“I know. And before you complain about any of this, you’re thirty, it’s your birthday, and just because it started out shitty does not mean I’m okay with letting it end that way. Everyone deserves cake and presents and a little spoiling on their day. You’d do the same, and have, for me.”
Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Everly could only nod. Stacey reached out a hand, reminding Everly that she still held her notebook.
“Give me that. You have cake. Tara made it special for you. I won’t sing,” Stacey said with a smirk playing on her lips. She held up her hands like she was swearing on a Bible.
Handing over the book, Everly flipped the top of the box open and stared down at a beautiful miniature cake. Shaped and decorated like a present, it had polka-dot wrapping paper and a thick bow. A white tag read Everly.
“This is stunning,” Everly said.
Stacey glanced up. “Yeah. Tara’s the best. I told her it was too pretty to eat, and she said cake is always meant to be eaten.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Want your gift?”
Everly eyed the bag, nerves dancing in her belly again. “I don’t know. Do I?”
Laughter shone from her friend’s eyes. “Oh yeah. But maybe you should save it for later. You have batteries, right? I mean, it came with some, but it’s always good to have backup.”
Even in the quiet of her own backyard, with no one else around, Everly’s cheeks warmed. “You did not.” Of course she did.
“Babe, you’re thirty. They say this is the friskiest time of your life. I think you should add sleep with a younger man to this list.” She tapped her index finger on the page.
Everly rolled her eyes. She held out her hand. “Give me back my list.”
Stacey shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Eat cake. This needs work.”
Everly picked up one of the two forks beside the box and dug in. She might end up in a sugar coma later, but it’d be worth it.
“You’re not helping with the list,” Everly said around her first delicious bite.
“Uh, yeah, I am. This is boring. You turned thirty, not one hundred. I love the work one. I told you six months ago you needed to pitch that podcast idea. Other than that, though, let’s see … Find your happy? I brought you your happy.” Stacey pointed to the gift bag, and Everly almost choked on her bite of cake.
Her friend set the journal down and reached under the table, dug around a moment, then pulled up a bottle of wine and two glasses.
Everly peeked under to see what other magic tricks she was hiding. “You’re like a dirty Mary Poppins.”
Stacey laughed as she opened the wine and poured them both some. “I like that. Mary Poppins with sass.”
Everly had the glass to her lips when Stacey raised her glass.
“To you. To being one of the best people I’ve ever met. And to thirty being the year you realize just how kick-ass awesome you really are.”
Everly clinked her glass, determined to take her friend’s words to heart. “To you being a great friend and a lousy singer.”
Stacey tilted her head back and laughed. Everly noticed the curtains on the bottom-left unit flutter open. Lexie pressed her face to the glass, smooshing her nose and waving. Everly waved back, and Stacey turned to do the same.
“Okay, for real. I think this list is a great idea. But we need to spice it up.”
“It’s not a bucket list, Stace. It’s a guideline for getting what I want out of life. Starting this year.”
Stacey sipped her wine. “Okay. What do you want?”
Everly’s stomach tilted when she realized she didn’t really know. “I feel like I have a better idea of what I don’t want.”
Her friend gestured with her hand for Everly to continue, then picked up the other fork.
“I don’t want to date guys I don’t connect with anymore. Maybe they don’t all cheat, but it never goes anywhere, which I think I’ve been doing on purpose. I don’t want people to think I’m a snob just because I have a hard time talking to them. I don’t know that I want a different spot at the station, but I hate feeling like I’m too scared to push past my safety net. At work and in my personal life.”
Stacey nodded, swallowing down her cake. “Okay. Good. We can work with this.” She reached down to her purse, which was beside her on the ground, and pulled out a pen. She wrote something in the book.
“Hey!” Everly reached for the journal.
Stacey batted her hand way. “I’m helping. It’s not like you can’t change it back. I’m just adding a couple of things. You have room. Also, the title needs to go. This isn’t just about thirty. It’s about you seeing how truly awesome you are and opening yourself up. Even, maybe especially when, you’re scared. Until you wrap your head around that, you pretend.”
She sipped her wine before responding. “Are you dropping clichés on me now? Fake it ’til I make it?”
Stacey shot her a sassy grin and nodded. “You got it, babe.”
Everly sat on the edge of the chair, waiting, worrying her bottom lip while Stacey scratched the pen across the page. Staring beyond her friend at the houses in the neighborhood, she thought about what it’d be like to have her own place … an actual home of her own. Did she want that? Yes. And though she wouldn’t say it out loud, not even to Stacey, she also wanted to share that home with a husband and family. All while having a job she loved and excelled at. Maybe you do know what you want. But so far, she’d taken the wrong path to get it, because as great as it was to have a friend like Stacey, she was sitting in the backyard of a rented home, feeling restless, and tonight, she’d go to bed alone.
Everly glanced at the gift bag and couldn’t help but laugh.
When Stacey passed her back her book, Everly stared down at her list. Stacey had added more than ideas; she’d included funny little notes with arrows pointing at a few of them and a smiley face beside the last one.
The Rules for Turning 30
Ten Rules for Faking It
Focus on the good.
No hoarding—animals or otherwise.
Stay home on birthdays. Do something you enjoy on your birthday.
Try one new thing each month outside of your comfort zone.
Do something bold to gain notice at work. Pitch and push the podcast idea at the next meeting. End goal: getting our pick of time slots.
Do something exciting. Even if it gives you hives. Be bold. Even if it gives you hives.
Figure out what makes you happy and grab on tight. No more holding back.
Date men who make you feel things. (And no, I actually don’t just mean those things. Stop hiding, Everly.)
Believe in yourself, in your value as a friend, lover, girlfriend, daughter, producer, and all-around great human.
Make the first move. (A real move. Lip-locking, hand-grazing, sultry-look giving. You choose.)
Her stomach only wobbled a little, but Everly convinced herself that was from eating too much cake and not because she was scared. If you’re scared and doing it, anyway, that counts as something from the list. She inhaled deeply, feeling her chest expand before she let the breath out slowly. Maybe it was time to make some changes. For herself.
[5]
Chris rarely worked from home. It made him stir-crazy. But today, he couldn’t face Everly, he couldn’t deal with being at the station, looking at her and Stacey, knowing he didn’t have an answer for how to save their jobs.
Why did he put up with his dad’s garbage? Was it really going to get him where he wanted to be?
“Knock off the pity party,” he muttered, bringing his coffee to the small table by the patio that overlooked a busy street.
His phone buzzed with the group text he and his brothers had started so long ago, he’d probably never find the beginning. Chris had updated them on Ari’s new plan, and the three of them were alternating between coming up with ideas to distract her and complaining about their father. Totally productive.
NOAH: If you
boost the ratings, especially during that time segment, Dad can’t fight you.
CHRIS: Thanks, genius. I hadn’t thought of that.
NOAH: That’s why I’m here.
WESLEY: The numbers really aren’t that bad. I played with some of the data, and it looks like when you targeted ad space and music to a specific demographic, your ratings improved.
NOAH: Do you ever get tired of talking like that?
WESLEY: Like I know what I’m doing? No. But I get why it would be hard for you to understand. Most things are.
Chris laughed. This wasn’t helping, but it was improving his mood. Opening up the laptop, he logged in to the station’s site, his heartbeat accelerating with every ping signaling a new message. People were commenting on Everly’s overshare yesterday. They were … invested. Opinionated. And mostly on her side. He’d changed the password on the email because he didn’t want her to have to deal with it. As station manager, it was well within his job description to take this on. He told himself that was the only reason he’d done it—that he’d do it for any one of his staff—but he knew he wanted to save her from having to see possible criticism.
NOAH: What about giving away a trip during their segment?
CHRIS: Trying to save money, not spend it.
WESLEY: Get sponsors. That’s how most stations do it.
NOAH: I say we ship Ari off to Bermuda. She’s terrible with directions, so she won’t make it back.
Chris laughed out loud. They all loved their sister. They weren’t as close to her as each other, but when the four of them were in the same room, the bond was undeniable. Just because she bounced on their nerves like a kid on a trampoline didn’t mean they loved her any less. But seriously, Chris needed to find a way to push her interests elsewhere.
WESLEY: Too bad she didn’t get picked up for The Bachelorette. That would have kept her busy for several months.
NOAH: WHAT?
Chris frowned at his phone screen. When the hell had she applied for that, and why?
WESLEY: She wanted to apply, so she asked me to help her with her audition tape.
CHRIS: You helped her? What the hell?
NOAH: Not cool, man. She’s a pain in the ass, but we don’t feed her to the wolves. Or sketchy singles, in this case.
CHRIS: Dad would have lost it if she got in.
NOAH: He wouldn’t have let her.
WESLEY: It’s all staged. It didn’t seem like a big deal, and she didn’t get chosen.
NOAH: I would have kicked your ass if she did.
WESLEY: Ari has a better chance of that than you.
Chris kept one eye on the phone, but his attention kept getting pulled to the subject lines of the emails that would not stop pouring in. Men and women alike were offering Everly advice, compassion, and, his least favorite, dates. You really need to get over this crush or whatever this is. He wanted her to be happy, definitely wanted her to date someone better than Simon the Snake, but thinking about her with anyone made his heart feel like it were caught in a vise.
WESLEY: I have to go. Some of us work.
NOAH: Same. You want to grab a beer later?
Chris felt a twinge in his chest. He missed going out for beers with his brothers. They were both in Manhattan, and though any of them could easily hop on a plane, they all worked too many hours to just drop everything. You’ll be back there soon enough. Definitely something he was looking forward to.
WESLEY: Sure. Too bad you can’t join us, C. Maybe when Dad lets you out of exile.
Chris smirked and typed back his response. It wasn’t polite.
* * *
He’d need to hire someone just to deal with the emails and social media if the response to Everly’s rant didn’t die down soon. Chris had spreadsheets littered across his table. He’d spent the last several hours going through numbers and research. Popping the top on a beer, he took a long swallow and went out to his patio. The sun was setting through the light film of hazy smog. Traffic moved below, music from someone else’s apartment filtered through the air. It was a perfect California night. Chris sighed heavily and leaned his forearms on the railings.
The thought of how many guys offered to take Everly out not only blew him away but pissed him off a little. Did these guys actually think they could email a “Hey, baby, I’ll take your mind off your troubles,” and she’d be all over it? What kind of idiot was Simon? The kind who had a woman like Everly—smart, funny, shy but sarcastic, hardworking, and so pretty it could drop a man to his knees—and blew his chances. She deserved someone who would bring out that cute smile—the one she got when Stacey said something funny on-air and she was trying not to laugh. She deserved a guy who would remind her every day that he was damn lucky to be with her.
You are not that guy, Chris reminded himself before taking another long swallow of beer.
He had four to six months left in this so-called exile. For as long as he could remember, he, Wesley, and Noah had been jumping through hoops their dad pulled out of nowhere like restless whims. The three of them had considered working elsewhere, but loyalty always won. That and a desire to prove to their father that all three of them could earn his respect. His pride.
* * *
Chris wasn’t giving up on the station. Unlike his dad, when he was in, he was all the way in. His father bought businesses like bags of chips, tossing them out if he didn’t like the flavor. Chris knew there was a way to build 96.2 into something bigger than his father imagined it could be. Chris trusted his own vision and his own gut. He could turn things around and wasn’t walking away until he did. His way. Maybe he couldn’t do anything about the guys Everly dated, but business was his … Chris lowered his hand, jolting when the glass bottle clinked against the metal railing. An idea swirled in his brain, making his heart pump heavily. A good idea. It could save the segment, boost the ratings, pull in even more listeners, and open up his dad’s eyes to the fact that Chris had a knack for taking something that was crumbling and rebuilding it into a work of art. This was the kind of thing his grandfather would call inspired. It was risky, but the payoff was huge.
Going back inside to his computer, he saw the fifty new emails that had popped up in the time he’d taken a break, and he knew he was onto something. This could be the key to getting what he’d been working his whole life toward: proving to himself, and his father, that he had a head and heart—though his dad always said there was no room in the corporate world for feelings—for business. He’d be able to move on to the next step, up and away from his father’s control. Still in his company, but not under his thumb. That had been the ultimate goal from day one, and even if it killed him to watch it play out, there might be the unexpected bonus of helping Everly find happiness—if that’s what she was after.
Win-win. Mostly.
[6]
Everly hitched her canvas bag farther onto her shoulder and walked toward the back entrance of the station. It felt like she’d just left, and now she was back. The day after her birthday had been a gong show—according to the morning show deejay, she’d broken the internet—or at least the station website.
They’d had tech guys scrambling to fix things because there were so many visitors to the site, their social media had blown up, and Everly couldn’t log on to the email. It was … overwhelming. It made it that much harder to avoid thinking about what she’d shared over the airwaves. It did keep her distracted from the chatter and teasing bouncing around the break room and the media booths.
“Hey,” Stacey called out. She was hurrying over from where she’d parked her car. Dressed in a gorgeous blue sundress, she personified the term California girl.
“Hey. How was your date last night?”
Stacey grinned. “Yummy.”
Everly laughed at the way her friend waggled her eyebrows. “You let him stay the night?”
Stacey narrowed her eyes. “You have your rules, I have mine. No sleepovers. I don’t need to be tied down. Well, actually—”
Ever
ly laughed and lifted her hand. “Don’t. I don’t want to know. How come we’re being called in early?”
Stacey unlocked the door and shrugged. “Don’t know. Chris said he wanted to talk about our segment.”
Everly’s skin itched. What about it? Maybe he was pissed they’d turned the other morning into a Maury Povich episode. He’d seemed okay when he’d brought her dessert, which, in and of itself, was strange to wrap her head around. Why had he? Pity brings out kindness in people. She didn’t want it to mean anything more than what it clearly was: Her boss brought her something to ease the sting of a fantastically bad day. Maybe he wanted to be friends. Maybe he was softening you up to fire you. Though, firing really called for more of a good shiraz than sweets, but maybe he didn’t know that.
“Your negative thoughts are making my brain tired,” Stacey grumbled, bumping her shoulder against Everly’s.
“You’re tired because you didn’t sleep all night. You’re not so young anymore. You need more sleep.”
With another cheeky grin, Stacey bumped her hip this time. “You need someone who makes you want to lose sleep.”
Rule eight: Date men who make you feel things. She didn’t need a guy, or particularly want one right now. Next time, though? It won’t be the same old, same old, make me laugh and come out of my shell so I can avoid digging deeper and figuring out what I want.
What she wanted was to know why Chris hadn’t shown up for work yesterday and why, though she didn’t mind and often did, they were coming in early.
“Jesus, I can feel the worry vibrating off your skin. Chill, Ev. We’re fine.”
“He probably just wants to talk damage control,” Everly said.
“Damage control? You blew up the internet. He probably wants to thank you for putting the station on the map.”
Rolling her eyes, Everly opened the door and held it for Stacey. “I wonder what would have happened if you’d gotten to sing on-air. Today could look very different for both of us.”
Ten Rules for Faking It Page 5
