“I didn’t say anything.”
She handed me one of the coffees, and I took a sip. Caffeine and sugar. If that didn’t get me writing, nothing would.
“Daniel told me you didn’t give him a chance,” Jessica said.
“I gave him plenty of chance. And you told him that I was desperate!”
“You are desperate! You’re wondering why you haven’t found Mr. Right yet? We’ve been over this.”
I sighed and pressed my fingers to my temples.
“No, I mean, that’s the article I have to write,” I said. ‘Five Reasons You Haven’t Found Mr. Right Yet.’”
“Oh.” She grimaced. “That’s an awful title.”
“Tell that to Clarence.”
“I will.”
“He’ll take it from you better,” I said. “I don’t even think it’s grammatically correct. ‘Five Reasons You Haven’t Yet Found Mr. Right?’ Does that sound British?”
“Did he come up with this idea for you?”
“More like he shoved the idea in my face and told me I needed to get ‘relevant.’”
“He really ought to do a better job being a manager,” Jessica said. “It’s getting ridiculous how much he pep-talks me.”
“I think he’s trying to pep-talk your pants off,” I grumbled, popping another gummi bear.
“Did he tell you he was just trying to give you a helpful suggestion to make Moi Magazine better’? I love all of his helpful suggestions. They’re so… helpful, you know? Except for when they’re not. Every single time.”
“How is a clickbait article supposed to make me relevant?” I asked. This wasn’t a new rant, but Jessica listened like it was. I loved her for that. “I want to write something important for women. This…this…”
“It’s crap,” Jessica said, taking another sip.
“It’s worse than crap!” I cried out, throwing my pen against the wall. It left a little mark on the wall next to all the other pen marks created from all of my boss’s helpful suggestions.
“It’s sexist.”
“It’s demeaning. How can people even read this?”
“Lisa. Look,” Jessica said. I knew she was about to start in with one of her oh-so-reasonable explanations. “It’s Clarence’s job to sell magazines. Of course he’s going to lean towards article titles that are… sensationalist.”
“Sensationally dumb.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to write the whole article that way.”
“This is impossible,” I moaned, my head falling onto the pile of papers on my desk.
“Come on,” she said. “Nothing’s impossible. Let’s brainstorm. Why haven’t you found a boyfriend yet? Be honest.”
“Because all men are immature assholes.”
“That’s… okay, that’s probably too honest.”
“Sorry for the brutal truth.” My mind flickered to the man in the mask. What he’d been saying—wasn’t that exactly what I’d been feeling all this time? Empty?
No. He wasn’t a real guy. He was a weirdo, someone I’d only met for a few minutes. No matter how much his words had resonated with me, that didn’t mean that he was mature, or intelligent, or anything at all. He was a good kisser, and that’s all I could say with certainty.
“What’s another reason?” Jessica asked. She was ticking them off on her fingers.
“Because my standards are too high,” I said. “And I’m a perfectionist. Well, that’s what Emma says.”
“Your sister isn’t allowed to give you dating advice,” Jessica said, wagging her finger over the rim of the coffee cup. “Not after Joey.”
“She doesn’t have the best taste in guys,” I allowed. “But she knows me better than I know myself.”
“You’re so lucky to have a good sister. And an adorable niece.”
I looked up at Jessica. Her eyes were focused far away, as though imagining the sister she never had. She was all sexiness, wearing an eggplant-colored pantsuit with a cream turtleneck sweater underneath. Her chunky turquoise necklace matched her teal pumps and her belt had brass and turquoise accents on the buckle. Her perfectly curled hair hung over her shoulders.
I stared down at my own outfit: a black jacket over a white blouse and black pants. My hair was up in a frizzed-out half-ponytail; I hadn’t even bothered to brush it today before coming in. Of course she would be the one with the sexy boyfriend. I was dressed like an FBI agent from the eighties.
Jessica was the fashion editor, the one with her column inside the front every week. She had a quarter-page spread whenever she went to a new fashion event. She was perfect. And yet, Jessica sighed with jealousy whenever I talked about Emma and Arlen.
I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, I thought. I wasn’t in front of the cameras like Jessica was. On our website, she was ‘the face of Moi’, and her videos brought in a ton of ad revenue. My own job at the magazine was a lot less exciting. I just made sure everything was running and filled in the gaps whenever somebody forgot to do their job. Apart from getting Clarence’s lattes, I wrote articles when we needed filler, made up surveys, and put together graphics most days when Tony was too hungover to finish his work. I didn’t have a degree, so I got stuck doing all the work nobody else wanted to do.
If Jess was the face of Moi, I was the spandex that kept all the bumps from showing.
“You’re so goddamn stylish,” I said. “That’s reason number two I haven’t found Mr. Right. I’m a hot mess.”
“You have too much work to do to worry about fashion,” Jessica said.
“Weren’t we supposed to go shopping for me? I seem to remember some New Year’s resolution about revamping my wardrobe.”
“You said you had too much work. And then you needed to lose twenty pounds first,” she reminded me.
“Reason number three I haven’t found Mr. Right: I need to lose twenty pounds.” I plopped the bag of gummi bears down on my desk with a glum pout.
“Oh! Which reminds me, did you get my email about making the graphic for Who Wore It Best?”
“It’s already in your inbox,” I said.
“You are a lifesaver.”
“Reason number four I haven’t found Mr. Right: I’m too busy saving lives.”
“You are a super hero in this office. Even if Clarence doesn’t respect that.”
“What’s to respect? I make stupid graphics about fashion trends and write articles that make women feel bad about themselves,” I complained.
I felt like slumping to the floor and giving up my super hero duties right then. It was an hour after I was supposed to be home, and I wasn’t a single word closer to finishing this article.
“Your stupid graphics are so much better than anybody else’s stupid graphics,” she said, with a look of sincere optimism that made me want to cry.
“Tell me why I work here again?”
“Because,” Jessica said, turning away from the doorway, “if I didn’t have you to bitch to, I would have killed myself a long time ago.”