Page 54 of Save the Date

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“You found it,” Will announced as he held the door open for a slightly wet Emma. It rarely rained in LA, but when it did everyone was completely unprepared.

“The sign helped.” Emma gestured to a sizable orange neon light in the shape of headphones with the podcast network’s name, Pretty Sound, underneath. Their studio took up half a floor in an office building designed more like a motel than a skyscraper.

Emma followed Will into the lobby, relieved that he had been too focused on letting her in to initiate a hug. His hugs always set her heart back a beat.

“Can I get you anything?” Will asked as he led her into the kitchen area. “We have twelve different flavors of LaCroix, four different seaweed snacks and a bunch of samples from products that used to advertise with us until they went out of business.”

Emma surveyed the crowded countertop filled with a variety of energy bars, fruit snacks and chips made out of pretty much anything other than potatoes. She immediately felt overwhelmed.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Will! Just heard theGunpowderedit,” a man in a tie-dye sweatshirt and wide corduroy pants declared as he walked by. “Loving it. Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks, Neil. Excited to get it out soon.”

Neil gave a thumbs-up over his right shoulder as he headed down a carpeted hallway.

“That’s my boss,” Will explained as he unpeeled and bit into a banana. “I’m producing a series on the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, where a group of Catholics tried and failed to blow up theHouse of Lords. It’s a wild story. Requires a lot of research and time set aside for explaining Zoom recordings to historians.”

“Seems pretty different from what we’re doing.”

“That’s why I love working in podcasts—no one gets pigeon­holed. If it’s a good story, you get to tell it. Or help tell it.” He threw his banana peel in the trash. “Come with me.”

Emma followed Will down the carpeted hallway as he led her to a room marked Studio C. Inside was a square wooden table and four chairs, each set up with its own microphone and headset. One of the walls was made of glass and showed a small room next door filled with what Emma assumed to be audio equipment. A short woman with curly hair and bright red lipstick waved at Emma through the glass.

“That’s Anika. She’s our audio engineer.”

“This is all becoming so official.”

“I’m an official sort of guy,” Will replied as he plopped himself down in one of the rolling chairs and smoothly put on his headphones.

Emma scoffed because that’s the appropriate social reaction to arrogance. But internally, she could feel her annoying attraction to Will growing now that she was seeing him in his professional setting. She had always been attracted to people excelling at things, whether it was the impressive magician in her sixth-grade talent show or her months-long obsession with a random business major from college who was really skilled on a Razor scooter. Something about people being in their element superseded all normal barriers for her arousal like people’s physical appearance or overall personality. That’s why Emma didn’t let herself watch the Olympics; it was too alluring.

“Do I need to put mine on too?” Emma asked as she picked up a pair of headphones and sat down across the table.

“Not today. I just need them to hear Anika.”

Emma nodded, happy to not have to worry about her ears getting crushed. Sensory sensitivity didn’t only apply to clothes.

“Are you good to go?” Will asked into his mic. Anika replied with a thumbs-up. Emma was officially on the record, which meant her palms were starting to sweat.

“Let’s dive in. How did your parents fuck you up?” Will asked far too casually given the intensity of his opening question. “I’ve been doing some research on romantic relationships, and it seems like a lot of our dating habits can be traced back to our—” Will looked at a sheet of notes in front of him “—primary care givers.”

“What makes you assume I’m fucked up?” Emma replied with mock indignation. In her experience, everyone was fucked up in some way or another.

“You’re right, publicly trying to find a new husband in time for your original wedding to someone else screams well-adjusted.”

“It screamsinnovative,” Emma joked before taking his question seriously. “In all honesty, I think they fucked me up by making it all seem too easy. I grew up assuming that if I was a good person I would meet another good person, most likely in college, and then we would get married before I turned thirty. So when that didn’t happen, I started to assumeIwas the problem instead of realizing that my parents, and my sister, had just been pretty lucky.”

“Makes sense.”

“Not to say that I wasn’t also the problem,” Emma admitted with a grin. “I can’t exactly blame my stage-five-clinger behavior solely on my parents’ happy marriage. I also had a lot of personal healing to do tied to my anxiety and total lack of self-esteem.”

“Are you healed now?”

“I thought I was,” Emma admitted. “But then my fiancé left me, and all of my greatest fears came true. That caused a bit of a backslide.”

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