“So tell me more about your assignment,” Jess says. He shifts topics, and I sigh.
“It’s nothing great, just another story. Another teacher strike, or municipal meeting, or community decision. It’s not what I’d ever planned to write. I wanted a byline column like Nana, though not necessarily on etiquette, and what have I gotten? Passed up. Again. Someone else got the column I wanted.” An editorial review of happenings and such with more human interest went to another colleague because I’ve been indisposed. At least, that’s how it was put in the email containing the minutes of our weekly team meeting this past week, which I wasn’t able to attend. For the third week in a row.
“I’m always passed up,” I say. I can hear the exasperation in my voice even though I promised myself I wouldn’t rant over this. “I’ve been waiting, waiting, waiting, and for what? It’s like I’m floating.” I hold up my hand and wave it out before us. “One-night stands. Failed relationships. It’s always the next woman. And it’s always the next colleague who gets the story I want or the column I’ve been hoping for. And I’m so tired of floating.”
“You know, there doesn’t have to a be a next girl,” Jess states, keeping his eyes on me as I clamp my lips and admonish myself for saying too much. I should ask what he means, but I don’t.
“Anyway, what about you? You say you’re happy here. You’re where you want to be. It must be a nice feeling.”
Jess stares at me, taking a long moment to look at my face, but the gleam in his eyes is too intense, and eventually, I lower my gaze to the table. He clears his throat.
“I’ve been offered another job.”
My head pops up. “What?”
“I’m not moving or anything. It’s your nana’s radio. Tom forced me to send in the schematics for a design patent. An old friend of our dad’s owns a restoration shop downstate and wants to talk to me about shipping antique electronics to me to fix. Ever see a show called The Repair Shop? He does that kind of thing.” I’ve never heard of the program, but I’ll be looking it up later this evening. “Anyway, it’s what Tom was buzzing about earlier this week when we were dancing on the street.”
“And you need Nana’s radio to move ahead with this?”
“I don’t want to ask.”
“Could you make a lot of money?”
Jess shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “One thing you gotta know about me, Emily, is I don’t care about money. I live with my mom, for God’s sake. I work two jobs because I like them. We didn’t want to give up our dad’s shop, and I help Tom out with QuickFix because that was his before me. None of it is about money.”
The heat in his voice does something to me. A spark. A ripple. I’ve worked and worked and saved and saved, but I can’t say I’m doing what I’m doing because I like it anymore. It’s a job when I wanted a career. I wanted to make a name for myself, but it isn’t happening. Ten years have gone by, and I’m in the same place.
“Must be nice,” I say.
“It is nice. It could happen for you, too.” His brow inches upward. “If you could do anything, what would it be?”
“Have a column like I want.”
“Really?” He tips his head as if he doesn’t believe me, and the niggle of doubt makes me wonder. Do I still want that dream?
Yes, of course, I argue with myself. It’s the only dream I’ve ever had.
Is it really, Emily? The only dream?
“I suppose every columnist wants to eventually write a book, but it takes years of experience and knowledge to write something that offers wisdom.”
“And imparting wisdom would make your mark on the world.”
“Well, maybe not the world,” I tease. “I don’t need world domination, only a little mark here or there. But yeah, making a difference would be nice.”
“You’ve already made a difference here,” he says. He holds my gaze intently, and I’m about to ask him what he means when I think of Katie.
“That’s not the same thing.” My voice softens.
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because . . .” I don’t know. I don’t have an answer for him. Or myself. Why isn’t helping his child enough? Perhaps because she isn’t mine, and I want what Jess has: a child I can call my own. I want