“I never wanted to before, but I also didn't want all of this personal information out there. That was just for me. How am I supposed to ever get another job in journalism if all an editor has to do is look me up and see in black-and-white that I have had a sexual relationship with my subject? Do you know how inappropriate that is? I mean, it puts into question everything that I write.”
“I know, but it also doesn't,” Shelby says quietly.
She takes the empty office chair from a nearby table and rolls it over to me. I sit down across from her.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I know that traditionally it’s really irresponsible. You shouldn’t inject yourself into the story and all that, but journalism is changing. Social media has changed a lot about how journalism is done and now people inject themselves into the stories all the time. The best stories about government whistleblowers and police brutality and even the wildfires are the ones that come from the people that are there experiencing it. Your story fits in with that and I’m sure that if you try to find another job at another magazine or newspaper, the editors there will understand.”
Her pep talk makes me feel better, but I'm not exactly sure if I'm fully buying it. For one thing, she has a personal interest in bringing my spirits up; she still wants to be my friend and she still wants me to write the conclusion.
“Are you still mad at me?” she asks after I don't say anything for a few moments.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
“What can I do?”
Tensions aren’t high between us anymore. In fact, there's more of a lull.
Shelby sits with me for a while. Then she reaches over and takes my hand.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say quietly. “I don't know what's going to happen now.”
“What do you mean?”
“With Liam. I'm sure that he's going to see the story and…”
This is the crux of the matter. Yes, I'm angry that they printed a story without my permission. Yes, I'm angry that they revealed a sexual relationship that they had no right to share with the world. The main issue is that all of that stuff in those notes are things that should not be available to the public.
Liam is hiding a secret and publishing this story brings that secret to light.
2
Emma
When I get home, I resist reaching out to Liam. It's the same reason I didn’t call him earlier. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what he's going to say. I'm afraid of admitting and telling him what happened, but I also want to speak to him.
A few hours later, after consuming a quart of dairy-free ice cream, I finally feel like I have enough strength to call him. The phone call rings and rings, but no one answers. The voice mail comes on and I feel sick.
“Hey, it's me. Please call me back.”
I'm vague on purpose. I can’t tell him something this big on a voice mail. I can't even see it in the text. I try, but I delete it every single time.
I open a bottle of wine and have two glasses in quick succession and then fall asleep watching Netflix. At two in the morning I wake up and realize that I haven't heard from him. He hasn't written me back and he hasn't called. I text him again, asking him to call, but he doesn't.
“So, he never wrote back?” Brooke asks me when we meet up for lunch.
With Shelby betraying me, I wasn't sure who else to reach out to. My sister and I have had our differences and our problems, but she has always been there for me when I needed her.
I tell her everything that happened and she listens, nodding her head over a plate of kale salad and salmon.
“You should just see how it goes. Maybe he's busy. It hasn't been that long.”
I nod, agreeing with her, but in the bottom of my heart, I know that something is wrong. I wonder if he already knows about the article. I wonder if he's mad at me. I wonder if I should have told him about it as soon as I found out.
A million situations run through my mind as I nurse a glass of iced tea and wish that it were white wine instead. I'm still woozy from the wine I had last night and a little dehydrated and not exactly thinking clearly.
“Listen, the reason I wanted to meet up is that something is going on with our folks.”
Brooke plays with her hair as she speaks, avoiding eye contact. Dressed in overalls and a tight T-shirt with her midriff showing, Brooke is the epic of cool. She is curvy and proud of it. This isn’t the most flattering outfit that she could wear, as my mom would put it, but it makes her glow from the inside out making me jealous of her confidence.
“You really shouldn’t slouch like that,” she says, leaning over the table and speaking under her breath.
Unlike her, I'm dressed in a frumpy sweater and a nondescript T-shirt that is neither tight nor loose. My leggings are my uniform, something I wear all the time when I'm not dressed in my official work clothes. I don't like to dress up and I don't like to shop. I don't really know what's popular and what's not.
Over the years, I’ve developed my own sense of style which is a combination of relaxed and casual and I have been dressing like that ever since. A T-shirt or tank top over leggings occasionally paired with a hoodie or cardigan. Flat shoes, flip-flops, or lightweight sneakers, not the ones with heavy soles.
I'm also partial to sports bras that provide just enough support without making my breasts flat like a pancake. I wear a C cup, but I have never liked big breasts and I would love to go completely braless. With the right top, I occasionally do.
I scoop up some Greek salad with crumbled up feta cheese and olives onto my fork and unenthusiastically put it in my mouth.
My thoughts return to Liam and I bring him up again, but Brooke shuts me down.
“Listen, I told you that something is up with our parents. I'm serious.”
“What are you talking about?”
Mom has always been kind of a drama queen and I have grown accustomed to taking everything that she's going through with a grain of salt.
“They’re acting very strange about money all of a sudden,” Brooke says.
I shake my head, not sure what prompted it.
“Well, my landlord called and said that my check from them for last month's rent never came through.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I was supposed to be on auto payment and Dad was making them every month.”
“Maybe it's just some sort of accounting error.”
“Maybe, but when I checked my credit card statements, three of them are maxed out.”
“Isn’t that more of a you problem?” I ask.
“No. I usually mix the amount every month, but they always pay them off. They were fine with it and now something is going on.”
I shake my head at the possibility that my parents might be having financial difficulties and say, “No. It can't be true. I mean, they make too much money.”
“I guess,” Brooke says, “but I'm just worried. What if something is going on and they’re just not sharing it with us?”
That's when I decide to cave and tell her about my student loans. At first, I was going to keep it secret, but now I realize that there's no point. Both of my sisters take money from my parents. Mainly because they have a lot and our jobs don't pay very much. I have always been proud about living within my means and I have done so for a long time, but the loans getting readjusted have really put me in a bind.