Page 17 of Jumping In

“Baby? Like in what context?” I update her on the exact details of what he said and how he firmly stated that he would keep calling me MJ. I also shared how I couldn’t focus on the rest of the meeting and didn’t take a single note. “Well, that’s definitely interesting. But I can see where he’s coming from too. He gave you that nickname, Em, that’s his nickname for you. We all just adopted it.”

I think about that for a minute. It makes sense, but I hadn’t thought about it like that. He gave me that nickname. Of course, Blake and Austin hopped on the MJ train after he thought of it and that’s been my name with them ever since.

“I guess that makes sense. But it doesn’t explain why he called me baby, though,” I finally admit.

“No. No, it doesn’t,” Shannon says with a chuckle.

I pick at my fries, lost in my head about what it meant that Mac called me baby, when Shannon pulls me out of my thoughts.

“Hey, Em, can I ask you something?” she asks. I nod. “Well, I know you’re helping with Mac’s case, and I get you have a few reasons but,” she pauses like she’s unsure how to proceed, “but do you really want to help with the case?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, come on. Are you really thinking about going to law school and taking over the firm one day?”

“What else am I supposed to do? It’s all I’ve done—all I’ve planned for. Do I love law? No. But what else is there?” Shannon reaches across the table and pats my hand.

“There’s plenty out there, you just haven’t looked hard enough.” I look back at her and shake my head ever so slightly. I can already feel the tears welling in my eyes at the admission. Shannon squeezes my hand. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just saying maybe you can find something else. You shouldn’t be miserable doing something you don’t truly love when there’s obviously something out there that you do.”

“What do you mean? What else do I love?” I ask, my voice cracking with emotion.

“Really, Em, you don’t see it?” I shake my head. “What did you do when we got our food? What did you do when you were in the city going to school? We’ve all seen your Instagram, the pictures you take. There’s gotta be something there.” She pulls out her phone and opens her Instagram and shows me her profile. “Look, this is my Insta, full of random pictures and quotes and a hodge-podge mess of whatever I saw in the moment. Now—” She takes her phone back and flips it back to me, showing me my profile. “Look at yours.”

I take in my profile, keeping hers in mind, and I notice the difference. She’s right. Her profile is full of anything and everything, with no rhyme or reason to it. With mine, everything has a certain feeling. The pictures have the same colors for at least a few rows and then the aesthetics change. You can tell I’m back home because everything went fromgrays, blues, and cityscapes to pinks, oranges, and landscapes.

“Okay, but what can I do with that? It’s just pretty pictures. It’s fun.”

“It’s fun for you, but not everyone has your eye. Remember how we were talking about that deli in the city with the boys?” she asks. I nod, remembering our conversation by the creek. “Okay, well, I know you shrug it off, but that deli got more business because of your posts. I guarantee if you applied yourself and did something like this for other businesses, you’d see the same results.”

She may have a point, but I’m still not convinced it was me that generated more business for the deli. But even if she is right . . . “Okay, but again, how could I make a career doing that? Is that even a job?” I ask.

“Not sure, but I bet you could figure it out. There are businesses all around town that could use marketing to drum up business. You’re sitting in one of them right now.”

I look around the diner and really take in the old menus, the beat-up booths and chairs, and realize she’s right. In fact, most of the businesses in town are feeling run down. I thought maybe it was because I’d been away for so long, but maybe the town is struggling a bit.

June 14

Friday arrives quickly, but I’m ready for another meeting with Mac. After reviewing the case file and putting my notestogether on the things that are standing out to me, I feel like I’m understanding what happened. I’m not quite ready to bring my questions to my dad yet and want to listen in on another meeting before I do.

My hair brushes against my neck in a sleek ponytail as I head downstairs. The floor-length skirt with a soft floral print swishes against my ankles, and I feel light and pretty today. The plain white tank top is a little more form fitting than I usually go for, but I’m rolling with it. It’s all part of finding balance with this self-love journey.

I can hear Dad already on the phone in his office and I greet my mom with a smile and a kiss on the cheek in the kitchen. She smiles as I pour myself a cup of coffee. I whisper that I’m going to the library but to make sure she says bye before she leaves for work.

The sun is streaming in through the library window and as much as I would love to sit on the window seat, I refrain. I rarely sit there anymore; that was where Mac and I would spend most of our time when we hung out in the library.

I open my book to get a few minutes of fun-reading in, and I’m engrossed in the story when my mom pops her head in. “I’m heading out, Peanut. Hope you have a great day.”

“Have a good day, Mom! Love you!” I reply and then quickly return to what I was reading once I hear the front door close behind her. I jump, forcing the paperback in my lap closed, when something hits the ottoman at my feet. I look up to see Mac standing in front of me.

“Shit, you scared me! Did you just sneak in here?” I didn’t hear the doorbell and I’m not sure he would just walkin.

“Your mom let me in.”

“Oh . . . Oh yeah, that makes sense.” I look down at what hit the ottoman and feel my cheeks heat with a combination of embarrassment and anger. “So that’s where my book went. Nice to know you can still read.”

He scoffs as if I offended him and I look back up as he gives me a lopsided grin. I fail miserably at fighting back my own smile and he grins wider, making my stomach flip a bit. He looks so cool right now with the smile, clean jeans, and black polo shirt. Hints of bergamot, pine, and motor oil hit my nose, and I stifle a groan. God, this man. He looks me up and down with heated green eyes. I am thoroughly checking him out now and, based on the look in his eyes, he’s doing the same to me. The thought of Mac actually looking at me like this has heat pooling in my belly.

I pick up my previously missing book and flip through it as my heart races. He didn’t . . . I see the first scrawl of his handwriting in the margins and almost squeal. He did.

---