nancy,” I say, “it was nice meeting you, but we need to go. Tell my father I’ve settled our bill already.”
Margo shrugs in confusion, looks at Nancy, hugs her goodbye, and then joins me as we walk out of the restaurant and cross the parking lot to my car.
“Owen,” Margo says, as she paces beside me. “You acted like a huge jerk back there. I know things got a little tense, and I understand your reservations, but come on.”
I stop and look at her, mind dense with too many thoughts to answer, body too tense from too much vexation to continue on. I want to do the only thing that makes sense anymore, the only thing that feels right. I want to clench her body close to mine, tilt her chin up, and kiss her. But I can’t get past the disappointment on her face, and in the end I just drive her home.
18
Margo
Today’s the day, I tell myself as I enter the TrendBlend offices. Today’s the day I make my decision. I’ve kept Cassandra at the New York Month waiting a few days already, and if I keep her waiting any longer, she’ll be the one making the choice for me. So today I’m going to call her up and let her know exactly what I want to do about the job offer.
The problem is, I still haven’t made up my mind. And what’s muddling this even further is my conflicted feelings about Owen. After the double date from hell last night, I never heard from him, and I’m still really pissed about his behavior. I’d never seen that side of him before.
Making my decision should be easier than this. The dream job, the dream city, the dream future. The critical respect I’ve always wanted, the meaningful, satisfying work I’ve craved for so long. A new life built around the things I’ve been passionate about since I was young—proper journalism, intellectual robustness, and a sense of purpose beyond the trivialities of TrendBlend. Away from all the bad boyfriends and boring baggage of my life so far.
Except I’m liking my job at TrendBlend more now. I’m getting into the swing of the video stuff, and although I’m still not completely comfortable being an internet celebrity, it’s growing on me. Works seems a little more fun than it once did, more rewarding somehow, and I’m even getting into a groove—
Shit. Who am I kidding? There’s one reason and one reason alone that I’m second-guessing, and he’s sitting right there when I arrive at my desk. He might be a jerk, but he’s still my best friend. Maybe even more than that.
“Morning,” I say, trying to keep the lingering annoyance out of my voice as I pull out my chair and set down my bag.
“Hey,” he says, sounding sheepish. “I’m sorry about last night. I lost my cool and was heinously rude.”
“I don’t think you need to apologize to me—you need to apologize to your dad and Nancy,” I say, squeezing his shoulder to take the edge off my words.
“You’re right,” he says. “I actually went for a long run after I got home last night and that gave me some time to think things over. I’ll give him a call today.”
I’m fighting the urge to give him a big, squeezy hug when Agnes rushes toward our desk. “Hey guys,” she says, interrupting our chat. “Melissa wants to see both of you in her office. Right away.”
Owen and I swap a quick look.
“Sure,” I tell Agnes, who smiles before moving off.
We get up, shrugging at each other.
“What do you think it’s about?” I ask Owen.
“Promotion? A million dollars, each?” he says, as we weave between desks on the way to Melissa’s office. “Or maybe just a request for another video series?”
I roll my eyes and smile. “Yeah, right.”
“Why not?” Owen says, as we near the door. “You seen the hits we’re getting?”
Owen pushes open Melissa’s office door and I step through, immediately slowing when I see our lady boss leaning back up against the front of her desk, a tight smile across her face that I’m having trouble reading.
“Shut the door please,” she says, voice cool as she moves back to sit behind her desk, her tone of voice only adding to my sudden sense of dread. Owen and I stand in front of her like schoolkids called to the principal’s office. “I want you to be honest with me,” she says, eyes flickering between the two of us. My stomach plummets. “How do you feel about television?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, not sure where she’s going with this.
Melissa leans back in her chair and folds her arms. “The numbers for your vlog are insane, and people want more. It’s causing quite a sensation on the web, which I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. I think there’s room for the show to grow, and I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
The look on Owen’s face is one of stunned surprise. “Who else thinks so?” he says.