by Amy Spalding
“Did she tell you that? When did you even talk to her?”
“Anyone with eyes could see that, Abby. So she took photos of her hot girlfriend. And, I’m sorry, I actually support what she did, and I wish I would have been there to see the show. Because the way you are about yourself, no one understands it.”
“The way I am about myself? What does that even mean?”
“It means that you talk a great game online,” she says. “You talk about being happy with how you look, no matter your size, and that health and confidence are way more important than dress size. You spend all your spare time telling other girls to like themselves, but then the second someone suggests you’re worthy of that, you shut it down.”
“I can be confident without putting my picture everywhere,” I say.
“Sure. But you won’t put it anywhere. Even on your super locked-down Facebook account, everything’s just your face. And I know it doesn’t matter if I tell you that you’re gorgeous, or if Jax says he’d want to do you if you were straight, or that your girlfriend basically worships you. Until you believe the stuff you tell everyone else, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not—I don’t—Mal. Come on.”
“I think Jordi was trying to force you into seeing it,” she says. “And maybe she didn’t pick the greatest way to do it. But considering how annoyed it makes me, and I’m only your best friend …”
“Don’t say only. Best friends mean a lot.”
She sighs. “I don’t know. I’ve been worried ever since you went all googly around Jordi that this would be over.”
“What are you even talking about?” I ask, and I’m so confused that I forget to keep walking and then have to sprint to keep up with Maliah. “I’d never do that.”
“I’m not saying it’s something you’d do,” she says. “But it must be different from Trevor and me, because I really still need my girls. I need you, Abbs. But if you have a girl you tell everything to and do everything with and then also get to make out with her, I don’t see how I’ll be necessary.”
“Oh my god, Mal, seriously?” I grab her arm to make her stop walking. “I needed to talk to someone about Jordi as much as you do about Trevor. I just haven’t been because you were so convinced she was a criminal.”
“Marji saw her getting into a cop car,” Maliah says. “And the aftermath of a fire.”
“It’s a much smaller and less dramatic story than you’d think,” I say. “She’s not a criminal. She just maybe cares too much about her art.”
Except that I hear my words aloud and wonder if it’s even possible. Art is life. How can you care too much about life?
“Fine,” Maliah says. “Moving forward, I’ll be less judgmental about Jordi Perez.”
“Moving forward, it won’t matter,” I say. “But on the extremely off-chance that I go out with anyone else, I’ll want to tell you so much, as long as you’re open to them. Okay?”
“Only if your taste doesn’t continue to be criminals,” she says but with a huge smile. “I really am sorry it didn’t work out, Abbs. I know you were happy.”
My phone beeps, and I check it to see that of course it’s Jax.
“Ignore him,” Maliah says. “And I will say there’s one positive thing to come out of your breakup.”
“This conversation where you lectured me?” I ask, and she rolls her eyes.
“No, it’s just made me extra grateful for how good things are with Trevor,” she says. “We’re really open and honest with each other, and so I always feel that we’re on the same page.”
I want to be offended that she’s made this about her, but, actually …
“Oh my god,” I say. “That’s so great. It absolutely proves everything.”
Maliah wrinkles her nose. “‘Proves’? What are you talking about?”
“It’s like in movies,” I explain. “The heroine always has a cool sassy best friend—that’s me—whose life’s specifics don’t really matter, because the epic love story is the heroine’s. That’s you, obviously. And this is always how it works! Late in the movie, the best friend has some sort of experience that makes the heroine see her own relationship more clearly. Which for us is my breakup and you with Trevor. Seriously, it maps out perfectly.”
“Uh, Abbs? Life is not a movie. It’s just …” She shrugs. “Life. I’m no more a heroine than you are. You are the sassy one, but I’m the one who’s invisible at parties if you and your incredible style’s around. I have plenty of sidekick in me, too.”
I stare at her. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Oh my god, Abby.” She laughs and shakes her head. “This is why we shouldn’t have any secrets. I could have fixed your thinking long ago.”
The boys join us after we snack at LAMILL, and we spend the evening walking the neighborhood hills. When we reach a particular landing, even cool as hell Trevor has to admit the view of the city below is pretty breathtaking.
“Don’t hit me,” Jax whispers to me. “But I wish your girl was here to take a picture of this.”
I guess I still believe a little in secrets, though, because I don’t tell him that I’m wishing the same thing.
CHAPTER 26
Maggie emails me on Tuesday night that she’s taking me out to lunch the next day so that I won’t bring any “bread-free leftovers” from home. I barely sleep because I assume Jordi will be there too or I’m finding out earlier than expected that her decision’s been made about the fall job.
But when one o’clock rolls around on Wednesday afternoon, Maggie pulls me aside on my own.
“Ready to head down?” she asks quietly, and I nod. We make our way down the block to Bon Vivant. I examine the menu, but Maggie practically has her face pressed up to the glass of the pastry case.
“How many macarons do you think you could eat in one sitting?” she asks, and I’m so surprised at the question that I laugh. “Every flavor here, for sure. Perhaps two of every flavor.”
“The weird thing is that even though I eat against my mom’s beliefs all the time, I really can only eat so many sweets now,” I say. “But macarons are so light and perfect. Maybe I could eat all of them, too.”
“I actually made one of your mom’s recipes the other night,” Maggie says. “I started to worry that with all my stress this summer over the fall line and of course my ex moving out that Sam was going to think all food came from a delivery guy.”
“Which recipe?” I ask. “And was it good?”
“It was a coconut chicken salad,” she says. “And it was honestly really good. But then we ate ice cream for dessert, so does that still count?”
We step up to order, and then Maggie looks over every empty table before settling on one right in the middle of the restaurant. I think back to lunch with her our very first day of work, and if magic were real, I’d will myself back there right this second.
I guess if magic were real, a lot of things would be different.
“Before you worry this is going to be some big talk,” Maggie says, “I want you to know I haven’t made my decision for the fall yet.”
I nod.
“And, honestly, I hate this,” she continues. “If there was a way that I could hire you both, I would. Absolutely. Please know that, okay? No matter how this works out.”
“So Jordi’s getting the job?” I ask. “Or it’s at least leaning that way?”
“No, no, no,” Maggie says. “I truly am undecided until after we talk, Abby. And then probably even for a while longer.”
“Jordi should get the job,” I say, because it feels like the right thing to say.
“Really,” Maggie says, her voice full of surprise.
“Really. Her photos are amazing. And she works really hard.”
“You work just as hard,” Maggie says. “And you must know how great you are on, you know, all of our social media. You come up with strategies. You know I’m too old to know what I’m doing there, Abby.”
I shrug. I d
on’t even know why I’m saying what I’m saying. Obviously I have strategies. I could write an essay about my Lemonberry contributions.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you girls.” Maggie raises her eyebrows. “Because this is just how my talk with Jordi went, too.”
“Jordi said I should get the job?”
Maggie sighs and takes a sip of her iced tea. “Is there something I should know?”
Well, Maggie, I thought I was finally going to get my epic love story, but instead everything fell apart. And I don’t trust Jordi anymore but I don’t know if that’s right of me, and all I want is for things to be okay again and not to feel like I’m missing a part of me that I didn’t even know I had.
“No,” I say. “I just think that Jordi deserves it more. That’s all.”
“Okay,” she says. “Abby, I know that I’m your boss, and that I’m one trillion years old, but … do you need to talk about anything?”
“You’re not one trillion years old,” I say, even though I’m not certain of Maggie’s precise age. She’s definitely younger than my parents, and even they aren’t a trillion. “And no. I might have been unfair to Jordi about something and … and I just don’t think she should have anything else bad happen to her.”
“Okay,” Maggie says, and suddenly her voice is drenched in kindness. I wish it were appropriate to throw my arms around her and cry. “We can talk about something else now.”
“Thank god,” I say, which makes Maggie burst into laughter.
“Promise me, okay, that if Jordi ends up with the job, that you’ll still keep in touch with me?” Maggie smiles right at me, even as a waiter drops off our food. “I’m really invested in knowing how your future turns out.”
Something settles over me, and for once it isn’t anxiety or a million questions to ask. I feel myself smile. “I’m pretty invested in that, too.”
When I get home, the living room looks halfway organized, and Mom’s sitting in the kitchen with a man her age who looks vaguely familiar. I assume he’s been on her segment on the news or might be from Food Network. Considering that I overhear a few words like nutrition and branded content and gluten-free, my guess seems to be correct.
“Honey, come on in,” Mom calls to me, which is unusual for a business meeting. I’m wearing one of my less crazy dresses—solid purple and no extreme flare to the skirt—so I guess she feels I can make a good enough impression.
“So this is the famous Abby.” The man stands and holds out his hand to shake mine. He’s wearing a T-shirt I don’t recognize by brand but hangs like something expensive and jeans that fit the same category. It’s funny how sometimes a lazy, casual outfit can signal rich just that quickly.
“Oh, you two haven’t met?” Mom asks, which, why would I have met this man? “I guess with you living in San Francisco, you can’t keep up as much as you’d like, huh.”
“Definitely not,” he says, and then I see it in his face, how it’s the same shape as Jax’s, and how his eyes are the same, too.
“Mr. Stockton?” I ask, and he laughs.
“Good to see my reputation precedes me,” he says. “I really owe you a thank-you, Abby.”
I wait to hear about how much work we’ve done this summer on Best Blank.
“It made it so much easier to connect with your mom,” he says.
“It was a great idea,” Mom tells me. “Your dad’s really right that you have a lot of business savvy.”
I’m confused about this entire conversation, and also, business savvy?
“I’d mentioned to Jax a few months ago that I wanted to partner Best Blank with some leading food experts and celebrities and chefs,” Mr. Stockton says. “Your mom’s brand is a great fit.”
A few months ago.
“So you told Jax to get to know me to talk to my mom?” I ask, and he and Mom laugh while my pulse switches over to what feels like a blaring alarm clock inside my veins.
“Nothing that structured,” Mr. Stockton says. “You guys clearly got to know each other, and Norah and I set up a meeting.”
“I’m going to choose my five favorite healthy meals in the city,” Mom says. “How fun will that be?”
“Fun.” I can’t even manage to dredge up any sarcasm right now. It’s like I’m broken. “If you can please excuse me, I have a few things I need to take care of.”
“Of course,” Mom says.
“We need to get back to talking shop anyway,” Mr. Stockton says.
I get to my room and close the door before I realize Rachel’s lying in my bed. “Could I please have some privacy?”
“Sorry, Abby, Mom’s doing some business deal with that tech guy. You’re stuck with me.”
I actually say argh aloud and walk out of the room and into our tiny backyard. What’s going on with your dad?? I text to Jax.
As usual, his response is fast. Y? did he say something stupid? whuts up.
I cannot have this conversation with any more ys or whuts, so I call him.
“Aaaaabbs,” he drawls. “Sorry you have to meet Jackson Senior. He can really be the worst.”
“Jax,” I say as calmly as I can manage, “did you seriously use me just so your dad could run co-branded Eat Healthy with Norah! content on Best Blank?”
This is the grossest reason I’ve ever been angry with someone.
“Define use,” he says.
I pull my phone back from my ear and stare at it. And I tap to hang up. Unfortunately, it rings again immediately.
“Dude,” he says. “I was kidding. Do you really think Fancy Eating with Norah’s so famous my dad can’t just email her?”
I think about that for a moment.
“I’m sure he dropped some whole ‘since our kids are friends’ line to her, but he’s got major investor money, Abbs. Why would he need to gain some upper hand? Jackson Senior’s all hand.”
“Gross,” I say. This whole thing is gross.
“It has nothing to do with anything.”
“It has to do with why you wanted to hang out with me, and—”
“Are you listening? It goddamn doesn’t. It’s because …”
He trails off so dramatically I check my phone to make sure we’re still connected.
“Why is it because?”
“Abbs, you’re fucking cool, okay? It was a good excuse to hang out with you. And I’d rather eat all those burgers with you than go on dates with Trevor and Mal.”
“You just wanted to be my friend?” I ask. “For no reason?”
“I said the reason! You’re cool! I think you’re, you know. Funny and shit. I’m not friends with any girls, but …” His voice gets softer and a little maybe sheepish. “I just wanted to hang out with you. This was a good excuse, okay? Can we stop discussing it?”
“Emotions aren’t actually bad,” I tell him. “You won’t fall apart because you’re having some right now.”
“Don’t make me take back the cool thing,” he says, which makes me laugh. “The app thing was just … Ya know. A bonus or whatever. I know you think I’m some rich guy with a rich dad and an awesome ride, but … my dad sort of sucks, Abbs. When he asked me to help out on Best Blank, it was the longest conversation we’d had in like a year. So I just wanted you to think it was really important work we were doing.”
“I get it,” I say. “Trust me.”
“But if we’re gonna be honest about emotions and shit … You’re my friend and maybe shouldn’t jump to the worst-case scenario about me,” he says.
“Ugh, fine. Fair point. Sometimes you’re right about things.”
I think about Maliah’s only-honesty-no-secrets lifestyle, and while I do think there will always be things that are just for me, I can’t deny that this is good, too. There is a certain amount I might owe the people in my life. The ones I care about, anyway.
“So is your dad happy with the app so far?” I ask. “Is he done with the initial testing?”
“No way. A lot of burgers to get through, and Dad sa
ys we can also switch off to a different food if we want to next. Best fries in LA.”
“Ooh, best milkshake. Or taco.”
“Tacos are too clichéd,” he says. “What are you doing now? The burger role’s still ours for the present. Wanna hit something left on our list?”
Actually, I do.
Rachel’s still in my room when I get back from hanging out with Jax. I can’t believe we shared this tiny area until just the other year. Now it feels like very little space for two people.
When this summer started, it seemed as though all I needed was to get Rachel back. Everything would be fine with Rachel sharing my little room in our little house. But the summer happened anyway. I became an intern and I fell in love and I made a new friend, all with Rachel about three thousand miles away.
“When are you going back?” I ask. “Not that it’s not good to have you here, and it’s exciting that the tote bags are in a box now and not all laid out on a bedspread. I just figure you can’t take off too much time from your internship.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I actually … well, the company I had the internship with closed down. The danger of throwing all of your efforts into a startup.”
“You should have said something! I’ve been whining about Jordi while you were dealing with this, and—”
“And I’m your big sister, and I was here for you,” she says. “It’s your first breakup. It’s my job.”
I sit down on my bed. “You haven’t even had your first breakup yet.”
Rachel makes a muffled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Well, it’s not going great, Abby. He doesn’t seem that supportive about me losing the internship, and—”
“You should talk to him,” I say, even though I’ve been secretly hoping for the day this particular news came. I imagine Paul twirling his mustache one last time and then disappearing into the sunset. “Maybe he doesn’t know you even need support. I mean, you didn’t tell me. I could have been being supportive instead of making you pack up those tote bags yourself.”
“I was saving you from extra drama,” Rachel says.
“I don’t need to be saved. And Mustache Paul probably doesn’t either.”
