Page 63 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
“Sort of. But not, I mean—”
“Yes or no, Everett.” I release his hand, balling mine up in my lap as the past three months start to reframe themselves, and conversations that seemed like gentle encouragement threaten to feel like manipulation. “Did you or did you not use the account I repeatedly told you I didn’t want to turn into a sales mechanism to get a promotion?”
He opens his mouth but he closes it again without saying anything, which is answer enough, as is the guilt-ridden expression on his face. He looks like he wants to wilt into his chair. I want mine to swallow me, too. All this time, when I was pulling back and he was pushing forward, when I thought we were just running at different paces, he was chasing afterthis.
People applaud and turn in our direction. Everett’s name must’ve been announced. He needs to go accept the position. But he sits there staring at me as if he’s waiting for me to give him permission. It only makes me angrier. He did the work. He might as well reap the reward.
“Go,” I tell him.
“But—”
“Just. Go.”
“Not like this.”
“Please. I don’t want to make a scene.”
The guy on my other side asks if everything’s okay.
I channel my best impression of my mom, paste on a smile, and tell him it’s great.
Everett leans in and kisses my cheek.
“We’ll talk in a minute,” he whispers. “I’ll explain.”
I don’t say okay. I don’t say no. I just keep smiling, joining the applause as Everett stands and weaves around the banquet tables to the front of the room. His acceptance speech is brief and awkward, a few stammered sentences of gratitude and excitement about the opportunity ahead. I applaud again with everyone else, waiting to hear his explanation, but he gets sidelined by one colleague after another, shaking hands and accepting congratulations as his eyes find mine through the crowd. Every time we lock gazes, another memory reframes itself.
If we grow the account...
If we use the branding...
If we sell the right story...
If we do one more...
I know, I know, I knowall of that work benefited me, but he still lied to me. He said he was doing it for me, and for Aggie. And at every turn, when I told him I wanted to back off, to simplify, or to stop altogether, he argued otherwise. Now I know why.
I feel blindsided. Like always.
And if I sit here any longer, feeling this way, I’ll either sob or scream. Easing back my chair, I flash the people nearest to me a stiff, apologetic, and likely unconvincing smile. Then I speed-walk to the coat check, retrieve my coat, and burst through the restaurant doors, filling my lungs with the crisp, cold night air.
With the first exhale, I tell myself not to catastrophize.
With my second exhale, I tell myself to wait and hear him out.
With my third exhale, I overhear a familiar, grating voice say, “Yeah, can you believe it? His fucking girlfriend and her fucking dog. Shady son of a bitch. The only upshot was the look on her face when she found out he used her to get a leg up. That shit was priceless.”
It’s Brandon, of course, on his phone, partly tucked behind a big white pillar and flicking ash off a lit cigarette. He sees me a moment after I see him, and somewhere, buried under umpteen layers of egotism, he finds the ounce of grace required to look embarrassed.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know you were there.”
I glare at him, ready to snap back with any of a dozen barbed retorts that rise to my lips. But I don’t want to fight with some random jerk right now. In fact, I want to be anywhere but here, so I turn and walk out of his view.
Then I run the rest of the way home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Everett texts, calls, and knocks on my door, begging for a chance to apologize. While I want to hear what he has to say and I don’t intend to avoid him forever—a logistical impossibility when he lives down the hall and I have a dog who needs to go out three or four times a day—I tell him I need some time to cool off first. It’s the truth, though not the whole truth, and he’s kind enough to not challenge it, agreeing to leave me alone until I let him know I’m ready to talk.
