Archive of Our Own

But you, dear,
I, I didn't think I'd find you here
Roaming in the corners of my mind
Well, in there you'll find
A note I wrote the other day
Don't read it, just leave it
It might give me away

Why was it you my heart cried for?
You were everything I didn't need
Just a book I was told I should read
Never looked close enough to see
That you were standing there with your heart
On your sleeve right from the start
Competing for my heart
~ you, dear, eloise

4:55.

The office of the Caswell Literary Agency is both strangely full and strangely quiet, the only sound the syncopated rhythm of the ticking clock against the tap of M&Ms hitting the wall as Ricky tries to bounce them into his mouth.

He seems peculiarly unbothered. Gina’s eyes flick to the whiteboard slumped against the office’s far wall, counting the neat tick marks under her name for the fiftieth time this half-hour, a year of late nights reading and editing and querying reduced to a bunch of inky black hashes.

Gina and Ricky might disagree on a lot of things, like the literary value of genre fiction or the usage of the Oxford comma or the importance of being able to draw tick marks in reasonably straight lines, but she’s pretty sure they follow the same rules of basic arithmetic. (To be fair, she’s never asked, she’s just assumed, and if there’s anything she’s learned from working with Richard Bowen for nearly half a decade, it’s that you should never assume. She learned that when he’d shown up to the work holiday potluck two years back with bone-dry chicken thighs he’d cooked to 165 Celsius and a frankly stunning flower bouquet he’d arranged himself.)

But she digresses, a habit she’s been trying to break since her high school English teacher (and then her writing professors, and then her MFA advisor, and then some of her clients) pointed it out to her all those years back. The problem is that Ricky is exactly two books behind her, five minutes before the bet they’d set last year is supposed to end, and Ricky, the second most competitive literary agent at Caswell Literary Agency (the first, obviously, being herself), doesn’t seem to give a shit.

He’s got something up his sleeve, Gina knows, and it’s not just an M&M he’s dropped.

Ashlyn was right: spend too many nights alone with A Little Life for company and you start making stupid choices. Going on impulsive dates with guys you meet at the airport. Calling up your brother at 3 AM even though you’ve barely talked since you were teens. Making year-long bets with your wily work rival at a job you were planning to leave in six months.

She tries to remember the day it all started, closing her eyes to see the details, breathing to calm the fluttery feeling in her stomach:

Last January, the kind of winter’s day that pries at your skin, even under a sweater and a cardigan and a puffer coat and a handmade knit scarf. The golden hues of the fluorescent lighting mixing with the fading light outside, aflame in Ricky’s curls. Warmth surging to her cheeks as he’d stretched, knuckles popping loudly against the quiet clicking of keyboards and rustling of papers, a little skin poking out from under his decidedly-not-work-appropriate sweatshirt, a blush she’d blamed on the rickety, smoky heating unit as she turned away. The sun dragging its whispery tails along the skyline, the city view fading away to a darkness she spends each day gearing herself up to brave.

Behind her, she heard the clatter of Ricky tipping his skateboard from its perch against the wall, the zip of his backpack, the rattle of his office chair wheels scuttering across the chipped tile floors. 

“Leaving early?” Gina asked, keeping her eyes focused on the manuscript she was skimming.

“Yup,” said Ricky. Something clattered to the ground, and she heard him shuffling on the floor to pick it up. “I’m just that good at my job.”

“Don’t pretend like Cash didn’t spend thirty minutes this morning yelling at you that you’ve got a year-end report due two days ago. I can read lips.”

“It’s okay, Gina, you can’t be good at everything,” Ricky said. “He was actually telling me that I’ve got his ‘endearing support, you true great hero.’”

“I’m fairly certain no human being has ever described anything related to Cash Caswell as ‘endearing.’”

“Hey,” said E.J.

“She’s not wrong,” Ashlyn said.

“As my assistant,” E.J. said, “I don’t think you should be speaking to me in that manner.”

“As your assistant,” Ashlyn replied, “I respectfully hope you one day grow the balls to leave all the wonderful people you love so much here, and your asshole dad, too.”

“All I’m saying,” Gina interjected, “is that maybe you should stop leaving work early and actually do your job.”

“All I’m saying,” Ricky countered, “is that you should mind your own business because Cash thinks I’m a terrific employee and obviously the best agent here.”

“It’s not a competition,” said Gina, swiveling around to face him. “And even if it was? I’d definitely beat your lazy ass.”

“I’m not lazy. I’m simply more efficient.”

“If by ‘efficient,’ you mean that you don’t do the work you don’t want to do, then sure.”

Ricky laughed. “So? My job’s to sell books to publishers, and I’ll bet you I sell way more books than you.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Gina said, leaning back in her chair. “One-hundred-percent, I sell more books than you this year.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ricky said. “What are the stakes?”

Gina tried to think about what Ricky would hate – being forced to abide by a dress code that prohibited holey hoodies and scratched-up Vans. A ban on snack food inside the office. Restrictions on using terms like “that’s rad!” and “sick!” in professional email settings. 

“If I sell more books than you, I get the orange bug,” she announced.

The orange bug was a garishly colored disaster of a vehicle, complete with evidence of some long-ago fender-bender and the remnants of a few sixties-style decals supposedly once used for a high-school prom. It was an eyesore perpetually squeezed into the building’s limited parking, a sight that accosted her eyes every morning as she tried to coax them awake with caffeine.

“Done,” Ricky replied, immediately.

“Dude, what? That’s my car,” said Big Red.

Ricky paused. “I’ll buy it from you.”

“With what money?”

Ricky waved a hand. “I’ll figure something out. Or – no, I won’t, because I’m going to win.”

“What’s going on here?” Carlos asked, appearing suddenly by Ricky’s side, hand on one flared hip. “I smell drama.”

“Nothing much,” Ricky answered. “Gina here has just bet that she can sell more books this year than me.”

“She wants the orange bug,” Big Red protested.

“You actually want that piece of junk?” Carlos said. “Honestly, if you take it, it’d be a service to humanity. What are you even going to do with it?”

“I’ll take it to the dump,” Gina said.

“You can’t let her do that. What about the memories, man?” cried Big Red. “I think I’ve still got napkins from pizzas ten years ago in there. Both of us had our first kisses in there.”

“Gross,” said Gina. “More reason for me to take it to the dump.”

“No reason to worry, everyone,” said Ricky. “Spare yourself the trouble, Gina – no need to research every junkyard in a hundred-mile radius of the tri-state area. Have a little faith in my abilities, Big Red.”

They’ve gathered a little crowd: Big Red stood by his desk with his arms desperately up in the air, Ashlyn leaned back in her chair to face them, EJ running his fingers noisily over his keycaps as he listened in. 

“What’s your forfeit, then, Gina?” Ashlyn butt in. “What would you hate more than anything?”

Gina thought. Carlos was right – she wasn’t even sure why she wanted the car so much, other than the thought of pissing off Ricky. She could imagine some younger version of himself sitting in it, his face still filled with youthful chubbiness, lanky limbs sitting stiffly in the drivers’ seat in an ill-fitting dress shirt, the car’s headlights casting shadows across some random girl’s front door. Some first date of his would be sitting in the passenger seat, watching for their mother’s movement in the window, leaning in, one of his curls tickling their cheek –

“Being one of the girls Ricky was kissing in that car,” she said, shaking it off.

“Fine, then,” Ricky said. “If you sell more books than me before December, you get my car. If I do?” He grinned. “You have to go on the worst date ever with me.”

Gina immediately regretted her proposal: herself, this time,  sitting in the passenger seat with Ricky inches from her, one wrist lazily draped across the steering wheel with a practiced nonchalance, blaring the Star Wars theme or an audio recording of the latest America’s Funniest Home Videos episode or five-hours-of-fart-sounds or whatever he listened to. Parking by some wings bar filled with sticky tables from a hundred spilt cups of beer, his hand dragging her inside to sit in some stiff-backed booth and nibble on browning, stringy celery sticks. He’d probably suggest they feed each other wings – he’d dramatically lick his saucy fingers instead of using a napkin – he’d rest his elbows on the table and lean into her and stare into her eyes –

“Oh, look,” Carlos says, projecting his voice until it rings around the office and breaks Gina from her reverie. “A fax, from our decrepit, unused fax machine that Ricky forced me to hook up again this morning for, quote, dramatic effect, unquote. Whatever could it be about?”

“I don’t know, Carlos,” Ricky says, imitating his tone. “What does it say?”

Carlos rolls his eyes, dropping the page onto Ricky’s desk. “If you want a dramatic reading, too, you’d better pay up – and I know you don’t have the money. You better not think you’re getting this Broadway talent for free.”

“Pretty sure getting taken away by security after breaking into the Music Box and begging the stage manager for a role in Dear Evan Hansen isn’t qualification for a ‘Broadway talent,’ but sure,” Ricky says. He clears his throat. “Anyway – Gina, listen up. ‘Natalie Bagley’s EXEUNT, following a series of murders linked to a secretive theater troupe that blurs the line between the stage and reality, to Lily Evans at North Star Press in a nice three-book deal by Richard Bowen at Caswell Literary Agency.” Throwing the page into Gina’s face, he stands up. “Hear that? Ricky wins, Gina loses. Cue the music.” 

Big Red starts playing a tinny version of “Celebration” through a little Bluetooth speaker at his desk while Ricky attempts a victory heel click and stubs his toe on E.J.’s newly installed standing desk. (“Watch where you’re going, Bowen,” E.J. yells, grabbing a toppling water bottle with a flick of his wrist. Ricky shoots him a thumbs-up.)

“Stop it, stop it,” Gina says, bolting over to Big Red’s desk. She slams her hand down on the speaker, trying to find the off button but only succeeding on turning the music louder. “That doesn’t count,” she shouts over the noise. “It’s not been posted on Publisher’s Marketplace. I’ve been checking all day.”

“Oh, it absolutely counts,” Ricky says, sweeping her hand off the speaker and shutting it off. “The book’s sold. Press release comes out tomorrow. I’ve been holding off on the news myself, for the drama of it all.”

“It shouldn’t count until it’s official,” Gina protests.

“And it is,” Ricky says. “I’ve been working on this deal all month. It’s been finalized for ages. Besides, don’t tell me you’d be making the same argument if our roles were reversed.”

Gina may be the first most competitive literary agent at Caswell Literary Agency, but she also prides herself on being reasonably self-aware. Collapsing into a chair, she says, “fine. I’ll go on a miserable date with you.”

“Yeah!” Ricky shouts. “Carlos, add three hash marks to the board, please!”

“Not my job. Do it yourself,” Carlos says.

“It literally is your job. You’re the secretary. You’re supposed to be keeping records of things.”

“Company affairs, not your stupid bets,” Carlos counters. “Besides: it’s 5:05, I’m off the clock.”

“Fine,” says Ricky, standing up and knocking over a pile of query letters, “I will do it myself, and it’ll make the victory taste so much sweeter.” He triumphantly stalks over to the board, scrawling three crooked marks under his name. 

Hurrying back to her, he collapses onto one knee and whips out a Ring Pop from his pocket. “Gina Porter,” he says, a massive grin splitting his face, “will you go on the worst date ever with me? You have to say yes.”

Gina rolls her eyes, sticking out her fourth finger as he slides the lollypop on it, still warm from his body. “Yes,” she says.

“She said yes!” Ricky cries gleefully, watching as the wrapper he attempts to throw into the trash can misses terribly and joins a collection of crumpled up chip bags and manuscript papers on the floor. “I can’t wait for you to see what I’ve got planned. I’ve hired the original audiobook reader of After to give us a live reading in the middle of Central Park  –”

“Ricky, no –” Gina interjects.

“And you’re in luck! There’s a slam poetry night at the high school down the street.”

“Ricky, I swear –”

“Then I thought we could finish the date off at Slices .”

Gina sighs. “Okay, fine.”

“...we’ll order Hawaiian and you’ll teach me how to slow dance.” He winks. "Jenn told me you were in a dance troupe in college."

Gina had disclosed this fact in confidence.

“ No,” says Gina. “Absolutely not. What is wrong with you?”

“If this is supposed to be the worst date ever, it sounds like I’m doing a pretty fantastic job,” he counters, shooting her a wink. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 3?”

“Fine,” Gina concedes. “I’ll wear my muddiest jeans, just for you.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, and Gina ignores the feeling the words stir up in her chest. She takes her time, packing her things away into her neat black briefcase as Ricky clatters down the hallway.

“Oh,” yells Ricky. He dashes back into the office, hair tumbling across his forehead, until he reaches her again. “And one more thing?” He crouches until they’re at eye-level. “You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

Gina has better things to worry about, like fixing up her resume and answering that email from her mother, than infuriatingly cheeky men who are somehow equally capable of tripping while fully seated in an office chair and playing hacky sack on the edge of their office roof.  “Won’t be a problem,” she says, forcing a smile onto her lips until sunset falls on the vacant desks, drowning her in shadow.

Ricky has never cultivated a reputation of timeliness, but even the echoes of Terri Porter telling five-year-old Gina that patience is a virtue! can’t quiet Gina’s doubts that perhaps the worst-date-of-all-time has fallen through the cracks like a year-end report. Maybe he meant it as a joke. Maybe he didn’t intend to take her anywhere, actually. (Surely his threadbare bank account couldn’t string together enough real human money to hire the audiobook reader from After – what had she been thinking?) Maybe this was some strange, meta humor, in which he delivered the worst date of all time by standing her up – not even giving her the satisfaction of being humiliated. He hadn’t even tried this year, wiping greasy cheesesteaks from his fingers on business letters – he’d made her seem a fool, toiling away at her desk  – it was a good thing, after all, that she was leaving. 

Her eyes wander over the same line of the book she’s reading for the twentieth time, hands fraying the edge of the page. Gina Porter doesn’t let other people weave their way under her skin – Gina Porter doesn’t flinch –

An airhorn, directly outside her apartment door, nearly makes her shriek. She manages to catch the sound in her throat, steadying her legs as she strides to the door to find Ricky. He’s wearing an oversized, loud Hawaiian-print button up with basketball shorts, the bright pattern of his pizza-themed socks poking through his hiking sandals. His hair’s a mess and he looks like he’s rolled directly out of bed and into her mildly creepy apartment hallway and Gina tells him as much.

“How observant of you,” he says, laying on the horn a couple more times for good measure. “You can take the Gina Porter out of the absurdly detail-oriented editing mode, but you can’t take the absurdly detail-oriented editing mode out of the Gina Porter.”

“Rolls right off the tongue,” Gina says.

He shrugs. “That’s why they call me the ‘really good at slogans man.’”

“More accurate than ‘best literary agent at Caswell Literary.’”

“They’re both my titles,” Ricky corrects. “Like those royals that’ve got fifty things listed after their names. That’s me.”

“You’ve given yourself two titles, and neither of them are true.”

“We can’t all be state-championship winning dancers,” Ricky says. “Some of us have to settle for made-up epithets.”

Gina groans. “How much of my personal history did you get Jenn to tell you?”

“ Get her to tell me? None of it. How much of it did she willingly spill as soon as I so much as hinted about our bet? Your entire life story.” He clucks his tongue. “As someone who’s firmly in the good graces of our boss, may I suggest: there’s no need to tell her about how you won the fifth-grade spelling bee with sesquipedalian.” 

“Lies, but also: is that how you found out about my hatred of slam poetry?”

Ricky laughs. “No, I just guessed that one. Speaking of – hop in your carriage, madam – or, should I say, my carriage, because it’s mine, because I won. We’ve got a big day ahead of us!”

They head down the street to where the orange bug is precariously parallel parked in a loading zone. Ricky yanks the passenger side door open (“I’m a real gentleman today!” “So you admit it – you’re not one, usually.”) as Gina climbs in. Her knees jamb against the glovebox and the inside smells faintly of tomato sauce, scratched-up cardboard air-fresheners futilely  dangling from the rearview mirror. Ricky manages to get the engine going after a few attempts (“don’t worry, I got this! It only took me four tries to pass my driving test, you’re in safe hands.”)  and they start off with a jerk.

Ricky drives like Gina would expect, dangerously close to the cars in front of him, his eyes roaming around the skyscape, one wrist looped around the steering wheel, CD player blaring. There’s no ice on the ground anymore, thankfully, but Gina still pulls her coat tighter around her as they slip around a corner, a draft whistling through the doors’ seals.  

“Sorry about the cold,” Ricky says. Pawing behind him with one hand, he grabs a mound of bright red fabric and places it in her lap. “I brought a hoodie in case you needed it – it’s kind of wrinkly, but I promise it’s clean.” He gives it a whiff. “I think. It smells okay, right?”

Gina wraps it around her shoulders. It smells a bit like tomato sauce, too, and something else she can’t quite identify but which makes her question exactly how recently it’s been in the wash, but it’s warm from Ricky’s body and helps the goosebumps on her arm subside. Peering down at the peeling design, she reads out: “ High School Musical: The Musical – East High, Fall 2010. Wait, you were a theater kid?”

“Yeah,” says Ricky. “I originally joined to win over my ex, but I ended up sticking with it.”

“ Richard Bowen, huh,” Gina says, glancing through the list of names on the back. “How formal. Who’d he play?”

“Guess,” he says, grinning slyly.

“You seem like a Troy,” she replies. 

“You think I’m a leading man?”

“Yeah,” Gina says. “Don’t let it get to your head. I just know that only main character energy could have prevented you from getting fired this long.”

Ricky laughs, throwing his head back and letting his eyes close in a way that’s slightly concerning for someone driving a car at 40 miles-per-hour. “For what it’s worth, you’re right.”

“About Troy, or about getting fired?”

“Both.”

“For what it’s worth,” Gina says, after a pause, “I actually just think you’d get the lead.”

“Thanks, Gi,” says Ricky. Gina turns away from him, focusing her eyes on the passing buildings, at the nickname. “Means a lot, coming from you. Did you ever do theater?”

“Nope. I’m surprised Miss Jenn didn’t tell you, when she was regaling you with an epic poem of my life’s history.” They speed around another bend, and something in the door vibrates suddenly against Gina’s leg.

“She might have left some things out,” Ricky says. “Somewhere in between the fifth grade spelling bee and your YoungArts award where you recovered from throwing up on the judges’ shoes to win.”

“Why did she tell you about that?” Gina asks, flushing. “What relevance does that have to our date?” Our date. The door vibrates again.

“Why did you tell her?”

“I was describing how I’ve overcome adversity in an interview,” Gina says. They stop, and something vibrates against her leg again. It’s her purse, she realizes, which has tumbled from her lap on one of Ricky’s race-car turns. “Hang on,” she says, shuffling around her bag to find her phone. “Somebody keeps texting me.” She’s about to turn off vibrations when she reads the notification: Jamie Porter , with a blurry photo of a photo of him, a knit hat tilted on his head as he leans against a snowman.

Her thumb hovers over the messages icon. “It’s my brother,” she hears herself whisper as her phone starts to ring. “Let me take this.”

Ricky glances over at her and tweaks the volume down as Gina picks up the call. There’s staticky chatter on the end of the line and then: “Gigi?”

“Jamie,” Gina says. She clears her throat. “Hey.”

“Gigi!” Jamie says. She can hear a feminine voice on a loudspeaker somewhere around him. “Hey, are you busy? Like, right now? You’re in NYC, right?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I live here.”

“Cool,” he replies. He’s quiet for a moment, then, “how close are you to JFK right now?”

Gina blinks. “Not very?”

“Oh,” he says. “Listen, I’m really sorry to have to do this, but could I ask you for a big favor? I’m supposed to be meeting with a client this evening in NYC, but he just changed and asked to meet at his house in New Jersey. I checked the public transport lines and I can’t get there in time. It’s for a really important deal, Gigi – you could come in clutch. Is there any way you could drive me there?”

Gina looks at Ricky, who’s whistling along to the song under his breath. It’s still only 4 pm – she could call it off with Ricky, ask to borrow Ash’s car, get over to JFK with plenty of time to spare. Once they’re out of the city, the drive should be relatively okay – she’s a little rusty, but she supposes driving is like riding a bike. “Of course,” she tells Jamie. “We’ve always got each other’s backs, right?”

She hears a shaky breath travel over the phone, crackling and loud in her ear, memories of pressing her head into her pillowcase as she played and replayed old voicemails under her childhood home’s stifling presence filling her head. “Thanks so much,” Jamie says. “I really appreciate it. I’ll text you the address, alright?”

“Okay,” says Gina. “I’ll see you soon.”

She feels the click coming before she hears it, the brightness of the call ended screen stark against the car’s dark dash. “Everything okay?” Ricky asks. His fingers play with the volume dial – down, up, down.

“Yeah,” she says. “I need to cut the date short, sorry. Something came up.”

“Is your brother okay?” Ricky asks. He’s already pulled the car to the left lane, she realizes, as they careen around a likely illegal U-turn. “Can I help?”

“It’s fine. Just need to pick my brother up from the airport.”

“If you need to borrow a car, I could just drive you,” Ricky says. “I don’t mind, really.”

“No, it’s okay,” Gina insists. She’s already planned her next moves: hurry to her apartment, throw her purse by the door, call Ash on speakerphone, toss on the nice cream blouse she’d bought last weekend. “I’ll have to pick him up at JFK and then drive all the way to New Jersey.”

“I’m in the mood for a road trip if you are,” Ricky says.

“Really, Ricky. It’s fine. I can handle this. It’s not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t need to be. I can still help.”

“I’ll go ask Ash for her car.”

“There’s no need for you to go,” says Ricky. “I’m already right here. Is he at the airport now? It’ll be faster if we zip there – we might be able to barely beat some of the traffic.”

Gina checks her watch again. He’s right. She can’t fail Jamie now, not when his texts are still sitting, freshly unread, on her phone. She misses crying into his elbow. She misses yelling at him, sprawled out on their roof. She misses having someone to trust fall into.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” she asks, finally.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did,” Ricky says. “Besides, the car is rightfully yours. That last sale shouldn’t have counted.”

“You sold the book,” Gina says absently.

“You were right, it wasn’t official.”

“Thanks for finally admitting it,” she says. “But seriously. I appreciate it.”

Ricky waves her off, bouncing in his seat as he yanks a banged-up phone from his back pocket. Unlocking it quickly, he tosses it into her lap. “Wrestle Siri for driving directions for me, would you?” he asks.

There’s a picture of him and Big Red as his home screen, another girl Gina doesn’t recognize practically lying in his lap. He’s grinning wider than she’s ever seen. They’re at a skate park, lounging around some steps, someone flippantly grabbing the front of their board as they leap in the background. 

It’s okay. She doesn’t know all of his friends, even if he knows all of her hers. 

Gina starts up the GPS as they slow to a crawl on the highway, Ricky impatiently tapping his fingers as they creep along. “How do you feel?” Ricky asks suddenly. “Date living up to your expectations?”

“I feel like I’m stuck in a department store from hell,” Gina admits, as the fifth Ed Sheeran song in a row comes on. “What is this, a greatest hits compilation?"

“Sure is,” Ricky says. “Only CD I own.” He pauses. “Actually, I take that back. I own part 15 of the audiobook recording of Return of the King. ”

“Only part 15?”

He shrugs. “I only like the bit where he throws the ring in, so I bought the entire set, borrowed a friend’s shrink wrap machine, and then just returned all the other disks. All they do the rest of the time is eat and sleep and walk, anyway. Do you want to listen to that instead?”

“No, this is fine,” Gina says quickly. “Really setting the ambiance.”

“What ambiance is that?”

“‘We’re on a first date and have suddenly been diverted to the most hellish airport in the nation to pick up my brother’?”

“Perfect, then,” Ricky says. “Hey, if I’m meeting the family on the first date, is there anything I should know?”

“About Jamie?” Gina pauses to think. He’s my older brother. He’s shorter than me. His favorite fruit is strawberries.

“Jamie,” Ricky says. “Jamie and Gina. Got a ring to it.” He lives in Los Angeles. He’s a big-shot music executive. We haven’t spoken in two years.

“He’s kind of famous,” says Gina. 

“Makes sense you’re so successful,” Ricky says. “You’re a nepo baby.”

“I’m not,” Gina insists. “We don’t really talk.”

Ricky nods. “I get it,” he says.

She feels like she owes him more explanation. “He’s got some kind of important business thing in New Jersey, last minute. Needed a ride.”

“He couldn’t get one of his big celebrity friends to help him?”

“I don’t know. It might be nice to catch up. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He must be busy,” Ricky says.

“Yeah,” says Gina. “I’ve heard he is.”

In a half-mile, Siri’s tinny voice echoes, merge right .

“Gina, I’m not going to pry in your family shit,” Ricky says, quietly. “Maybe I don’t totally understand what it means to have a brother – or feel like you’re missing one – but I’ve been in enough of my own family shit to know it’s not the best casual first date conversation piece.” He sighs, flicking on his turn signal and resting his forearm on the steering wheel. “But if there’s something wrong, you know I can listen, right?”

In a quarter-mile, merge right.

“Thanks, Ricky,” Gina says. Something squeals under them as they change lanes. “I’m fine. It’s just – weird, you know. When someone is always there, and suddenly, they aren’t.” 

Merge right.

“When you want to fight for them. Or them to fight for you.”

Gina turns back to look at him, profile stiffly staring forwards for the first time of the drive. “Yeah,” she says.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I never said it was.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m just saying it. You’re a great sister, I think.”

“You don’t know that.”

He laughs. “You’re bailing on what could’ve been the greatest date of your life to pick him up? We could be getting to chapter four of After by now.”

“What a disappointment. I was really looking forward to the slow dance.”

“Your toes will be spared another day.”

“My toes say thank you.”

“Tell them you’re welcome,” Ricky says, stretching and cranking the volume up.

They make it to the airport, where Jamie is leaning against a pillar, a sleek black roller suitcase by his side. A suit jacket is thrown across his arm, his white button-up pristinely uncreased. 

“Gigi!” he says, when he sees her. He slips the blazer on. “Thanks so much, again.”

“Any time,” Gina replies. He wraps an arm around her neck, giving her a quick squeeze, and she nestles into his shoulder, the hard edge of his suit’s shoulder pad pressing into her cheek. “How have you been?”

“Busy.” He yawns loudly, releasing her shoulders to the chill wind outside. “It’s good to see you.”

Gina leads him to the car, where Ricky is watching them. She pulls the door open, watching him clamber inside. The smell of tomato sauce, lingering in the silence, feels stifling, and she feels almost tempted to ask Jamie how he feels about listening to part 15 of The Return of the King . 

“Nice car,” says Jamie, nodding at the fraying interiors. “It’s nice to meet some of Gina’s friends.”

“Thanks. I’m Ricky,” Ricky says. There’s silence.

“Are you two…” Jamie points between them. “Dating?”

“Sort of,” says Ricky. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, we are on a date,” says Gina, quickly, “but we’re just colleagues. It’s not for real. It’s just – part of stupid bet.”

“That’s right,” says Jamie. “Finally finished school, joined the work force? I’m proud of you. You’re very talented.”

“Gina’s been working for five years,” Ricky says. “She’s the best agent we’ve got.”

“I’m glad she has such kind, supportive colleagues,” Jamie says. He slips a glance at his phone before putting it away. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”

“Gina deserves it,” says Ricky, pulling out of where he's parked. The car creeps along cautiously. “A support system.”

“Ricky,” Gina starts to warn him.

“What?” Ricky asks. “You do.”

“He’s right, Gigi,” Jamie says. “Go out with your friends sometimes. Let yourself have fun.”

“Like you do?”

“Sure I do,” he says. “I took Mom down to Florida last month.”

Jamie was going on vacations with their mother? “How is Terri?” Gina asks, instead.

Jamie laughs. “‘Terri’? Mom’s doing fine. I haven’t talked to her too much – she’s busy with moving.”

“Moving? She’s moving?”

He shuffles beside her. “She didn’t tell you? I guess not. She’s moving back to Virginia – wants to be closer to grandma.”

“Was she ever that close to her mom?”

“They reconnected,” he tells her. “She’s really into genealogy recently, you know.”

“I didn’t, actually,” she says.

“You should call her. I think she’d want to hear from you.”

“She can call me.”

“Trust your big bro,” Jamie says, yawning again. “You should call her.”

“Okay,” says Gina. She won’t. “How long are you staying?”

“Oh, I’m in and out.”

“Okay,” she says again. “Are you coming back soon?”

“Yeah, sure! I’ll be back at the end of the month, I think. Couple of days – we could get lunch somewhere. I love asking locals for good lunch spots – and you’re basically a local now, aren’t you?” He nods. “Yeah, I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, falling back on the feeling of the word on her tongue. 

He nods again, some strange ping-pong of gestures flying between them. “It’ll be good to catch up with you.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry that I’ve been so MIA recently,” he says.

“I get it. You’re busy.”

“That’s not an excuse.” He wraps his arm around her shoulders again, the seatbelt strap poking into her neck as she shifts closer to him. “You’re my favorite little sister.”

“I’m your only little sister,” she mumbles.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he says. “I’ll come back, and we’ll get lunch, okay? Just like old times.”

She nods, agreeing to a date she knows she’ll be too afraid to pencil into her calendar. It’s nice enough, she thinks, to believe in its existence, a figurine to poke gingerly at until it gathers dust.

Concrete melts into wood and brick as they speed along, five lanes merging into the four into three,  wrought-iron gates replacing chain-link fences. Siri directs them into a neighborhood of arched windows peeking over wooded yards, and Ricky pulls up to a gate where a young woman, hair tied in an impeccably tied bun, lets them in. Jamie gathers his things in his lap as Ricky pulls his black suitcase from the boot.

“Bye, Gigi,” he says. He taps her nose lightly. “See you soon, yeah?”

“Soon,” she says. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he says, holding his out, a bulky gold ring glimmering on it. Gina interlocks her pinky with his, the cold metal marking her hand.

Slipping back into the car, Ricky pats the passenger seat behind him. “Do you want to move up here?” he asks. “I was getting FOMO listening to you and your brother chatter back there.”

“You’re not missing much,” Gina says, but she moves up anyway. Ricky manages to start the engine again and they head back, her cheek pressed against the chill of the window, eyes straining for the last glimpses of the neighborhood’s chimney smoke dispersing in the wind.

Ricky turns the CD player on again and Ed Sheeran’s voice shakes the car’s janky frame, bass vibrating through Gina’s cheek. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “There are plantain chips and mayonnaise in the glove box.”

Gina blinks. “There’s what?”

“Plantain chips,” he says. “And mayonnaise packets.”

“I heard you right the first time,” Gina says. “Would you care to explain?”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it.”

Gina pokes open the glove box to find a slightly crushed bag of plantain chips and a spattering of mayonnaise packets, as promised. “Wait, actually?”

“What do you mean, ‘wait, actually’? This would be a strange thing to lie about.”

“This would be a strange thing to have in your glovebox.”

“It’s great, I promise,” Ricky says. “In fact, squeeze some mayo onto one for me.”

“Absolutely not,” Gina replies. She checks the due date on the chip packet – a few months away, thankfully – and tears it open. “That’s a third-date activity, at the earliest.” Popping one into her mouth, she chews. “The chips are pretty good.”

“Come on. Try it with the mayo. You owe me one.”

She pulls a mayo packet out, examining it. “You’re way too excited for me to do this. Besides, what happened to ‘you deserve this car, actually, I cheated on the bet’?”

“That was Ricky of last hour. Ricky of this hour is a competitive menace who won, fair and square.”

“This feels like a practical joke.”

“I swear, Gina, it’s not. I just want to share the foods that bring me joy with others.”

“What kind of joy? Sadistic?”

“Loving, pure, empathetic joy. Geez, Gi, I don’t know. How many different types are there?”

Gina rolls her eyes. “Fine. But only because you’re swerving all over the road trying to make me eat this.” She rips open a packet and squeezes a tiny amount onto one chip, taking a breath to calm her gag reflexes before shoving it into her mouth.

“Well,” says Ricky. “What do you think?”

“I thought this was going to taste like shit.”

“Are you pleasantly surprised?”

Gina summons up all of her force of will to swallow. “No, I think it about met my expectations.” 

“My mom used to make it as a snack for me,” Ricky says.

“Weird snack.”

“Well, I was a weird kid,” Ricky says. “Actually, she made it with fresh plantains and cream cheese, but those went bad too fast.”

“ Please tell me you didn’t try to keep fresh plantains and cream cheese in your glove box.”

“Of course not,” Ricky says cheerfully. “I kept them in Big Red’s glovebox.”

Gina tries to conjure enough saliva to wash the taste out of her mouth. “So it’s a nostalgia thing.”

“Kind of.”

“Are you close with your mom?”

“No,” says Ricky. “We haven’t talked since high school.”

“Oh,” says Gina.

“Oh,” repeats Ricky. “Like I said. You don’t have to tell me about your family shit, but I promise I maybe understand, a little bit.”

“Maybe some other time,” she says.

“Any time,” Ricky tells her. “We’ve got a long industrious career ahead of us. A dynamic duo for the ages. The rivalry of our generation. They’ll make TV shows out of us.”

“Right,” she says. “Here, have a solidarity plantain chip with mayo.”

“Thanks,” says Ricky, grabbing it and swallowing it immediately.

“Oh my gosh – you actually do like them.”

“As I said,” Ricky points out, “I wouldn’t lie about serious matters like this.”

Gina smacks his hand away as he holds it out for another chip, swatting his arm from the bag until he laughs. “You fed me one,” he says. “Does that mean we’re in third-date territory?”

“You already played the mommy issues card,” Gina tells him. “That’s at least fifth-date material.”

“Dang,” he says. “We’re really speedrunning this, aren’t we?”

“Dang,” Gina teases. “You really speedran that red light just now, didn’t you?”

“I told you,” Ricky insists, reaching again for the bag, “I’m a terrific driver.”

“The fifty times my heart has shot out of my ass in the time I’ve sat in his car beg to differ.”

“That sounds like a personal medical issue to me.”

“Maybe so, but it’s definitely your fault.”

“That’s me,” Ricky grins. “Really good at slogans man. Best literary agent at Caswell Literary Agency. Number one source of heart- and ass-related injuries.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

“I sleep fantastically, with my heart firmly in my chest. Apparently, you don’t.”

“Well, not anymore.”

By the time they pull into another loading bay by Gina’s apartment, the sun has set and the stars cast glistening lines on the bug’s dusty windshield. Ricky puts the car into park and starts to get out. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he says.

“It’s fine, Ricky,” Gina says. “Thanks for tonight. Seriously. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Ricky stares into her eyes, his lips a little pursed, his eyebrows a bit furrowed. A pair of headlights rush by them, and his forehead clears. “Okay then,” he says. “Don’t send me your medical bills – I can’t afford them.”

“I’m aware,” says Gina.

Something passes between them – a gasp of breath, a flutter of wings, a skip in spacetime. It freezes and shatters like ice in a moment. She sees his lips, sees his eyes flickering down to hers –

“I should go in,” she says. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Night, Gi.”

“Good night, Ricky,” she answers. She shuts the car door. It slams closed, dry and echoless.

“How was the date?” Ashlyn asks the next morning, wheeling her chair next to Gina, insulated tea bottle in hand.

“Worst date ever,” says Gina, automatically.

“Exactly,” says Ricky. He’s attempting to flip his coffee cup over by flicking his finger on the tabletop ledge, a suspiciously damp brown stain covering some envelopes shoved into a corner of his desk. “I’m a man of my word.”

“That bad?” Ashlyn says.

Gina sighs. “No, actually. I had a family emergency and Ricky very nobly came to my rescue.”

“Ricky!” says Carlos. “I didn’t know you had it in you to be noble.”

“It was hidden very deep down inside, but I managed,” Ricky sighs. “Anything for my worst date.”

Gina watches his hands flex as he flicks the cup – scratch, bounce, clatter; scratch, bounce, clatter . His shoulders are relaxed, his hoodie discarded, falling off his chair back. There is no line in his forehead, no scar from the sharp shattering of whatever they’d had last night in his posture. She wonders if he can see it, in the bags under her eyes or the tapping of her fingers on her desk. 

Ashlyn stands up, patting the chair she was sitting in. “Also, what is this doing here?”

“Your chair?” Gina asks.

Ashlyn points at her desk, where her normal office chair is sitting, primly centered at the table. “There was an extra chair this morning.”

“E.J. probably watched some TED talk about putting an empty chair besides you boosts productivity by twenty-five percent,” Gina groans. “‘In this research, we actually found that the presence of a vacant chair by the left side of participants subconsciously triggered an autonomous brain response which increased brain activity to the prefrontal cortex,’ or some bullshit. Wheel it out to the hallway or something.” 

“Don’t move that!” a shrill voice shouts. It’s Jenn, her stilettos beating a quickstep on the chipped tile floors. Clapping her hands, she gestures to a young woman standing by her side. She looks young – not too long out of college, Gina guesses – oversized sweater vest loosely tucked into her pants. “I’m so excited to announce our newest hire, Maddox – she will be taking on the role of E.J.’s new assistant.”

“What?” says Ashlyn.

“Now, don’t worry, Ash, dear,” Jenn says. “You’re still E.J.’s first assistant. Cash specifically requested that we expedite the hiring process for a second assistant.”

“So what are you doing?” Carlos asks, nodding at Maddox. “Making his protein shakes? Mining his blockchains?”

“No, hang on,” Ashlyn says. “Carlos is right. E.J. doesn’t need another assistant. I’m perfectly capable myself.” She pauses. “No offense, Maddox.”

“None taken,” Maddox says. “I’m helping him review manuscripts. Or that’s what I was told.”

“I do that already,” Ashlyn says. “Did Cash give a reason?”

“Oh, he never does,” says Jenn. “You could ask him, if you’d like? He’s talking to E.J. now, but I could ask him if he’d be available to chat later?”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Ashlyn says quickly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ricky butts in. “I promise we don’t bite. We’re just a slightly chaotic family. You’ll fit right in, I think.”

“I’m the mom,” Ashlyn says, “Gina’s the responsible older sister. Ricky’s the slightly feral younger brother. Carlos is the wannabe actor cousin that your mom tells you about. Big Red’s the middle kid that disappears sometimes.”

“And E. J.?” Maddox asks.

“E.J.’s the favorite older brother that plays football and gets by doing literally nothing else,” Ashlyn says.

“You really don’t like him, then,” Maddox says.

“He’s not a bad person,” Ashlyn says. “I see the best in everyone. I just think he should find a job elsewhere, you know. Where he’s not confined and coddled by his dad.”

“I bet you would like that.”

Ashlyn frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just seem like the type,” Maddox says. “You know. Ambitious.”

“If you’re trying to say that I just want to get his position, then you’ve read me wrong. Like I said. I want the best for everyone.”

“Sure, okay,” says Maddox. “Yourself included, I guess.”

Ashlyn’s about to respond when E. J. strolls in. “I see you’ve met everyone, Maddox,” he announces. His desk buzzes loudly as he elevates it to standing height. “I hope they’ve all been inviting.”

“She sure doesn’t seem to care for me,” Maddox says, tilting her head to Ashlyn.

E.J. looks quickly over his shoulder at her as he types his password with a flourish. “Ashlyn? Ash loves everyone. Especially women. She’s a feminist.”

“He’s right, you know,” Ashlyn hisses at Gina, rolling over to her. “I am a feminist. You know me. I like everyone. But something about that Maddox woman? Rubs me the wrong way.”

“What she said was pretty uncalled for,” Gina admits.

“I’m not a vengeful person, Gina,” she says. “If she wants to be a jerk, so be it. I’m the kind of person that always takes the high road, aren’t I?”

“Ash, if you’re hurt by what she said, that’s fine, too.”

“No, it’s not,” Ashlyn insists. “I’m a level-headed, even-tempered individual. See? I’ll take everyone to dinner. A welcome party for her. That’s nice of me, isn’t it? We’ll be working together a lot. I just want everyone to get off on the right foot. I’m a peacemaker.”

“Ash –” Gina starts.

“We can go to that new Italian place by the library – I’ve been wanting to try it, anyway. And it’s close enough to here to be convenient.”

“Ash –” Gina tries again.

“It’s settled,” Ashlyn says. “I’ll tell everyone at lunch.” She rolls back over to her desk, deliberately clearing a square area for Maddox to spread out her things. “Let me clear this for you,” she says, projecting her voice around the quiet office. “I hope you feel very at home here. Please take up as much space as you want.”

As Gina looks up, she catches Ricky’s side-eye and nearly bursts out laughing into her coffee.

::*::*::

When noon springs around, Ashlyn dings a metal straw against her cup.

“Announcement, everyone,” she says. “In order to welcome our new friend, Maddox, I thought I would take all of you out for dinner Saturday,  at Bella Italia . I hope you can make it, Maddox.”

“I’ll be there,” says Big Red. 

Maddox frowns. “It kind of seems to me that if you were planning this dinner in my honor, my availability should’ve been your first concern.”

“She has a point, Ash,” Carlos says, kicking his feet up on his desk as he munches on an apple. “I’ll be there, too, though. Never waste an opportunity to drain Mr. Moon’s trust fund, I always say.”

“You’ve never said that before,” points out Big Red.

“That’s irrelevant,” says Ashlyn. “And of course, Maddox – if you can’t come tonight, we’ll reschedule.”

“You’re all in luck, then,” Maddox says. “I’m fully available.”

“Wonderful,” Ashlyn says. “Gina? E. J.?”

“I’m busy,” says E. J.

“Of course I’ll be there, Ash,” Gina says.

“Great,” Ashlyn exclaims. “And we can ask Ricky when he gets back from wherever he went.” She sits down again. “Would you like to try some salad, Maddox?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she says, over Ashlyn’s exasperated glance at Gina.

::*::*::

“You have ketchup on your mouth,” Gina tells Ricky, as he returns to his desk.

“Nice to see you too, Gina,” he responds, wiping it away with the back of his hand. “How is your day going?”

“Good,” she says. “Ash is taking everyone out on Saturday night. In honor of our new employee. Wanna come?”

“Did I get left off of the invite list? I knew I shouldn’t have stuffed those extra cheddar biscuits into my pocket last time.”

“I wouldn’t have known you ever did that if you hadn’t just told me,” Gina says. “But also, you wouldn’t have missed the invite if you just brought your own lunch and ate with everybody else.”

“Bold of you to assume I can cook.”

“I know that you can’t,” says Gina. “But I also know you love free food.”

“You know me so well,” Ricky says, dropping a stack of papers to clutch at his heart. “But actually, I’ll have to gratefully turn down the invite this time. Big Red and I are getting dinner with – with a friend of mine. Of ours.”

Gina raises an eyebrow. “A friend?”

“Yeah,” he says, bobbing his head. “Old friend. From high school.”

“Big Red said he could come.”

Ricky pauses. “He must have forgotten, or something.”

“Or something.”

“You know Red. He’s never been the best at scheduling.”

“Compared to you, the master of scheduling.”

“Exactly,” Ricky says. “Glad we’re on the same page.” He rests his forearms on the back of her chair, learning it backwards until Gina turns around. 

“You know, Ricky,” says Gina, “if you took ‘bother Gina at her desk’ off your daily schedule, you wouldn’t have to worry about not finishing your work on time.”

Craning his neck forwards, he replies, “how else would I know about your – application to work at YAC Literary?”

Gina quickly clicks away from the screen. “Don’t tell anyone I was looking at job applications at work.”

“You’re leaving?” Ricky asks.

“If I can get the job,” she says.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get the job, Gi,” he says, removing his arms from the back of her chair. “But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you leaving?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Gina asks. “This place smells like moldy bagels and Cash’s Tom Ford cologne.”

“There was only a little mold,” says Ricky. “And anyway, it tasted fine.”

“I didn’t need to know that.” 

“I thought it might reassure you.”

“I’m already convinced that your stomach linings feel nothing, after watching you gulp down plantains and mayonnaise yesterday.”

“My greatest talent,” he says. He pauses. “We’ll, uh. We’ll miss you.”

“Hmm?”

“When you leave.”

Gina forces out a laugh. “I haven’t left yet. I don’t even have another position lined up. It would have to be a good offer.”

“That won’t be a problem for you,” he says. “I mean that.”

He turns away, the warmth radiating from his body leaving the back of her neck. She hears him unzip his bag, the turn of a few pages, before he clears his throat.

“Wait, Gina,” he says, suddenly. “You know that friend I was telling you about?”

“Huh?” Gina asks, tipping her headphones off of her ears.

“The friend? The one I’m having dinner with?”

“Yeah.”

“Her name’s Nini. Nina, sorry.”

Gina swivels to face him. “Okay? Nice name?”

“No, that’s not – that’s not the point. The point is, Nina works at YAC.”

Gina drops her headphones on her desk. They land with a bang. “Good for her,” she says.

“I could ask her to put in a good word for you, if you want? She’s not, like, a senior agent or anything, but maybe it would help? Or if you have any questions, I could ask?”

“Oh,” she says. “I – yeah, I would really appreciate that. Thanks, Ricky.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You deserve some place like that. Like YAC.”

Gina peeks back at the email tab in her browser. “Have you ever wanted to leave?”

“Here?” Ricky shakes his head. “No. I like it here. Moldy bagels and pricey cologne and all.”

“You’ve never dreamt about leaving Cash Caswell behind?”

He shrugs. “There are people like that in every company. The grass is about the same everywhere for me, I guess. I just graze.” Leaning back dangerously far in his chair, he cracks his knuckles loudly. “That’s what I mean. You dream about those things. And you’re good enough to get them. You deserve something better than this.”

“I don’t not like it here,” admits Gina. “It’s just – it feels like there’s supposed to be more out there.”

Ricky gives her a strange look from his nearly upside-down position. “If that’s how you feel,” he says. “Go for it.”

::*::*::

Gina shows up at the restaurant exactly 10 minutes early to find Ashlyn and Carlos sitting at a large round table in the back. The place settings are shrouded with white tablecloth and flickering candles, the smell of tomato sauce bubbling from the kitchen. She slips into a chair by the window, staring out to gaze at the pedestrians strolling the frozen sidewalks and feeling a strange sense of deja vu.

Ashlyn keeps checking her watch as their colleagues trickle in, draping scarves across the chair backs, unfolding and refolding napkins in their laps. By the time it reaches half past the hour they’d designated to meet, she tuts to Gina with a shake of her head. “It feels irresponsible,” she says. “And you know how much I can’t bear irresponsible people. Even Ricky wouldn’t be late for a dinner expressly in his honor like this.”

“Well, yeah,” Gina says. “Ricky is never late for free food.”

“But you know what I mean,” Ashlyn insists. “It’s disrespectful to everyone’s time.”

“It’s rude if she’s doing it deliberately, Ash. Maybe something came up.”

“Maybe,” she says, skeptically. “It’s just – this seems very on brand for her.”

“We met her two days ago.”

“I’m a good judge of character,” Ashlyn says. “I’m just –”

“Sorry,” Maddox says, bursting on the table breathlessly. “Had a family thing to take care of. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Oh,” Ashlyn says, plastering a smile onto her face. “No worries, of course! I’m a very easygoing person.” She grabs a basket of breadsticks and offers them to Maddox. “Do you want a breadstick?”

Maddox sits down slowly, still catching her breath. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Don’t feel bad about taking one,” she says. “We’ve all had plenty.”

“Seriously,” says Maddox, “I’m good.”

Ashlyn furrows her eyebrows. “You don’t like breadsticks?”

“I don’t know,” says Maddox, taking another one and placing it gingerly on her plate. “It kind of feels like you’re overcompensating for something.”

“For what?”

Shaking her head, Maddox wipes her fingers on her napkin. “I don’t know. Look, I’m sorry about being late. I really am. But there really wasn’t anything I could have done. Could I just have your phone number, or something?”

Ashlyn freezes. “What?”

“Your cell phone number?” Maddox asks. “So I could text you if I’m running late, or something.”

“Oh!” says Ashlyn. “Yeah, of course.”

Maddox pulls her phone out of her pocket, staring at something on the screen before standing up again. “Um, excuse me,” she says. “I need to use the restroom.”

“Sure,” Ashlyn says. “We can definitely wait for a lot longer than we already have.”

Tossing her napkin back onto her plate, Maddox slips from the table, practically tripping over the dark carpet as she hurries to the ladies’ room. Gina watches her go, the scraping sounds of her sneakers against the carpet echoing in her head, before excusing herself, too.

“You okay, Gina?” Ashlyn asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “You know what they say. Peeing is like yawning: contagious.”

“Do they say that?” Carlos asks.

“I’m sure somebody has,” Gina insists. “Anyway, gotta go.” She follows Maddox’s path to the bathroom, where she finds Maddox leaning against one of the sinks, staring at her reflection.

“Hey,” Gina says. Maddox slowly turns towards her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Maddox says. “Is it okay if I just chill here for a moment? I just – needed to catch my breath.”

“Sure,” says Gina. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait, Gina,” Maddox interjects. “You don’t have to leave. If you don’t want to. I know – actually, I won’t hold you captive in the ladies’ room. Even if Ashlyn probably thinks that’s something I would do.”

“I’ll stay,” Gina says. “It’s a little stifling out there. And ignore Ash – she’s just trying to work through some things.”

“I figured,” Maddox says, blushing suddenly. “I’m sorry. I have no filter. It – it kind of turns people off, I think.”

“It’s fine, seriously,” Gina says, watching goosebumps bloom across Maddox’s arm. “Are you cold?”

“I’m from California,” she says, rubbing her arms. “I’m not used to this weather.”

“Long travel,” Gina says. “What brings you to New York?”

“Family. My brother’s going to school here.”

“You wanted to be closer to him?”

“No,” Maddox admits. “But my parents wanted me to.”

“Where are they?”

“Back in Cali,” she says. “It’s just me against the world over here.”

“I felt that way when I first moved here,” Gina says. “My brother lived here, too, at the time, but we never saw each other. It was worse, knowing that he was so close.”

“That sucks. It’s – it’s different with Jet, though. It’s not that we never see each other. It’s just – we’re not close because he’s not happy, you know? School’s not really his thing. I think he’d be happy just playing in a band with his friends and living off scraps from the bars he plays in for the rest of his life. But that’s not really what our parents want. They keep telling him to go back to college. Send him to the best school they can bribe to let him in. Send him to a community college. Send him across the country and send me with him to see if that’ll work, too.” Maddox grimaces. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but this place is a hellhole compared to where I was working before.”

Gina shrugs. “This isn’t really where I thought I’d end up, either.”

She laughs. “Nobody likes it here. That’s good to know.”

Gina thinks about what Ricky said earlier today – I just graze . He seems perfectly happy where he is. “I wouldn’t say nobody,” she says. “And I’m not un happy here. It’s just – people expected me to be somewhere else. Not that I really want to leave. Or, I do. But just because that feels like what I’m supposed to be doing. Climbing the ladder. Making my mom proud.” She sighs. “For the record – I don’t… like E. J., but I guess he’s going through a similar thing.”

Maddox nods.

“I guess that’s probably not what you want to hear on your first week of work,” Gina continues. “That multiple of your colleagues are desperately trying to get out. It’s not that bad, I promise.”

“No,” says Maddox. “No, I get it.” She sighs, running her fingers through her hair. “Thanks, Gina.”

“Of course,” she says. “Any time.”

Gina has never believed in the scientific notion of time being relative until she experienced the turmoil of waiting for an interview. For two weeks – fourteen days – twenty-thousand, one-hundred and sixty minutes – she spends her time counting the days on her fingers until they blister. Dreaming about a little 1, pinged from her email,  from hiring - at - YACliterary - dot - com. Imagining herself calling her mother to tell her the good news. Maybe they’d go to the Florida Keys together, this time.

She thinks about it so much that when the email actually comes, it feels vaguely anticlimactic. The larger issue now is that the only available time slot for her interview is directly within her working hours, and Gina – being both extremely eager to take the interview and extremely eager to not alienate her bosses by taking interviews while literally at work – therefore must conjure up some good excuse to skip out of work for approximately half an hour out of her metaphorical hat.

Gina massages her temples tiredly, trying to brainstorm emergencies. A crown on her tooth fell off – she needs to go to the dentist immediately. Her brother’s in town again – he needs another ride. She’s not feeling well – she needs to take a sick day, she thinks.

“Gina?” Carlos asks. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” she says, too quickly. “I just – might need to take a smoke break later?”

Carlos frowns. “Since when did you smoke? It’s terrible for your vocal cords.”

“Just now,” Gina tries. “Started smoking a pack a day this very morning.”

“Has something…motivated this for you?”

“Just stress. I, uh. I’ve been trying to – one of my clients – they’re writing a science fiction book! And, uh. I’m not very familiar with the genre, so I’m just kind of stressed.”

“Okay,” says Carlos. “Not even a performer of my caliber can lie about this: you’re a horrific actress, Gina. But if you really want advice about selling sci-fi books, then Ricky’s your man.”

“Oh, I don’t want to bother him,” Gina says. “And it’s a really specific case. I don’t know if he could help.”

“Listen. I’ve known Ricky practically his whole life. He is the only soul I allow to call me bro. I don’t even let my brothers call me that.” He shakes his head dazedly.

“Aren’t you an only child?”

“That’s besides the point. Which is: Ricky may be a dumbass, but he’s a really smart one. Just try him, alright? He probably needs a break from that manuscript, anyway. He’s been editing it for weeks.”

“Did someone say my name?” Ricky asks, appearing behind them. 

“Speak of the devil,” says Carlos. He pats Gina’s shoulder. “Gina has a question for you.”

“Gina!” cries Ricky. “So glad you have finally come to consult my wisdom. What can I advise you on?”

“It’s not important,” Gina says quickly. “What are you working on?”

“Editing,” he says. “I’m trying to send out the third round of query letters for this thing by the end of the month, but it’s a bit of a bear.” He taps his space bar thoughtfully. “In the best way, of course.” 

Gina wheels herself over to his desk, peering over his shoulder to read what he’s been working on. “Half of these sentences don’t make any sense,” she says. “Give it up, man.”

“No, no, Gina,” Ricky says. “This job’s about chipping away at a work to see the gems inside. Looking for the glimmer through the dust. The grammar problems? Anybody can fix those! That’s what copy editors are for! Do you want all the copy editors to be out of a job? I’ll bet copy editors love me. There’s probably a photo of me printed on the front of every issue of Copy Editors Weekly.”

“That’s a comma splice,” Gina says, pointing at the page.

"Can you imagine being the copy editor for Copy Editors Weekly?" Ricky continues. "That job must suck. You make one mistake and you probably get fifty thousand angry emails from copy editors telling you that you forgot to hyphenate twenty-five .”

"Misplaced modifier," says Gina, pointing at another spot. "Sounds like they're calling the circuit board fluffy, not the ostrich. Speaking of, what the hell is this book about?"

"Dystopian re-imagining of Noah's ark," says Ricky, adding a comment where she’s pointing. "It has potential, honestly."

“Why are you copy-editing it?” Gina asks, peering over the other comments littered around the page. “What happened to not taking away copy editors’ jobs?”

“He took it away from himself,” says Ricky, scrolling down a bit. “Said it was a ‘waste of time’ and ‘not worth doing,’ the jerk.”

“No offense, but I think he might be right.”

“But he’s not , Gina,” Ricky says. He taps the enter key vigorously. “This book has good bones. It just takes somebody to dig them up.”

“But that’s an editor’s job, not an agent’s,” says Gina. “You don’t have time to be bothering with line edits.”

Ricky waves his hand at the page. “You heard what the editor said. No editor will take a book that actually needs editing. So I’ll do it.” 

“For someone who can barely bring himself to check Slack more than once a month, you’re sure putting a lot of effort into this.”

“Well, yeah,” he says. “Because this shit actually matters. I don’t care that Cash is moving our monthly progress meetings to Fridays from Thursdays. I’m not showing up either way.” He shakes his head. “This shit matters , Gi. When I was in high school, my English teacher told me point-blank that nobody at our school expected anything of me. Do you know how awful that felt? It was only because people told me that I was worth putting effort into that I bothered trying at all myself. It doesn’t matter to me anymore, but it sucked back then. Mr. Mazzara would probably have an aneurysm if he ever found out that I actually have a masters’ degree.”

Gina realizes with a start that she’s never seen him like this, every part of himself so deeply focused on what he’s saying – his eyes fixed on her face, hands still for once. “I know it’s cliche, but it’s the idea of inspiring people to follow their dreams, and all that,” he’s saying. “Like those kids coming today.”

“Those – what kids?”

“The writing club from that local school? The one where the teacher’s friends with Jenn? We’re supposed to be giving them a tour today?” Ricky frowns. “Didn’t you volunteer to help with that this afternoon?”

“Did I?” Gina says. “Wait! I did. Shoot.”

“Please don’t tell me I gave you that whole impassioned speech and you’re about to bail on this.”

“I’m sorry?” Gina says. “I just – I got an interview today. I haven’t wanted to tell anyone – you’re the first person I’ve told. It feels too real.”

Ricky’s eyes widen. “Gina! That’s huge! I’m proud of you.”

“I – yeah. I guess it is.”

“You guess? It is huge.” He shuffles through some papers on his desk. “Here, I can ask Carlos to fill in for you. He should be free. I’ll tell him you had a dental emergency. That’s always a good one.”

Gina glances behind her to where Carlos is still giving her a strange look. “No, I already tried to convince him that I’ve suddenly started smoking a pack a day and I need an extended smoke break this afternoon.” Her gaze lands on the only other person who hasn’t yet retreated to the break room for coffee. “Wait,” she says. “Maddox kind of knows.”

“Ask her, then,” Ricky advises.

“Yeah, of course,” Maddox says, when she asks. “Good luck with the interview. Let’s see if Ash and I can work together without killing each other.”

“Thanks,” Gina says. “It means a lot. But I really have to run now.”

“You don’t seem like you’d be good with kids,” she hears Ashlyn say as she speeds down the hallway. “You just don’t seem like the type.”

“Oh, I’m great with them!” Maddox says. “Actually, I was a camp counselor for years.”

She manages to make it to the building without breaking too much of a sweat, the high ceilings causing her heels to resound around the lobby. She takes a seat in a little waiting area, peering over the framed photos of famous novels and quotes and authors, the bookshelves filled with neatly stacked volumes, a large digital screen playing an interview with one of the agency’s clients. 

She can imagine herself here – working from home, maybe, only coming in for meetings in long, fancy conference rooms that don’t smell like moldy bagels. No coffee stains splashed across the tabletops or mildly terrifying clattering noises coming from their tiny kitchenette or mysterious microwave explosions that leave food unrecognizable. 

“Gina Porter?” the secretary calls. “Ms. Pratt is ready to see you.”

Gina stands up, slipping into the room where the secretary gestures. There’s a surprisingly young woman sitting there, blond hair in a neat bun.

“Hello, Ms. Pratt,” Gina says. Firm handshake. Hold. Release. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” she says. Her desk is totally clear except for a Stanford coffee cup containing a few identical red pens and a stack of paper directly in front of her. She clicks the pen in her hand smartly once and straightens the pile. “So, tell me about yourself.”

No need to tell her about how you won the fifth-grade spelling bee with sesquipedalian, Ricky’s voice echoes in her head. Gina tries to straighten her thoughts, let the words she’s carved into her brain ring out of her mouth. Speak slowly, clearly, determined, her mother would say, carefully putting young Gina’s hair up for dance competitions. 

“And why do you want this job?” Ms. Pratt asks.

Why wouldn’t I, Gina had said. Where I work now smells like moldy bagels and Cash’s Tom Ford cologne. Maddox had called it a hellhole, compared to where I used to work.  Gina feels like she’s breathing in pure fog.

“What skill sets would you contribute to YAC?”

You’re very talented, Jamie had told her. She’s the best agent we’ve got, Ricky said to Jamie. Because of what , she wonders. She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know what compelled her to think she could get this job, or what reason Maddox had to wish her good luck on an interview she probably shouldn’t have gotten, or what Ricky had seen in her that night in his car, when she was practically out the door already, and for a moment she had caught herself staring at his lips and noticed him staring at hers.

“Why should we hire you?”

 I’m sure you’ll get the job, Gi, Ricky had told her. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. E. J. spends his weekends running while listening to finance podcasts and Ricky keeps a stash of expired Frosted Flakes in his desk drawer and Gina Porter is destined for something More than a shitty desk packed into the corner of the Caswell Literary office.

Why should we hire you? Why?

She takes a deep breath and a discrete glance at her watch as she forces out an answer. It’s barely past noon – if she hurries back, she might catch the last few kids before they leave. She could show them some of her favorite ARCs, the letters she’d gotten from authors, the manuscript pages that turned into bound books. 

“Thank you, Gina,” Ms. Pratt says, nodding as she continues to write. “We’ll let you know our decision soon.”

“Thank you,” Gina manages, steadying her hand and hoping it doesn’t feel too clammy as she extends it. The cold air outside burns her lungs, gets trapped in her throat, as she gasps for it, trying to push down the nausea avalanching inside her stomach. Running as fast as her heels will take her, she hurries back to the office.

“Gina!” Ricky says, spotting her. “I’d like to introduce you to Emmy and Alex. Future literary agents.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Gina tries to say, the words crumbling as she tries to form them. “What genres do you specialize in?”

“I like mysteries,” says Alex. “I like the suspense, and I think it’s really cool that people can come up with those things, just with their heads.”

“I like the ones about real life,” Emmy says. “‘Cause they feel like they could happen to me. Or anybody else.”

“I like those, too,” Gina says. She feels like hurling. “If you’ll excuse me – I have to go, sorry.”

She needs to go somewhere, somewhere without five stacks of manuscripts blocking the skyline from her desk, covering up a coffee stain she hadn’t bothered to scrub away because she’d thought she’d be leaving soon. The buzz of the lighting, the hum of chatter, footsteps carelessly beating the floorboards, every strike a pulse in her chest, reverberating through her veins until she feels vibrating, numb. Her legs lead her out the front door to the parking lot, where the orange bug sits, teetering on the edge of double-parking.

She perches on the hood, brownish dust coming off under her fingertips as she shuffles herself up. The wind freezes the saltwater streaming down her cheeks, burning them into her skin.

“Gi,” Ricky says, appearing beside her. The car keys are in his hand, and he shoves them into the door lock, opening the passenger side for her. “Do you want to talk?”

She bites her lip. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Don’t deserve what?” Ricky asks. “The job? Friends? Because you deserve both of those things and so much more.”

Gina lets her body slump into the inside of the car, the loose threads of the seat underneath her somehow comforting. “I bombed it,” she says. “It was silly of me to go.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he says. “I’m sure you did amazing.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Gina says. “I’m not being self-deprecating. I’m being realistic.”

Ricky digs up a tissue from somewhere and offers it to her. 

“I’m not this person,” she whispers. “The type of person that shows up and knows what to say and how to say it. The kind of person that works at YAC. The kind of person that wins things like this. I never have been. I never will be.”

“What do you mean, you haven’t won anything? What about that –”

“Forget the fifth-grade spelling bee,” Gina says. “That doesn’t mean anything. People like my mom, my brother, you – you have a mission, and you go for it, and you help people or you become the best at what you do, and you have - you have this fire inside of you. I don’t have that, Ricky. I’m not any better than moldy bagels.”

“As someone who literally ate the moldy bagel,” Ricky says. “You’re definitely better than that. For one, you’ve never given me projective diarrhea for 24 hours. But also – ask anyone here. Everyone respects you, and it’s not because you’ve got us all under some strange spell. Nobody’s being fooled by you. They respect you because you’ve proven yourself, again and again. You have a good eye for potential. You work hard for your clients. You give everyone else advice freely. You make time for your friends. That matters , Gina. Nobody short of a genie is making world peace. But you make our little corner a little brighter, and that’s enough.”

He’s leaning into her, and she’s leaning into him, the same red hoodie he’d given her strewn across the backseat. She shakes her head. “I appreciate you being nice, Ricky, but –”

“I’m not being nice, Gi. I’ve known you for five years. I know how harshly you judge yourself. If you ask me, I think your interview probably went fine. But let’s say it didn’t. Let’s say you made some scandalous admission – you pirated all your books in college. You dog-ear your pages. You think the movies are always better. So what? Maybe there’s another door opening somewhere else.”

There’s a knock against the window.

It’s E. J., peering in at them, one hand blocking the sun from his furrowed brows. “Gina,” he mouths exaggeratedly. Ricky rolls down the window.

“Gina!” E. J. says. “Just the person I was looking for.” He tugs at the driver’s side door. “Could I talk to you in private for a moment?”

Ricky exchanges a glance with Gina, one hand reaching to give her shoulder a quick squeeze. Gina clears the mucus from her throat and nods. “Yeah,” she tells him, exiting the car. “What’s up?”

Checking quickly over his shoulder, he leads them into a corner, away from the cars.  “Listen, don’t tell anyone else this yet, okay? Especially not my father.”

Gina sucks a breath in. “What is this about, E. J.?”

He sighs. “It’s not bad news, Gina. It’s good news. For me at least. And maybe you.”

She tilts her head. “Okay?”

“I accepted a position as a senior literary agent with the Menkies,” he says. “I’m handing in my two-week notice tomorrow.”

The Menkies – the Menken Literary Corporation – is the gold standard of literary representation, the stuff of newspaper clippings on middle-school Gina’s walls, the stuff of images clipped into dream boards in her very first dorm room. Gina doesn’t doubt that E. J.’s connections have helped him get the job, but she also can’t help but be impressed.

“Wow,” she says. “That’s a dream.”

E. J. nods eagerly. “This is why I’m telling you: they asked me if I wanted to bring along an assistant. And I thought about you.”

“As…your assistant? What about Ash? Or Maddox?”

“They’ll stick around here,” he says. “That’s why I told my dad to hire Maddox, anyway. So Ash would have someone to share the workload with after I left. I’ve had all of this planned for a long time. That’s the key to a successful business exit –”

“Okay,” Gina says, cutting him off. “But why me?”

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, here, Gina,” he says. “Who else would I bring? Bowen?”

“Sure, maybe,” Gina says. “Ricky’s a great agent.”

“You really think Ricky would leave this cushy job behind to go work as my assistant for the Menken Corp? He doesn’t have the drive. I know it. And I know you have it.” He gestures outwards with his hands. “I can give you a couple days to decide, if you want. But it would be a great opportunity for you.”

She’s not getting the YAC job – she knows that now. And Terri Porter would absolutely love having her daughter work for the Menken Corp. It seems like an olive branch from the universe. 

But she feels a vague, terrifying emptiness in herself. She can see Ms. Pratt’s eyes boring into hers, the sound of her pen scratching neat lines across the paper, her elbows delicately balanced on her neat, cherry wood desk. She feels like she’s flying with wings made of chains. 

I just graze, Ricky had said. Maybe Gina was supposed to do that, too.

Why should we hire you?

You have a good eye for potential. You work hard for your clients. You give everyone else advice freely. You make time for your friends. 

One word – yes – and she’s basically guaranteed a job at a dream company. A few more years and she could be like Ms. Pratt, interviewing candidates for a job she’d only imagined having.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Yes, I’d love to. Yes, thank you so much for offering. Yes, of course.

She can’t bring herself to say it.

“I can’t accept, E. J.,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

E. J.’s mouth gapes open. “Well – just think about it, okay? Don’t turn me down immediately. Do you realize what an insane chance this is for you?”

An olive branch from the universe, Gina thinks, and she turns it down like a fool. 

She imagines herself, working here, twenty years in the future, the building’s crumbling foundations crumbling even more. 

Working a job she got. A job she wants. A job with people she really, really likes.

“It’s a personality thing,” Gina tries to explain. “I like doing things on my own. This just – it feels like cheating. I want to do this myself. I have to.”

“What about Ricky?”

Huh? “What about him?”

E. J. gestures wildly again. “You let him help you. Be your white knight, or whatever.”

“Are you talking about the date thing?” she asks. “That was different.”

“Different, how?” he asks. “You take his advice. Hell, you have secret rendezvous with him in his car. If he had asked you, would you have taken the offer?”

“This isn’t about Ricky,” Gina mumbles. “This is about me.”

“Fine,” says E. J. “Whatever.”

“You should ask Ash,” Gina says. “I think she would love the chance.”

“I’m not asking Ashlyn. I’m asking you. You’d be good at the Menkies.” He swivels on his heel.

“Congrats,” she calls after him. He doesn’t turn around.

Gina heads back to the bug, where Ricky is wikihowing how to win at connect-four with an intense expression on his face. She raps on the window and his head shoots up, meeting her eyes and slipping out of the car.

“Intense reading you’ve got there,” she remarks.

“Yeah,” he says, sheepishly. “Red and I signed up for a connect-four tournament two weekends from now. What did E. J. want to talk to you about?”

“Nothing important,” she says. “Just asking me about a sale.”

“Oh,” he says. They climb the steps to the office together, Ricky skipping steps in spurts, hands wringing around his phone. When they get to the top of the staircase, Ricky grabs the door handle and pauses. 

“I, uh,” he starts. “Gina, I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

He runs his other hand through his hair, tugging absently on a curl. “I didn’t – I didn’t do what I said. Just so you know.”

“What?”

“I told you I had a friend that worked at YAC?”

Gina frowns. “You lied?”

“No – no, I didn’t. Nini – Nina – really does work there. But I didn’t tell her you were applying.”

“That’s fine, Ricky,” Gina says. “I know you’re busy. You didn’t have to put in a good word for me.”

“It wasn’t that I was busy, though,” Ricky rushes out. “I had plenty of time to do it. I thought about it. A lot. I really did. But I just –” he lets out a shaky sigh. “I was selfish, Gina. I didn’t want you to leave.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Ricky says. “I just – I like what we have.”

“What we have,” Gina repeats. “Ricky, can I ask you something?”

“I don’t know,” he says, choking out a laugh. “Can you?”

“Ricky, that evening in your car. Outside my apartment. Before I said goodnight.”

“I remember it,” Ricky says slowly. “I can’t stop remembering it.”

“I almost kissed you,” she says. “And I just want to know – would you have minded if I did?”

Ricky freezes, his eyes wide, mouth a little open. “I’m not – I’m not ready for that, Gina,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” 

It’s nice to meet some of Gina’s friends.

Just friends. That’s it.

“I should go,” Ricky says.

“Okay,” she says.

“You got that interview all on your own,” Ricky says. “You did it. Yourself.”

“Yeah,” she says, as he leaves her in the hallway, alone. “Thanks, Ricky.”

On Tuesday, Ashlyn stopped by Gina's desk to invite her to E. J.'s going-away party.

"Absolutely not," Gina said. "You're crazy if you think you're going to get me to come to E. J.'s going-away party."

On an unrelated note, it's Saturday, and Gina's at E. J.'s going-away party. 

She’s been avoiding Ricky as much as she can avoid someone she works a full-time day job directly across from. Currently, that means angling her back towards the rest of the room and forcing Ashlyn awkwardly into a corner.

“Did you know?” Ashlyn is telling her. “Maddox asked me if she could bring a plus one.”

Gina looks up. There’s something strange in her friend’s voice. “Did you say yes?”

“I couldn’t say no,” she says. “I’m not a bad host. I was just – surprised. That’s all.”

“And why would that be, exactly?”

“No reason,” Ashlyn replies swiftly. “I just – I didn’t think – she just moved here, you know.”

“Maybe they just started dating,” Gina suggests. “Or maybe her partner’s just visiting.”

“Maybe,” Ashlyn says. “I don’t know. It’s weird.” She waves at Ricky across the room and Gina quickly excuses herself to greet Maddox.

“Hey, Maddox,” she says, loud enough to tune out the sound of Ricky’s voice across the room. “So. How’s your first week been?”

“Eventful,” she says. “I show up and immediately two employees leave? This feels like a sign.”

“Two employees?” Gina asks, but she’s distracted by the arrival of Maddox’s date. “This is your partner?” She says, holding out hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Maddox nearly spits out her drink. “Gosh, no. This is my brother. Jet.”

“We’re not dating,” Jet says, “just to make that clear.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gina answers. “I guess Maddox has been introducing you –”

“Ritchie!” Jet exclaims.

“Please don’t call me that,” Ricky says, automatically, from somewhere behind Gina. “Wait, Jet? Why are you here? Are you back into party crashing?”

Gina forces her gaze everywhere except on him, a cheesy grin plastered onto his face.

“Nah,” says Jet. “I’m here with my sister.”

I’m not ready for that. What, settling down?

“You and Maddox are siblings? ” Ricky asks. “That’s crazy. Small world.”

Gina wishes it was less small. She sees the man of the hour speaking to Ashlyn in the corner and wonders if she could fall back on her chain smoking excuse to slip away and talk to him.

“Hey, Gi,” Ricky says. “Have you met Jet?”

“Yeah,” Gina answers. “We just met.”

“We go way back,” Ricky explains. “We went to college together. I told you about him. My friend with the shrink wrap machine!”

“I remember that,” she says shortly.

Their conversation is interrupted by Jenn, rapidly dinging a glass with a fork.

“I’m so pleased that all of you could come to this wonderful occasion, to celebrate the lasting impact Elton John Caswell has had on our workplace.” (“Is that his real name?” Gina hears Jet ask.) She gestures to E. J., who begins to stand up. “Hang on,” she stops him, “I’m not done with my speech. I have a huge announcement to share with you all!

“As a former Broadway actress myself, having attended some of the best schools in the nation, I have seen just how deeply musical theater can change lives. Indeed, Rachel Chavkin and I attended NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts concurrently – truthfully, I was a master’s student and she was getting her BFA, but I won’t get into the technicalities – and she actually requested my directorial advice regarding Hadestown. ” Jenn pauses. “It was because she texted the wrong number, but nevertheless I offered my priceless wisdom.”

Carlos claps eagerly at this, causing Jenn to nod. “I’m afraid I’ve let the cat out of the bag a bit early to some of you in my excitement about this news, but I am finally ready to share it with you all. As of this morning, I have submitted my two-weeks’ notice. After years of editing everyone else’s works, I am going to be pursuing my own dream career as a playwright!” She hurries over and pulls Carlos to his feet. “Carlos has already agreed to be my muse, and my first one-man play should premiere very soon – you all can go to my website and make sure you subscribe to my newsletter for updates.”

“Carlos is leaving, too?” E. J. asks.

“You can’t leave, Carlos,” Ricky says. “Who else am I going to bother about unnecessarily printing out every manuscript I receive?”

“What do you mean, ‘unnecessarily’?” Carlos asks. “Hang on a minute.”

“Where are we going to find another secretary who will allow me to constantly waste his time like Carlos does? He’s one in a million.”

“I’m looking for work, actually,” Jet says.

“Over my dead body, you’re working with me,” Maddox says.

“Okay, then,” says Jet. “I am actually not looking for a job and I am extremely employed. Continue.”

“I am extremely honored by all of the kindness you all have shown me over the years,” Jenn continues, “and all of the people who have contributed to make my career so meaningful…”

Gina sneaks behind Jet and Maddox to tap E. J. on the shoulder. “Congrats again,” she whispers. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

E. J. glances up at her and shuffles out of his seat. “Fine,” he says, leading her to a booth in the back. “I wanted to discuss something with you, too.” He slides in and motions for her to do the same. “Ladies first.”

“Listen, E. J.,” she starts, swallowing her pride, “I just wanted to thank you for your generous offer to allow me to join you at the Menkies. I know it was rude of me to turn you down, and even ruder to ask you this, but the truth is that I regret what I said.” The rush of the office’s heating unit in the empty hallway echoes in her head, the door still swinging from where Ricky left her behind. “I was just going through some personal things, and they clouded my judgment. If your offer still stands – and I know you have every right to rescind it – I would take it.”

“No,” he says. “I think you were right, you know. I’ve been considering what you said.”

“What I said?”

“About needing to do it on your own,” he explains. “And anyway – as I’m entering this new chapter of my life, I’ve been spending some time in introspection, and I’ve realized that it was selfish of me to ask you to come with. I wanted something familiar, and you fit that bill. But I don’t really know what I want. If I even want to stay at the Menkies. It would be unfair to toss you into that limbo. I’ve been thinking about starting a podcast, actually.”

“Oh,” says Gina. “How wonderful.”

“Besides,” he continues, “I didn’t know Jenn was leaving when I asked you. If you want that job, it’s pretty much yours. You’d be pretty great at it, I think.”

“They’re not hiring outside?”

“No, I know my dad,” E. J. says. “He’ll hire internally, I think. He likes having people in charge who know how things go.” He sighs. “If you want to leave with me, I guess the mass exodus that seems to be happening right now is a pretty good time. But if I’m being honest, Gina, I think you’re better off staying. I read something in a book recently that really hit me, you know. It’s not about where you’re at – it’s about what you do while you’re there.”

“Yeah,” says Gina drily. “I’ve never heard that before. How original.” She peeks over her shoulder to see Carlos has now taken the floor to deliver a dramatic excerpt from Jenn’s most recent play, Ricky about to chew through his own cheek in an attempt to avoid laughing.

“Take some days to think it over,” E. J. says. 

“Thanks, E. J.,” says Gina. “I know I give you a hard time, but I really do appreciate it.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Reaching this fork in the path of my life has made me recognize how many terrible choices I made in my life. I used to play water polo in high school, you know, and I would scratch all the other kids under water and then pretend nothing happened, all so we could win games. I would leverage my father’s reputation to clear my own name. Wasn’t that awful of me?”

“Yeah,” says Gina. E. J. has been in a confession phase all week, and if Gina hears about the time he poisoned a rival team with a batch of rotten deviled eggs she might actually scream. “I need to, uh, take a quick smoke break — really craving that nicotine, you know.”

“Have you actually gotten into smoking?” E. J. asks. “I thought Carlos was joking about that.”

“Oh, yes,” Gina says, desperately. “It’s so bad for me.”

“I read a great book about developing healthy habits recently,” E. J. says as Gina excuses herself. “All you have to do –”

Gina hurries out the door and leans against the restaurant’s red brick walls, the edges of the stones digging into her back through her thin work blouse. The distant scent of fried food wafts from next door as a rat paws at a crumb of batter by the sewage drain near her feet. She can still hear laughter from inside – Ricky’s hearty chuckle, Ashlyn’s shrill giggle, Carlos’ exaggerated ha! s each clear in her mind.

There’s a chance for something new floating in front of her, a mirage in a bubble she’s afraid to pop. She misses the days when all she cared about was the bet: the late nights, pouring over pages in her bed, running her fingers over papers until her fingertips were dry, wondering if Ricky was doing the same in some similar apartment a few blocks away.

“Listen, Gina,”  Carlos hisses behind her, making Gina jump. “I’ve figured it out.”

“It better be good, ‘Los, for how much you’ve just terrified me,” Gina says.

“It is,” he whispers eagerly. “Haven’t you noticed Ashlyn’s been acting weird about Maddox recently?”

“Recently? She’s been acting weird since the moment they met.”

“True, but you see what I mean. I’ve figured it out. Have you seen how especially bothered she seems today?”

Gina thinks. “I guess so?”

“And what occasion are we celebrating? Or – not celebrating. Commemorating.”

“E. J.’s leaving?”

“And who jumped at the opportunity to plan this party?”

“Ashlyn?”

“Exactly,” he says. “Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Uh,” she replies. “No, not really.”

“Ashlyn is in love with E. J.,” Carlos whispers. “And she feels threatened by Maddox’s presence. And tensions are high because she’s having to say goodbye to him.” He leans back, satisfied. “It’s because of the lust.”

“I’m not going to lie, Carlos,” Gina says, “I think you’ve read the situation wrong.”

“Gina, you know me,” he insists. “I’ve got impeccable straight-dar.” 

“I fear it’s failed you this time.”

“You don’t see the vision?” 

“No,” she says. “Stick to the acting, okay? I don’t think matchmaking is your thing.”

“Everything is my thing,” Carlos insists. “I’m a modern day Renaissance man, excuse you.”

Gina laughs. “I will miss you, you know.”

“You better,” he says. “Come on opening night or I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“Thanks, Carlos,” she says. “Make sure you mention me in your Tony’s acceptance speech.”

“I’ll try my best,” he tells her. “Now, stop letting yourself freeze to death outside, or I won’t be able to murder you when you inevitably break your promise because you just wanted to read one more chapter before and then you forgot about my award-winning Broadway debut.”

They head inside, where Ashlyn’s doling out fresh slices of wood-fired pizza to everyone. “I saved you a piece of the veggie pie,” she tells Gina. “Ordered it just for you.”

“Thanks, Ash,” Gina says, grabbing the plate and finding a seat by Maddox. Jet’s off with Ricky at another booth, laughing with their mouths full over some college-age remembrances.

“How are things between you two?” Gina asks.

Maddox smiles with half of her mouth. “Okay, I guess. Better. We’re talking more, which is nice.” She takes a bite of her pizza, washing it down with a gulp of water. “I thought it might be fun to go somewhere together, which is why I asked Ashlyn for a plus-one. She seemed kind of upset about it, though. I guess nobody else brought anyone – I didn’t mean to infringe.”

“It’s fine,” Gina says. “We’re all just single workaholics. Besides, Ash’s usually fine with guests. She likes planning for large groups.”

“Does she?” Maddox asks. “She really did seem put off.”

“I think she thought you two were dating.”

“And that made her upset?”

Gina shrugs. “I don’t know.”

There’s a raucous cry from the other end of the restaurant as Ricky manages to catch a piece of sausage Jet’s throwing in his mouth.

“Hypothetically,” Maddox says, suddenly, “asking for a friend. When you say that all of you are single workaholics, does that include Ash?”

Gina laughs. “In this hypothetical scenario, yes.”

“Okay,” Maddox says, nodding as she takes another bite. “Just curious.”

Another shout as Jet misses and accidentally tosses a pepperoni slice into E. J.’s glass.

“How are things with your brother?” Maddox asks.

“About the same as they always were,” Gina admits. “He said he’d be in town last week and we should hang out, but it never happened.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.” Gina chews on a bit of arugula, the bitterness coating her tongue. “Sometimes I think I should reach out to him more. It seemed to work for you. But part of me just wants him to take action.”

Maddox looks her in the eye. “These things only work if everyone’s invested, Gina. I invited Jet to come. He said yes. I’m not saying it’s not worth trying, but you shouldn’t feel like it’s a failure on your part. Jet and I aren’t you and your brother. What works for us doesn’t have to work for you.” She smiles. “Besides, I’m not even sure if this is working. I’m going to have to break out the stain remover pens after this one, I’m afraid.”

Wiping her mouth, Maddox deposits her napkin on her plate. “We should probably head out before anything gets any more chaotic,” she says. “I think Jenn’s getting ready to leave, anyway.”

Jenn’s pulling on her coat by the doorway, so Gina bids Maddox goodbye and hurries over. “I’ll miss you, Jenn,” Gina says, catching up to her. “It’s been wonderful working for you these past five years.”

“The same to you, Gina,” Jenn says. “But I’m afraid it’s time for my exeunt. Things are catching up to me, I’m afraid, and so I must fly the coop and pursue higher dreams.” She grins at Gina. “I see a similarly bright future ahead of you. Shoot for the moon, and if you miss, at least you’ll land among the stars.”

Gina nods.

“You seem skeptical,” Jenn says. “As an extremely empathetic person, I can tell. Look, Gina, whatever happens, life goes on, darling. You just keep dancing. All you have to do is believe in yourself.”

Gina’s not convinced any of this advice is genuinely helpful, but she keeps nodding along anyway.

“You still don’t believe me,” Jenn sighs. “Here, I’ll tell you the truth. I’m completely unqualified for this position. I dropped out of high school to pursue my dreams as an extra in Hollywood. And look where I am now! All you need is self-affirmations and a small amount of blackmail on your boss.”

“You literally just said that you had a masters’ degree from NYU?”

Jenn waves a hand. “It’s not a lie, it’s an embellishment of the truth. Masters’ degree, 2-week acting course I audited illegally, same difference. Maybe ‘Rachel Chavkin’ has an email address that ends in gnail - dot - xyz — it’s not a big deal.”

“I just – I don’t see how this is helpful for me.”

“Oh, I used to feel the same way. In fact, I see a lot of my younger self in you. You would be an excellent replacement for me.”

“You don’t think Ricky would get the job?”

“Ricky? No, I don’t think Ricky would put his hat in the ring, so to speak.”

“I don’t get why everyone says that,” Gina says. “Even Ricky says stuff like that. He’s as competitive as I am.”

“I’m not saying he’s not competitive, Gina,” Jenn says. “I just think he has different priorities right now.”

“What does that mean?”

“My sweet summer child,” Jenn says, shaking her head. “I miss those days of youth.” She wraps a fluffy pink scarf around her neck. “Anyway, goodbye, my beloveds. Make sure you sign up for the newsletter!”

Jenn whistles out the door, a draft settling in the restaurant behind her as everyone packs up their things.

It’s getting late, so Ashlyn offers to drive Gina back to her apartment, soft classical music filtering over the radio as they sweep through the roads.

“Thanks for the ride,” Gina says, when they arrive. They’re parked in the same loading dock she’d been at with Ricky a few weeks earlier.

“Anytime,” Ash says. “See you Monday.”

“See you,” Gina echoes, about to slam the door before she gets an idea. “Actually, Ash. Are you free next Saturday?”

Ashlyn glances back up at her. “I don’t have other plans,” she says. “Why?”

“Would you want to do a girls’ night thing? Just the two of us? I could plan something,” Gina suggests. “I just thought – it’d be nice to hang outside of work.”

“Yeah,” says Ash. “No more Saturdays spent crying over Ocean Vuong for you.”

“It’s not just for me,” Gina says.

“I know,” Ashlyn replies. “I’d be doing that, too. Good night, Gina.”

Gina’s finally scrubbing away at the coffee stain on her desk when everything changes.

Cleaning her desk is her newest way of painting camouflage on the elephant in the room, just behind excessive bathroom breaks and furiously retyping query letters. 

“Word on the street is that Cash is going to promote somebody to Jenn’s old role,” Ashlyn says, as Gina finishes scrubbing away for the third time this morning. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

“I don’t know if I’ll get it,” Gina says. “Ricky’s just as likely.”

“At least you’re back to your old rivalry,” Ashlyn says. “It was getting weird, watching you send moony eyes over to him for so long.”

“I wasn’t sending moony eyes to anyone.”

“You just tell yourself that.”

“And who exactly is saying this? Pots and kettles, you know.”

Ashlyn sends a furtive glance to Maddox, who’s unbotheredly scrolling through a document. “Shh,” she says, standing up. “You shut up. I’m going to make coffee. Do you want any?”

“I’m good,” Gina says. “But thanks.”

Once Ashlyn leaves, Ricky looks over at her. “You want the job? Jenn’s?”

Gina blushes, wondering how much of her and Ashlyn’s conversation Ricky heard. “It would be nice, I guess.”

“You didn’t get the YAC job?”

“No.”

Something flashes in his eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry. I know you really wanted it.”

Gina smiles wanly. “Honestly, I don’t think I did.” She looks around, at the golden hues of the fluorescent lighting mixing with the rising light outside. “I like it here, I think.”

“You think?”

“I don’t think I ever really wanted to leave,” she says. “I just thought I was supposed to.”

He rolls his chair closer to her, face blank. “What made you think that?”

“E. J. asked if I wanted to join the Menkies with him. It was all I ever thought I wanted. But the thought of leaving all of this – it wasn’t that I was scared, or bittersweet. I was just sad. I would have missed this too much.”

Ricky nods thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything more.  At any rate, it’s the longest they’ve spoken to each other in a week and it stirs something in the pit of her stomach, an emptiness she hadn’t allowed herself to realize was there. 

“Ricky,” Carlos says, suddenly placing a hand on his shoulder. “Cash wants to talk to you.”

“Well,” says Gina. “Congrats.”

Ricky laughs. “We’ll see.” Sliding from his chair, he evens the strings of his hoodie and hurries into Cash’s office.

“Ricky as our boss,” says Ashlyn. “What a timeline.”

“Maybe we’ll get free pizza every Friday now,” Red says. 

“Fewer progress updates sounds pretty good, too,” Ash adds. “Here, let’s start making a list.”

Ricky emerges a few minutes later with a grin on his face. “Cash wants to see you, Gi,” he tells her.

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Ricky says. “Not the other girl I call Gi that works in our office. Don’t keep him waiting!”

Gina heads to Cash’s office with her head somewhere else as she goes down a path of their building that she’s somehow managed to largely avoid in the five years she’s worked here.

“Hello, Jean,” Cash says, when she walks in. “Take a seat, please.”

“It’s Gina, actually,” she corrects.

Cash’s jaw tightens. “I don’t take well to my employees talking back at me, Jean. You will do well to remember that.”

“Sorry, sir,” Gina says, quickly.

He clears his throat. “Well, Jean, it’s not exactly – my pleasure , but I’m doing it anyway. I would like to offer you the position of senior vice president at Caswell Literary, should you choose to accept it.”

“I would love to accept,” Gina says, and as soon as the words have left her mouth, she knows that they’re true.

Cash blinks a little confusedly. “I – well, great. To be completely honest, I believed you would leave us the moment another agency looked your way, but both Jenn and Richard were wholly convinced that you would stay here a while longer.”

“That’s what you asked him about?”

“Again, Jean,” Cash sighs. “I do not advise my employees to ask questions unless invited. But since you must know – no, I offered him the job first.”

“He turned it down?”

Cash looks a bit like he’s about to throw a temper tantrum. “Yes, Jean. I am beginning to regret this decision already, but you have the firm recommendations of so many of your colleagues that I would be a fool not to give you the promotion.” He clicks a pen – open, closed, open – methodically. “We can discuss the details of your promotion at a later date, but Jenn has agreed to stay on for another month to ease the transition. I hope you will not disappoint my high expectations for the performance of this agency.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Gina says.

“I expect nothing less,” Cash says. “Now, please get out of my office.”

Gina speeds out of there like her life depends on it and nearly bumps into Ricky, who’s waiting at the end of the hallway. “Congrats to you, then,” he says, when he sees her.

“Ricky,” she says. The words are all balled up in her throat again, threatening to burst out in a rush. “Thank you. Really.”

“For what?”

“Giving me the job.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t give you the job. I turned it down for myself.”

“I just – I don’t know if I would have done the same thing for you,” Gina admits.

Ricky frowns. “Nobody’s asking you to.”

“But that isn’t fair,” Gina says. “I should be willing to.”

“Gina, I gave it up because I knew you’d be better at it than I would. I don’t want to be a big boss. I couldn’t care less for admin work. All I want – all I’ve ever wanted – was just to be able to find writers who thought they couldn’t make it, and show them that their ideas are really cool. That they do deserve something. And just because I feel that way doesn’t mean you have to, too.”

“But it’s a selfish thing.”

“It’s not selfish to know where your place in the world is, Gi,” Ricky says. “You’re going to be the best senior vice president Caswell Literary has ever seen.”

The darkness of the hallway feels like another world, lit only by Ricky’s eyes, glowing with pride. She feels it again: the gasp of breath, the flutter of wings, the skip in spacetime.

And suddenly his lips are on hers, and the hallway seems consumed with brightness, warming her from head to toe. It surges like a wave that never crashes, whitewater thundering in her chest, the sheer magnitude of it freezing her in place. He pulls away, and she feels it still: a drumming of her heart that she’s never noticed before.

“I thought you said you weren’t ready,” Gina teases breathlessly.

Ricky laughs, a hearty thing, that shakes him right from his core. “I didn’t think I was,” he says. There’s a bit of lipstick glazed over the left side of his mouth. “I mess things up like this.”

“Things like what?”

He smiles wistfully. “I told you about Nini, right?” He grimaces. “I probably shouldn’t be talking about another girl immediately after we kissed, but I promise I’m going somewhere with this. She was my ex – we dated all through high school and college and grad school, and we both got jobs here, but then she got an offer from YAC she couldn’t refuse and jumped ship. I tried to be happy for her, but I wasn’t. I think I had realized, at some point, that I didn’t really love her. I just loved the way I felt when I was with her – like I mattered. Like I was something, to somebody.” He pauses. “I don’t think we’ll ever be friends like we were before, but I’ve been feeling more aware recently of how much I was holding her back. And you’re the most wonderful, talented, driven person I know. I didn’t want to ruin you.”

“Ricky,” Gina says. “I didn’t know that. I don’t know her. I didn’t know you then. Maybe you were a shitty person back then – weren’t we all, a little? All I know is who you are now. People change, for better or for worse. I know you as the man who gave up a promotion for me, and encouraged me when I couldn’t believe in myself, and drove to the worst airport in the nation for me. It means you’ve grown, and that’s a beautiful thing.”

“I didn’t, though,” Ricky says. “I didn’t tell Nini to put in a good word for you. I didn’t want you to leave.”

“Would you have been happy for me, if I got the job at YAC?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Because I thought you wanted it so badly.”

“Then there you go,” Gina says. “You’re not perfect, and I’m not perfect either. You’ve put up with me plenty. It’s not a bother to put up with you.”

“Not a bother,” Ricky says. “The peak of romance.”

“Mmhmm,” Gina agrees, kissing his cheek.

“Wait, we can’t do this,” says Ricky, gesturing between them as he wipes his mouth. “You’re my boss. I can already hear Zack from HR screaming.”

“How close are you to Zack from HR?”

Ricky grimaces again. “He and my dad share an ex-girlfriend. It’s a long story. Don’t ask.”

Gina puts her hands up sort of miserably. “Wasn’t going to.”

“Good,” he says. “In other news, how would you feel about a date? At 3 on Saturday? For real this time.”

“I’d like that.”

“Great, because I am fully prepared to cancel on Big Red for that connect-4 tournament we were going to play.”

Connect-4 tournament? “Wait, shit,” Gina says. “I told Ashlyn we’d have a girls’ night this Saturday.”

“Sunday, then,” Ricky says. “Would you be free?”

“I think I could pencil you in,” Gina answers. “You should probably go to the break room to grab a napkin though before you walk all over the office with lipstick on your face.”

Ricky grins. “Okay,” he says, looping an arm around her shoulder. 

They head back to the break room, where Ricky flings open the door with abandon. Inside, the blinds are closed and the lights off, the only sight the green light from the coffee maker throwing Maddox and Ashlyn, wrapped in each others’ arms, into shadow.

“Hey, Ash,” Gina says. “Wanna go on a double date tomorrow?”

Ashlyn spins around. “It’s not what it looks like,” she rushes out. “I’m – wait, double date?”

“I think I’ve still got the After audiobook reader’s number,” Ricky says. “I could give him a ring.”

“What,” Maddox says.

“It’s a long story,” Ashlyn tells her.

“I regret everything,” Gina says.

“No, you love me.”

A laugh bursts out of Gina’s throat. “I knew we speedran our first date, but this feels a little fast, doesn’t it?”

“Our bet really was screwed,” Ricky says. “I technically didn’t sell more books than you before our bet was up. You technically failed to not fall in love with me. We’re even.”

“Only one thing left to do now,” Ashlyn points out. “Start the bet over again.”

“No, Gina won’t have time,” Ricky says. “She’ll be too busy being senior vice president.”

Ashlyn gasps, pushing past Maddox to throw her arms around Gina. “Stop kissing me in front of our boss – this is inappropriate workplace behavior,” she says to Maddox. Turning back to Gina, “I’m so happy for you,” she says.

“Thanks, Ash,” Gina says, squeezing Ashlyn tight.

“I’m also happy for you,” Ricky says. “Do I get another hug?”

“Insufferable,” says Gina, and Ricky laughs, and the sound echoes in the cabinets and fills Gina’s heart until she feels like she can’t hold it anymore. It feels like warm summer evenings in Virginia, playing pirates with her brother in their grassy backyard. Like holding a book you’ve seen from its conception in your hands, its cover signed by the first client you’ve ever had. Like hearing that the man you’ve finally allowed yourself to love is giving you the job you never knew you always wanted. It feels like joy, buoyant and free, unexplainably beautiful.