I Belong With You

by Ashelyn Drake

  I run my free hand through my hair. “I get what you mean.” Nothing that remotely resembles her being my girlfriend.

  She finishes her coffee and places the cup in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “Enjoy,” I say.

  Her eyes linger on me for a moment before she walks out of the kitchen.

  I feel like such an ass. I screwed things up by kissing her. I hadn’t meant to, though. It was like I forgot where we were for a moment. I forgot she’d ended things. I down the rest of my coffee and grab my phone from the kitchen table, where I left it charging last night. I dial Dom.

  “Hey, what’s going on? I’m getting ready to tee off,” he says.

  I palm my forehead. “Sorry, I forgot about the golf tournament. Go. Have fun.” I hang up, feeling like an idiot for the second time this morning. It’s Saturday, and I have no plans. I’m officially pathetic. I could go in to work, but that might make me even more of a loser than I already am. I head to my room, grab my laptop, and get comfortable on the couch. I open my work email and see Aria sent me a message last night. I open it and read.

  David, I had this idea and I’ve actually already run it by Emily, but she hasn’t given me a definitive answer yet. Terry is looking for a way to spice up the paper. Give it an edge, you know? So we were hoping you and Emily would be up for doing a joint column. We’d pose you two with topics, and you’d write them up. I know it’s more opinion than news, but with your background, Terry and I figure you could add some research and facts to Emily’s amazing voice. Think it over and get back to me.

  Emily never mentioned this to me. Was she ever going to, or had she already decided she didn’t want to work with me? More likely, I made that decision for her the moment my lips touched hers last night. But a column? As much as I love being an editor, I do miss writing stories. This could be the perfect solution. It would also mean Emily and I would have to work together, which I’d love. I always thought it was the piece we did together for Priority News that led to us becoming a couple. What if it could do that again?

  No. What am I thinking? Emily doesn’t want a commitment. She’s made that clear, and I have to accept it. Doing this column would be a huge mistake. I hit “reply” on the email.

  Aria, while I like the idea, I’m not sure I could swing this. I’m new to being an editor, and I’m afraid to spread myself too thin too quickly. Maybe once Emily and I both have more experience and the paper is running smoothly, we could revisit the idea.

  I read it over, making sure none of my true feelings are bleeding through the message. Thinking I’m safe, I hit “send” and sit back.

  “Are you working?” Emily asks, coming out of the bathroom with a towel on her head. She’s fully dressed in shorts and a lace tank top.

  “Just answering emails. Hey, why didn’t you tell me about the column Aria wants us to write?”

  Her face pales. “Column? She never mentioned it would be a column.” She walks around the couch and sits next to me, her eyes flitting to my email inbox. “Did she actually use the word ‘column’ or did you make that assumption on your own?”

  Why does it sound like the idea appeals to her? “She said ‘column.’ See for yourself.” I open Aria’s message and turn the laptop so Emily can read it.

  “You said no?” She sounds more surprised than she might be if I’d kissed her again.

  “Well, she said she already talked to you about it, and since you didn’t bring it up with me, I assumed that meant you weren’t game.” I close the laptop and place it on the coffee table.

  She stands up and removes the towel from her head, letting her damp hair fall to her shoulders. “I didn’t realize it would be a column. She only said that she and Mr. M. wanted us to write a few pieces together when we had time. But a column... I’ve always wanted to write one. A lot of opinion editors have columns, and when Mr. M. didn’t ask me to write one, I figured he was waiting to see if I could cut it at the position first.” She’s pacing frantically now, squeezing the towel in her hands. “This might be the only way for me to prove I’m ready for my own column.” She stops pacing and raises her gaze to meet mine. “David, I hate to ask you this, which is why I didn’t bring it up in the first place when I just thought it was joint stories we’d be writing, but is there any way you’d consider doing this?” She steps closer. “For me?”

  I can’t believe she’d be willing to work this closely with me after last night, but can I really say no? She’s giving me those big doe eyes. I’ve always loved her eyes. They’re hazel, but some days they look more green than anything else. Especially when she wears green or turquoise tops. I shake the thought from my head, and Emily mistakes the gesture for refusal.

  “I understand,” she says, her head lowering. “I shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t fair of me.”

  I resist the urge to step toward her and take her hands in mine. I can’t let my feelings for her be this obvious or she’ll never agree to this, and after seeing how much she wants a column, I can’t deny her the opportunity.

  “Emily, I wasn’t shaking my head at the idea of writing the column. I was dismissing a different thought in my mind.” Hopefully, she won’t figure out what that thought was.

  She looks up at me, and her eyes widen. “Really? You’re saying you’d actually consider this?” She takes a few steps toward me, and I place my hand casually on the arm of the couch.

  “Sure. I don’t see why we can’t consider it. I only said no because I didn’t think you wanted to do it.”

  “When I applied at Priority News, I dreamed of writing opinion pieces. Why do you think I kissed Edie’s ass so much?”

  Edie Maron was and still is the opinion editor for Marjorie Strauss’s paper. She was the most unorganized person at the paper, but she always managed to have her stories edited and submitted on time, so Mr. Monohan never complained. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of us who had to stare at the dump heap that was her desk every day.

  Emily is clasping her hands in front of her, looking a lot like a little girl begging Santa Claus for a new bike for Christmas. “I’ll bet you anything Mr. M. wants to give me a shot at a column and figures you’ll help me get on my feet.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, not to say that I want to kick you off the column later on. That didn’t come out right at all. I just mean that putting someone my age on a column by herself—”

  I reach for her, taking her by the shoulders. “Emily, you’re a great editor. Forget age for a second. I don’t think Mr. Monohan or Aria wants to pair us up because they don’t feel you’re ready to do this on your own. According to Aria, the piece we wrote together for Priority News was very well received. I think they just want to bring more attention to For the Record since it’s a new paper, and they believe this could do that.”

  She nods. “You’re probably right. We did make a great team.” Her eyes fall to my hands on her shoulders, so I release her.

  “Okay, so then, I should email Aria back and say we’re in?” God, can I really do this? Work this closely with Emily and not give in to my feelings in the process?

  “Only if you’re really okay with it,” she says, but her body language contradicts the casual tone in her voice. She’s clutching her hands again, her knuckles turning white.

  I sit down on the couch and pull my laptop to the edge of the coffee table. I open Aria’s email again, only to find she’s already responded.

  David, I completely understand. If you two change your mind, let me know.

  I’m glad she didn’t say more, not that she’d have any idea Emily was hovering over me, reading my messages. Still, I know the true meaning behind her words. Just like I understood her feelings for Nate before she was willing to admit them, and Nate’s feelings for Aria before he got up the courage to tell her. Yes, Aria knew my position well. I click “reply.”

  Aria, I just talked it over with Emily, and we’re on board. I’m assuming we’ll need to work on the column on weekends so as not to mes
s with our other editorial duties during the week, so go ahead and send us our first topic when you’re ready.

  Emily’s beside me now, reading over my shoulder as I type. I turn my head slightly, and she nods. I hit “send.”

  I’m not surprised when Aria’s response comes seconds later.

  Emily loops her arm through mine, a huge smile on her face. “Do you think she already has a topic for us?” she asks me.

  I’m sure she does, but instead of answering, I open the message.

  Great! Terry and I have decided you’ll be writing an advice column. We’ve created a fake letter for you to respond to this week, and we’ll run an ad asking readers to email with future topics. We figured you’d both get a kick out of this first topic, so have at it:

  Dear David and Emily,

  My boss is a first-class jerk. You know the type. Thinks he’s better than everyone. And I’m sure you can guess where he got that attitude from. His mother. Did I mention she’s technically my boss, too? How do I survive in a hostile work environment? I can’t afford to quit, and I’m not the type to seek other employment under my boss’s nose, no matter how much he deserves it. What should I do?

  Sincerely,

  Tired of Working for a Momma’s Boy

  Emily’s laughing hysterically, hand to heart and all. It’s clear Mr. Monohan and Aria are taking a dig at Marjorie and Oliver Strauss, the current owner and editor-in-chief of Priority News. We all remember too well what it was like working with them, which is why we quit.

  “Do you think they’ll read this? Marjorie and Oliver?” Emily’s eyes are filled with tears. “Oh, I hope they do. I have such a great response for this.”

  I’m glad she’s enjoying this because I’m stuck on the fact that I’m going to be writing an advice column. What self-respecting man writes an advice column? And I’m going to be writing it with my ex-girlfriend. I glance at the clock on my laptop. Is 11:32 a.m. too early to start drinking?

  Chapter Nine

  Emily

  I can’t wait to dig into this advice column, but David looks sick. I’m sure he wasn’t expecting this. I mean, an advice column is kind of cheesy. But its purpose is to spice up the paper. We’re solid on news, features, opinions, sports—you name it. This column will get people’s attention. At least the way I intend to write it. But I have to get David on board with this first. The problem is he’s already doing me a huge favor. I know he’s not thrilled at the idea of us having to work so closely together after everything we’ve been through. Yet he’s bailing me out for the second time this week because he’s a great guy. A great guy who also happened to kiss me last night. A great guy who clearly wants to be with me despite having let me go.

  I wipe the tears from my eyes, which I’m not convinced are from the shear hilarity of that topic Aria and Mr. M. concocted. Now they’re tears for hurting David this way. I never meant for this to happen. “Excuse me. I think I have an eyelash in my eye or something.” I stand up and rush for the bathroom, needing to put some distance between David and me. I splash cold water onto my face and stare at my reflection. My hair is still damp from my shower, I have no makeup on, and my eyes are bloodshot. Very attractive. Though maybe that’s good. Maybe if I continue to walk around the apartment looking like hell, David will get over me and move on to someone else. The thought makes my chest ache, but I don’t allow myself to focus on that. I can’t have it both ways. I can’t have him and push him away at the same time. It’s not fair to either of us.

  I take a deep breath, knowing what I need to do. I dab my face with a hand towel, refold it, and place it back on the towel bar. Then I head back to the living room. “Hey, do you mind if we work on the column tomorrow? I sort of have a date this evening, and Tara and I are supposed to go shopping before it.” All lies, but if things go as planned, I’ll make both things into reality. Sebastian gave me his number last night and told me to call him if I was up for dinner tonight. As sweet as he is, no part of me intended to call him. Until now.

  David stands up and starts for his room. “No problem. I actually have plans for today, too, so that works out well.” He avoids my eyes as he walks into his room and shuts the door.

  I can’t help wondering if he’s lying to try to save face, but I also know that allowing him to do so is the kindest thing I can do for him right now. I go to my room and put on my makeup while I call Tara.

  “Hey,” she says. “How much did you let me drink last night? I just woke up ten minutes ago.”

  “I didn’t let you do anything. You could have paced yourself like I did.” I sit down at my vanity and start fixing my hair.

  “Paced yourself? You had two beers all night and then switched to water. It was like being out with a nun.”

  I laugh. “Do nuns frequent bars?” I finish brushing my hair, pulling half of it up, and start on my makeup. Not that I wear much. A little blush, a little eye shadow, and some eyeliner, and I’m good to go.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Are you too hungover to go shopping with me?” I ask in a way that makes it seem like we discussed a shopping trip last night while she was drinking.

  “Oh, um, I should be fine. I just took aspirin, and I’m drinking water as we speak. Can you drive, though?”

  I feel a little guilty for tricking her, but I need her opinion on this whole David situation. “Sure. Pick you up in an hour?” I figure with how slow she’s probably moving, that’s the soonest I can hope for. Still, it keeps me in this apartment for a lot longer than I’d like.

  “Yeah, see you then.” She hangs up.

  Now the hard part. I have to text Sebastian. What do I say to the guy who seems so nice and looks like one of my biggest celebrity crushes? And is it wrong for me to agree to go out with him just because I’m trying to avoid David’s feelings for me?

  I know the answer to that. Yes. I don’t want to use Sebastian. I put my phone down. Maybe I’ll tell David I’m seeing someone and leave Sebastian out of it. That’s a harmless enough lie, and everyone’s feelings should be spared in the end. I hope.

  An hour later, I’m pulling up to Tara’s apartment. She lives in a cute Victorian house that was sectioned into four apartments. I’m a little envious of the fact that she has an actual yard. Sure, she shares it with four other residents, but at least she has a space where she can lay out in the sun, read a book, and enjoy the fresh air. Most of the housing options for single people in Priority are apartment complexes like David’s—mine now. It’s the price you pay for living in a city.

  I beep my horn, hoping to avoid Tara’s neighbor, Mr. Rumson, who is always sitting on the front porch. He’s in his late seventies and has grabby hands. He’s one of those old people who thinks he can do whatever he wants and get away with it because of his age. Tara’s gotten used to me beeping and not getting out of the car anymore after Mr. Rumson used his cane to lift my sundress about three weeks ago.

  “Hey,” Tara says, getting into the passenger seat. She looks much better than I thought she would.

  “How do you recover so quickly?” I ask her.

  “I had a beer,” she says, putting on her seat belt. “It’s like an instant cure for a hangover.” She pulls a pack of gum from her purse and holds it out to me. “Want a piece?”

  “I’m not the one drinking in the middle of the day.” I smile at her as I back out of the parking spot.

  Mr. Rumson raises his cane to get my attention, so I lower the window. “How come you never come see me anymore?” he yells.

  “Sorry, Mr. Rumson, but my heart belongs to another,” I call before pulling onto the road and driving away.

  “And would you be talking about David or Sebastian?” Tara asks.

  “Neither. I only said that to get Mr. Rumson off my case.” I turn onto the highway and head for the mall. I haven’t been there in a while, and they recently renovated to include a huge movie theater and several new stores, so I figured I’d check it out.

  She gives me th
e side eye before saying, “So are you going to call Sebastian?”

  I shrug. “I thought about it, but do I really want another repeat of me and David?”

  “What do you mean? Do you plan on moving in with Sebastian, too?” She laughs and then places her hand on my shoulder. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “You’re so funny.” I roll my eyes as I turn off at the mall exit. “You know what I mean. I’m not looking for a relationship. I just got offered this great column at For the Record—well, David and I were offered it—”

  “Wait,” Tara practically yells. “You and David are going to be writing a column together? So you’ll be living together, working together, and writing a column together? For someone who claims she’s not ready to commit to anyone, you certainly set yourself up to spend every waking moment with that man.”

  I pull into the parking garage and find a spot near the stairs. I park and cut the engine. “It’s not like I planned it this way. We were offered the column today. That’s sort of why I’m here with you and not at the apartment.”

  She unclicks her seat belt and turns to face me. “What do you mean?”

  “I needed to get out of there. He told our boss that he couldn’t do the column. He only agreed to it because I practically begged him.”

  “Begged him how? What exactly did you do that made you run out of the apartment and drag me to the mall of all places?” Her head is cocked, waiting for some torrid tale of hot sex.

  “I asked him. You know David. He’s a sweetheart.”

  “So you batted your eyelashes and he gave in.” She nods. “Makes sense. I mean, you did the same thing when you broke it off with him, and he reacted the same way. The man is a saint or something. That or he enjoys torturing himself.”

  “You’re making me seem like a manipulative...” I’m afraid to finish my own thought.

  Tara places her hand on my knee. “No, no. Emily, don’t get me wrong. I know you’re not doing any of this intentionally. David just seems to cave when it comes to you. Like he’d rather you be happy than be happy himself, if that makes sense.”