Emma pointed her toes toward the ground, then switched and flexed them toward the ceiling. It didn’t help the squirmy feeling in her body.
“Okay?” she said. “So you’re, like . . . friends?”
“No,” Avery said, immediately amending, “well, maybe. Sort of. She also—you know how Molly called in sick Monday and it was a bit of a disaster?” She went on without waiting for Emma to respond. “I was late to the game, and I guess Jo asked Dylan why and he said bakery emergency and—I don’t know. I’m sure she heard us bickering about it all game. So she came to Floured Up in the morning and made me an offer.”
Jo came in late Tuesday. She hadn’t explained why.
“An offer?” Emma asked.
“She wanted to cover the salary of a worker or two,” Avery said. “To help. We worked it out so she’s just covering the difference between what I can pay a new pastry chef and what I should be paying them.”
Avery was watching Emma, like maybe she thought Emma was going to bolt. Emma pointed her toes again, shrugged at her sister.
“Okay.”
Avery furrowed her eyebrows. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Just okay?”
“I don’t know, Avery, what else do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. How you feel about it? Is it okay? Do you forgive me for not telling you?”
“I mean, of course it’s fine you’re friends with Jo,” Emma said. “Or business partners or whatever. I don’t know why that wouldn’t be fine. It’s none of my business.”
“Emma.”
Emma didn’t say anything.
“Of course it’s your business,” Avery said. “I’m your sister and you’re her—she’s your—” Emma didn’t like the way Avery paused. “She’s your boss. It’s weird. I mean I feel weird about it.”
“About which part? The being friends with her without ever telling me, or her supporting your business?” It came out snappier than Emma intended.
“All of it,” Avery said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“It’s fine,” Emma said dismissively.
It was. Avery didn’t have to tell her everything. And if she had gone to a game, she would’ve found out. Maybe Avery was right and it would have been funny. It was good that Jo was helping with the bakery. Avery was successful enough to need to hire another person, and Jo’s help allowed that to happen. That was better than fine.
Except Emma also inexplicably felt like she was going to cry.
“Em.”
“Seriously, Avery.” Emma laughed. It came out fake. “I’m really excited you’re hiring a new person. I’m so glad the bakery is doing that well.”
Avery’s smile came slowly, but it was sincere. “Yeah. It’s kind of great.”
Emma hopped off her stool and went around the island to hug her sister from behind. Avery let her, for a moment, before turning around in Emma’s arms to squeeze her back. Emma sank into it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Avery murmured. “I thought I’d convince you to come to a game and it’d be a funny surprise, but it got out of hand. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I won’t do it again.”
Emma had never been good at holding grudges against her sister.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m sure it got out of hand for Jo, too,” Avery said. “She probably didn’t know how to tell you.”
That Emma didn’t believe as easily. She closed her eyes and pretended water wasn’t welling in them. A deep breath, then she pulled away from Avery’s embrace.
“You know, I’m really tired.” She ignored the way Avery’s face fell. “I think I’m just going to eat and shower and hop in bed. I don’t think I’ll be very good company.”
“Emma,” Avery said quietly. When Emma didn’t reply, Avery nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I’m gonna leave you everything, okay? I can eat with Dylan and the twins. Don’t forget to put leftovers in the fridge before you go to sleep. Then you can feed yourself for a couple days.”
“Great,” Emma said. “Thanks.”
Avery didn’t push her. She hugged her one more time instead, then came up on her tiptoes to press a kiss against Emma’s forehead.
“Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Emma said.
She collapsed onto her couch as soon as the door closed behind Avery. Stared blankly at the ceiling.
It didn’t seem fair.
Emma was happy that her sister’s bakery was doing well. Of course she was. She loved Avery, wanted her to be successful in everything she did. And Avery was successful in everything she did. Since high school, or really their whole lives, Avery had always been successful. Not that Emma wasn’t—she got an all-state honorable mention in cross-country and stage-managed the school play every year. She did well. But Avery was always the best.
Emma had adored her back then. Still did. Rationally, she knew it was a little bit of a case of sibling worship, but it never stopped her. Avery had always been great, and Emma had always wanted to be like her. When they were younger, Avery had known what she wanted to do and so had Emma. But Avery flew through training as a pastry chef, while Emma dropped out of film school. Their paths diverged.
Emma was back on track, though. She was finally figuring out who she wanted to be, was taking steps toward a career she yearned for. Jo was a part of that. Jo was helping her.
It wasn’t that Emma didn’t want Jo to help Avery. But it didn’t seem fair. Emma had finally found something for herself—not that Jo was a something, but—
Emma didn’t want to share her.
She didn’t think Avery should get her. Avery didn’t really need help with accomplishing her dreams, did she? She already had the bakery. She was already living her dream. Emma was just figuring hers out. She wanted to carve out her own space for once, not to follow in Avery’s footsteps or her shadow.
Jo wasn’t Emma’s to share, though. Clearly. She’d lied to her. Emma wasn’t important enough for Jo to tell her anything. Jo breezed out of work early so many afternoons, came in the next morning and never mentioned anything. Emma thought—she thought they were closer than that by this point. Thought she would have warranted some kind of acknowledgment.
But Jo was her boss, not her friend. She was Avery’s friend, apparently, but not Emma’s. Emma liked being Jo’s assistant, but—it had felt like a job that mattered, and if she could’ve been rational about it, maybe it would still feel like that. She used to love how she knew every part of the show, like it was a machine she could tinker with. Now she felt like a cog in that machine. Necessary but replaceable. Jo had said she was hiring a new assistant, not a new Emma, but clearly Emma was just a slightly more complex cog.
It didn’t matter. Six months from now Jo would move to Agent Silver, and Emma would be an associate producer. It didn’t matter if they weren’t friends.
When the lasagna was ready, Emma took it from the oven and left it on the counter. She showered, the water cold enough to leave goose bumps in its wake. Then she put the entire dish of lasagna into the refrigerator and went to bed at eight p.m.
* * *
—
Emma didn’t go to temple on a regular basis. She went—when she had time, when she was thinking about it, when she needed to surround herself with community. She went Saturday morning.
Emma liked the routine of services, liked the tradition. She liked losing herself in recitation and song. She liked sitting next to Ruth, whom she sat by at every service she attended. Ruth was fiftysomething with wild brown curls and a vibe of someone who took no shit. She grinned wide when she saw Emma that morning.
Everyone at temple was so nice, and it was wonderful, really, but it made Emma sadder. These people weren’t strangers, but she saw them once a month at most. The fact that they could seem to care so m
uch for her highlighted how little Jo cared.
It shouldn’t matter. Jo had always just been her boss. This was no different, really. Except this was the first time Jo made Emma feel unimportant. That part was new. Emma hated it.
Ruth gave Emma a look when she skipped kiddush, the meal after service, and left right away. Emma waved her off. She wanted to be alone, maybe wanted to wallow a little.
* * *
—
Emma talked to her mom every Saturday. Sometimes they talked during the week, too, but her mom got mad if she didn’t call on Saturdays, even if they talked on Friday.
She didn’t want to talk to her today, would rather get a lecture on not calling than a discussion of her week. But her mom called her, and she couldn’t not pick up.
There were the standard pleasantries, and then:
“Honey,” her mom said, and Emma already sighed, knowing what was coming. “I talked to your sister. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Emma said. “I told Avery I’m fine. I’m not mad at her.”
“I know, sweetie,” her mom said. “We’re just worried about you.”
Emma rolled her eyes and collapsed onto her couch. She stared up at the ceiling just like she had after Avery left last night.
She wasn’t mad at Avery anymore, truly. Avery had apologized. They were fine. But her stomach still felt queasy when she thought about Jo. Over and over again she told herself: Jo was her boss, not her friend. Her boss, not her friend.
“Do you think . . . ,” her mom started. “Do you think maybe just because you’re not mad at Avery anymore doesn’t mean you’re not mad anymore?”
“It’s fine,” Emma said. “It doesn’t matter that they’re friends. Or business partners. I honestly don’t care.”
Her mom was quiet.
“I just think—” Emma half scoffed. “I’m just surprised, is all. That Jo didn’t care enough to mention it to me? I’ve been reading scenes for Agent Silver, you know? Don’t tell anyone, because I’m not supposed to, I don’t think. But I am. So I guess I thought she—we—I’m just pretty involved in her business dealings, usually. But apparently I’m not important enough to know anything about her sponsoring a pastry chef for Avery.”
“I’m sure that’s not it,” her mom said. “She probably just didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Didn’t know how to tell me, ‘Hey, I saw your sister’ after the first game. It’d be that easy. If she had cared enough to tell me, it would be that easy.”
Emma rolled over, pressed her face into the couch cushions. She felt stupid for pouting. It shouldn’t even matter. Jo didn’t have to tell her anything. And just because she was helping Emma figure out her career didn’t mean she couldn’t sponsor a pastry chef for Avery. There was no reason for Emma to feel like this.
“I don’t think she doesn’t care about you, honey,” Emma’s mom said gently. “You told me how worried she was when you had that asthma attack in New York.”
Emma shrugged even though her mom couldn’t see her.
“Sweetheart,” her mom said. “I’m not saying this to tease and I don’t want you to get mad.”
“That’s always a good start to a sentence,” Emma grumbled.
“Sweetheart,” her mom said again, and Emma felt mildly bad for being rude. “Do you think maybe the rumors about you two might have a point? One that maybe you didn’t realize before?”
Her mom was asking if she had feelings for Jo, had a crush on her. Emma’s instinctual reaction was to roll her eyes and brush it off like she’d been doing since the SAGs, but today her chest ached. Today she was lying facedown on her couch complaining to her mom about her boss not caring about her enough. Today she blinked, and her eyes were wet.
When she finally responded, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”
* * *
—
Jo thanked Emma for her coffee Monday morning like nothing was different. Nothing was for Jo, Emma supposed. She was still lying to her assistant like she had been last week. Or—not lying, exactly. But not telling the truth. The whole summer of them working so well together. Emma in Jo’s office and Jo asking for her help with the Agent Silver script. But she wasn’t important enough to know that Jo had befriended her sister.
Though Emma had told her mom she might have feelings for Jo, she wasn’t sure. That was still a solid maybe. Maybe this hurt so much because she had feelings for Jo and it was obvious now that Jo didn’t feel the same way. But Emma didn’t have to have some stupid crush for this to hurt. This sucked, the way Jo lied to her, the way Jo treated her like a cog in a machine. Even if she didn’t have a crush on Jo—and she might not!—this would feel bad.
It felt like a breakup whether romantic feelings were involved or not. Emma thought she and Jo had a certain type of relationship. Thought they were friends. But Jo was only helping Emma advance her career because of business. She needed Emma to do well because Emma was her assistant and Jo couldn’t have a reputation of assistants who went nowhere. Especially not Emma, because then it would prove what everybody thought—she was only there because Jo was sleeping with her. Emma was basically a business expense to Jo. Meanwhile, barely two weeks ago, Emma had called Jo one of her favorite people. How mortifying.
Jo didn’t ask Emma to work in her office all day. Emma didn’t know how she would’ve replied if Jo had. At five, Jo gave her a smile and told her to have a good night. Emma nodded and left.
The next day, Jo called Emma into her office within an hour of Emma handing over Jo’s coffee. Emma assumed Jo wanted her to bring her work in. She didn’t expect Jo to scrutinize her.
“Are you okay?” Jo asked.
“Uh,” Emma said. “Yeah. Of course. I’m fine. Why?”
Jo shrugged. “You’ve been quiet. I thought maybe something was bothering you.”
You’re bothering me, Emma thought.
“I’m fine, Ms. Jones,” she said instead.
Jo’s smile looked brittle. Emma told herself she didn’t care.
* * *
—
Emma was going to ask for Wednesday afternoon off to see the twins play. She didn’t know how she’d say it, didn’t know whether she’d admit to Jo that she knew or if she’d just surprise her by being at the game. But she woke up Wednesday to rain. The one day it rained in Southern California.
When the rain hadn’t stopped by noon, it was clear the game would be canceled. At least Emma didn’t have to figure out how to talk to Jo about it.
She was trying to be less awkward with Jo, to not show her feelings—frustration and hurt and maybe, maybe a crush or whatever—quite so obviously. Jo had noticed, had asked her about it, and Emma didn’t want her to push. Not that Jo would, of course. She probably didn’t even care that much. Emma only had to make it until Monday for the cast and crew to come back. Then she could distract herself with work and other people.
Jo invited Emma into her office for lunch. Emma went, but as soon as she finished, she started packing up to go back to her own desk.
“I have a bit of a surprise for you,” Jo said.
Emma stopped crinkling up the wrapper to her sandwich. “What?”
Jo was focused on her own lunch, a sly smile on her face. “Barry Davis is coming to set.”
Emma’s jaw dropped.
“And you’re going to be shadowing him.”
She almost fell off the couch.
Barry Davis was her favorite director. Her absolute favorite. And she was going to shadow him? An Oscar-nominated director?
Jo was looking at Emma now, that smile turned into a rare beam.
“I called in a couple of favors,” Jo said. “He could direct an episode, maybe, but mostly he’ll be here for you. To learn from. To impress, in all likelihood. He’d be a great connection for you.”
&nbs
p; This couldn’t just be business, could it? Jo didn’t call in favors to bring Emma’s favorite director to set for a business expense. It had to be more than that.
Jo’s smile slowly faded as Emma took too long to respond.
“You like Barry Davis, right?”
“No, yes, of course,” Emma said. “Yeah. I’m—that’s great. I’m really excited. I’m speechless.”
It was true, at least, that she didn’t have words. She couldn’t even understand how she was feeling, much less explain it. She was still confused, still hurt at Jo keeping everything with Avery from her. But she couldn’t not be excited for Barry freakin’ Davis.
“When is he coming?”
“Tuesday. Not next week but the week after,” Jo said.
Whatever was going on between her and Jo, the cast and crew were coming back from hiatus on Monday, and Barry Davis was coming to set the next week. That much, at least, was great.
9
JO
Jo always enjoyed the first day back from hiatus. It was more of a reunion than a day of work. The schedule was never tight, plenty of room for people to reconnect and reminisce. It was like a wrap party with less alcohol and more responsibilities. Lunch was a big catered event, and this year Jo got breakfast, too, croissants and honey cakes and a variety of pastries she didn’t know the names of. Emma squealed when they arrived in bags with the Floured Up logo on the side.
Emma spent much of the day squealing, really. She seemed back to her usual self, filled with enthusiasm for her coworkers. Tate hugged her hard enough to lift her off the ground even though she had an inch on him. She grinned widely at Chantal, who was categorically not a hugger. Aly, Gina, and Holly all clamored around Emma, voices overlapping with updates and it’s so good to see yous. Emma bumped one of the props assistants—Phil, Jo thought his name was—out of line around the pastries, laughter booming over his outrage.
Something to Talk About Page 12
