he was even capable of so much self-reflection. I'm about to say something, but then his phone rings.
“Think about what I said, Emma. You deserve to be with someone who cares about you and doesn't make you question your worth. I don't think you'll find that with Alex,” he says and answers it.
17
Emma
I sleep over at Brooke’s apartment in Santa Monica and, in the morning, she wants to go to the beach. Today is Friday, a workday, but I'm off because we had plans to celebrate our engagement in Laguna Beach.
Normally, I love the beach, even though the beaches in Southern California can be a little bit windy and not that warm most of the year. The morning is overcast and breezy, a typical morning by the water, and all I want to do is stay buried under the blankets in her spare room.
Brooke has other plans.
Even though she's heavier than I am, she loves to work out and exercise. She runs a few hours a week, usually in the morning, right when she wakes up. She also does a number of classes at the gym.
I also have a gym membership, but the few times that I go, I pick the hours that are least popular with the locals, so nothing during the early morning or early evening. I feel embarrassed about how my stomach moves when I walk on the treadmill and the fact that my face gets really red after even just a little bit of cardiovascular work.
None of that seems to bother Brooke in the least. At least not anymore.
It's a little bit after ten and she’s back from yoga, where she is undoubtably the largest person there. She’s smiling and invigorated just like she usually is after a hard workout.
When we were growing up, I was able to confide in Brooke about how I felt about my body, but recently I just feel embarrassed about not loving myself enough. She is all about positivity and acceptance. Somehow being unable to accept myself makes me feel worse.
Brooke’s two-bedroom apartment is a few blocks from the water, near Montana and the Promenade. Her street has a number of boutique eateries, little cute clothing shops, and even a cycling store. Santa Monica doesn't look like a very high-end city, at least that's the image that it cultivates, but this two-bedroom costs our dad close to $4,000 a month. I don't think that she contributes much to the rent, but we have never really talked about it. The one thing that she knows is that I don't take any money from our parents.
“Okay,” I say, finally caving to her demands while we eat a lush breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup. “We can go to the beach if you help me do some research on D. B. Carter first. It's really stressing me out, the fact that I have to turn in something on Monday and I have nothing. If I don't get the story right, she's probably going to fire me.”
“She can't fire you over one story,” Brooke says.
She is well aware of my relationship with Corrin and everything that has happened, but it doesn't seem like she is fully comprehending the extent of the situation.
“Corrin has been looking for a reason to get rid of me for a long time. If I can't deliver the story or at least show her that I have done a good amount of work on it, then she is just going to fire me and say that it's because I've been so preoccupied with my wedding.”
Feeling flustered, I shovel a pancake into my mouth and try to make the woes of my failed relationship go away through food. Brooke gets on the computer and does some research. She counts up all of the publications that D. B. Carter has on Amazon and delivers the verdict. 152 books.
“How long has he been publishing?”
“She,” Brooke corrects me. “Listen, this is a woman and you better accept that.”
“Okay, she. How long has she been publishing?”
“It looks like it has been seven years. So, not too bad. At first there were some thrillers and more standard fantasy. Then in the last couple years, she has mainly been focusing on urban and epic fantasy,” Brooke says.
I open my computer and we try to balance both laptops and our plates on the small marble table in her kitchen. After a few moments, I give up and place my MacBook on my lap. I check the messages that I