Page 62 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
It’s a simple exchange, the last in a series of simple exchanges, but by the time I’m in bed an hour later, I’m rethinking everything about why I’ve been so worried I might regret my degree and career choice, where all the doubt came from, and why I’ve let it grow.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Everett has always talked about his workplace as a small company, so I’m astonished when I make a rough head count partway through the salad course and tally over two hundred people present to celebrate the work of longtime associate creative director Peter Pollard and to hear the announcement of who will fill his “impossible to fill” shoes. Statements like this have been flying all evening, and I have a new appreciation for Everett’s anxieties around his application. He’s doing a valiant job of remaining poised as the suspense builds, but anything within reach has been subject to his fidgeting. His silverware, wineglass, water glass, napkin, napkin holder, necktie, belt buckle, shirt and jacket cuffs, hair, glasses, and whenever I can offer it, my hand.
“How are you holding up?” I ask as he pushes a cherry tomato around on his plate.
“Sorry.” He lowers his fork. “I promised you we’d have a good time tonight.”
“Everett,” I say through a breath of astonished laughter. “I don’t care what kind of time we have tonight. We knew this would bestressful for you. And whether we eat dessert as a celebration or commiseration, I just want to be here with you.”
He exhales as though he’s been waiting to do it all night.
“Can I at least promise I’ll be a better boyfriend after this is over?” he asks.
“You’re not a bad boyfriend because you’re busy.”
“I am if I’malwaysbusy.”
I don’t contradict him this time. He’s right, though this goes both ways.
“How about we both commit to more time for each other,” I suggest. “And to not filling the time we do have with anything related to school or work, including the sponsored TikToks.”
He nods and finds my hand to plant a kiss on my knuckles as I will him to hear me this time, even though this is hardly the moment for a serious relationship conversation. One way or another, things will change for him after tonight. I can’t help hoping they’ll change for us, too.
For the next ninety minutes or so, we eat our dinner while people tell stories about Peter Pollard from a microphone at the front end of the restaurant’s banquet room. We hear about how a spontaneous napkin doodle earned him the nickname The Logo King and how he once landed a client by joining the company president’s weekly karaoke nights. Everyone’s in good spirits, even Everett, though his mind is obviously elsewhere. I spot Brandon a few times on the opposite side of the room, looking as overconfident as ever. Not a fidget in sight.
God, I hope he doesn’t get this job, even if Everett doesn’t get it, either. I heard him tell someone he “had it in the bag” when I gothere, and he keeps draping a giant arm over his date’s shoulders while she keeps shrugging him off. I’d never describe anyone’s face as punch-worthy but I swear, every time that guy grins, my fingers rolla little bittoward my palm.
Time wears on, plates get cleared, and speeches wrap up. I take Everett’s hand in both of mine, holding it tight while the CEO heads to the microphone and we await the news, Everett in a slick 1960s suit he looks great in, despite its lack of soft, cozy textures, and me in a simple blue bodycon dress Regina loaned me when I showed her my closet and she gasped with despair.
I lean toward Everett and whisper, “By the way. You lookreallyhot tonight.”
He musters a smile and kisses my forehead.
“You too,” he says. “Whatever happens next, I can’t wait to get you home.”
Same, I think, but I don’t get to say anything to this effect, because the CEO has begun, reiterating yet again the challenges of replacing such a gifted and dedicated colleague.
“After an extensive search process,” he says, “we were fortunate enough to find the right candidate from within the company. A young man who’s proven himself time and again with his impressive imagination, his clarity of purpose, his dedication to quality, and, to be frank, his inarguable results. The accounts he manages trend toward growth, and his clients report sharp upticks in business thanks to clever branding strategies and online traffic direction.”
I tighten my grip on Everett’s now sweaty hand.
Please don’t say Brandon, I think.Please, please, please don’t say Brandon.
“For someone so young,” the CEO says, “our candidate has also demonstrated remarkable range, from manufacturing, to retail, to musicians and artists, to a heartwarming influencer account my wife loves about an adopted rescue dog on a weight-loss journey.”
My thoughts scramble.
Did I hear that right? Surely, I didn’t hear that right.
“Fuck,” Everett whispers as the CEO continues his speech. “Cameron—”
“Did you...”
“No. Well, yes.”
“Yes?”
