Page 11 of Lessons in Forgiving
Freshly thrown up, I felt ready for another sip and accidentally emptied the cup.
My best friend eyed me curiously, gaze flicking between me and the staircase. And I knew that look. Psychic Maeve was back, and my plan not to tell her about what had just happened became significantly less likely to succeed. The redhead gave me a conspiratorial smile, took a big gulp.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
She knows, was my first thought. She’d probably seen Henry come downstairs, put two and two together. Maeve inconspicuously swayed to the music.
I shrugged. “I threw up.”
Laila bumped my shoulder with her own, mouth open in a soundless gasp. “You should’ve said something!” she squeaked.“Girls should never have to throw up alone! Who held your hair, Paula?” The blonde looked genuinely concerned, maybe even distressed, and I couldn’t help the giggle that fled my lips.
Maeve snickered in an equal display of amusement, though her gaze didn’t waver from mine as she emptied her drink. “Yeah, Paula,” she sighed. “Who could’ve possibly been up there to hold your hair?”
There it was.
I decided to ignore her knowing smile, instead turned back to Laila.
“I’m sorry, Lil,” I said, one hand on my heart, the other on her shoulder. “Next time, you can hold my hair.”
She huffed, though a smile replaced the frown on her lips. “Good.” She nodded, taking another sip of her mixer. “Thank you.”
One last time, Maeve’s attention drifted to the staircase before she seemed to drop her suspicions. For now, she didn’t have much of a choice, because Riley dragged us onto the makeshift dance floor a second later.
CHAPTER 5
NOW
Sunday wasn’t great. As expected, it kind of just passed by in a blur of painkillers and memories of Henry’s hand around my wrist, briefly interrupted when I chugged water or had that greasy breakfast at three PM.
Mondaywas where the real fun began.
The clacking sounds of fingers hammering against keyboards, the whirring of our no-good printer and a strong scent of coffee hit me first when I got to the office. That I-desperately-wanted-to-sit-at-my-desk-and-write-something-meaningful-again second.I needed to talk to Eddie.Until he either gave me an article or kicked me off of theHall Beck Postbecause I’d annoyed him too much. At least then, no one could say I hadn’t tried hard enough.
A few heads emerged behind their screens to greet me with soundless smiles. Riley—who’d thought signing up to thePostmight make a good addition to her event management degree—waved from where she was preparing what was likely her fourth coffee of the day.
Alfie, who probably hadn’t expected the desk next to him to be occupied today, gave me a surprised look from the furthest corner of the office, to which we’d both been banished to.
Lacy—I-get-every-article-I-wantLacy—acknowledged me with a nod in my general direction, too focused on her words on the screen.
Despite what had happened last year, a weird sense of belonging rushed through me whenever I was in here. Whether I was writing about the stars’ predictions, going on coffee runsor loudly arguing with the printer until he did what I’d asked of him, I could almost pretend everything was fine. Normal.
The people in this office still thought of me as a respectable journalist, even if I’d messed up one of Eddie’s most important articles—and hadn’t gotten one of those again, in the year since.
Alfie had made about a hundred mistakes in his one semester at the paper himself, and he’d reassured me thatMistakes come with being human. That they’re okay, maybe even encouraged.
I’d probably encourage mistakes, too, if my degree weren’t directly linked to them. More so if I’d still manage to snag an article here and there because my dad owned the damn place.
Unfortunately, mine did not. So, I was stuck with coffee and printers, for the most part. That, and the respect of my fellow journalists-to-be. Whatever that was worth.
“Paula!” Lacy finally turned in her chair to face me, fully coming up from behind the screen she’d been hiding behind. The fact she only greeted me now, probably meant she’d been too busy with the article I had begged Eddie for last week—and the realization settled in my chest, sour and as heavy as a ton of bricks.
That should be me.
The easy smile on her full lips. The way her blonde waves fell perfectly down to her chest, blown out to perfection and telling me she’d had enough time to put in the effort. She was getting most front-page articles from Eddie these days, and she seemed to handle the daily deadlines like they were nothing. Like she probably handed them in early—and still managed an everything-shower and a blowout in the mornings.
Whenever I looked at Lacy for a little too long, noticed a few too many things about her; I couldn’t help but wonder how I ever thought I’d compare. How our editor could ever give me an article again when he had his star writer sitting right there. Just four desks over, in the middle of the room.
A year ago, things might’ve looked different, but they’d changed so fast I could hardly remember a time whenI’dbeen that star writer.
