Page 139 of Wishing for La Luna
My phone rings. She’s calling me.
“I sense an SOS,” she says before I can say hello. “What do you mean by how I do this?”
I try to laugh it off. “Don’t mind me. I’m tired.”
“Spit it out, Luna,” she orders.
My stomach starts to burn, because she’s so perceptive. And I don’t want to give up too much or expose all my doubts. Or worse…my condition? I’m already questioning too many of my decisions. At least I can discuss work-related matters with her. She’s the only one who truly understands.
“I don’t know, Maeven. I ask myself if this is what I want. Is this what I busted my ass for in college? Do I want to spend my days cleaning fuckboy messes?”
She sighs. “It takes a lot out of you, especially because I imagine part of you feels sorry for Adina. That makes it even harder. As you know, I dealt with this before…”
She’s talking about her former client, Mateo de la Cruz—New York’s darling, home-run God, and patron saint of fuckboys everywhere. He had a scandal every week.
“I couldn’t handle something like that day in and day out.”
She chuckles. “Of course you could. You’re definitely cut out to do this. I think the issue is do you want to?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Mateo was a challenge for me. He was also an exercise in how far I could stretch my limits and my spinning skills…until he got hurt one Christmas Eve. I saw the damage that sticking by him was doing to someone I cared about and the emotional toll it was taking on me. It was Christmas, and I was away from those I love because he was an idiot and needed to be put in a hospital. It gave me perspective, and I knew I had to get out. I wish I could say I was smart and walked away. I stayed longer. Then one day, I drafted a plan for him, gave him my notice, and walked away.”
“That’s what I want to do,” I blurt out before I can think it through.
Without missing a beat, Maeven switches to FaceTime. In two seconds, her face fills my screen. Her skin is radiant and flawless, even without makeup. But she frowns, staring at my face. “I want to say this while looking at your face. Clients like Thierry wear you out but shouldn’t make you question your love of PR.”
I nod. “I know. It’s a combination of things. My time in the public eye was a bit much. I miss dedicating my time solely to small businesses. Every time I have to write a plan to handle fuck-shit, I tell myself I should be creating a new product with Sel for Morena & Miel. The past few days have significantly altered my perspective. If I’m going to put in this kind of time, I want to work for myself. I don’t want to clean up for serial cheaters, or deal with Adina’s neurosis or Bethany’s need to control the narrative. I learned about what matters.”
She’s quiet for a minute, and I regret my rant. She was a good mentor, and it’s like she wasted her time with me.
“Walk away, Luna.”
I’m stunned. “What?”
She smiles. “You are 1,000% right. You have other ideas, interests, and talents. Most of all, you have all this knowledge that can be better used in the service of your passions.”
“But shouldn’t you be telling me to give it more time… Seriously, what if I’m just venting, and now you have me on the verge of quitting?”
She laughs. “You were not just venting. You may not have known it, but you needed this talk. Putting more time into this won’t change your mind. Sometimes we can be sure of something in a very short period of time. That is called instinct. I didn’t listen to mine, but I’m advising you to follow yours and your heart.”
My eyes well up, and I look down, only to stare at my belly. The doctor confirmed the pregnancy yesterday, and I haven’t been the same. It’s one thing to see it on a pharmacy test and quite another when a professional confirms it.
“I don’t know if I trust it anymore.”
“Are we still talking about work?” When I don’t answer, her brows raise. “I’m here for you as always. I am still your publicist, and like a priest or lawyer, whatever we talk about stays between us—but mostly as your friend.”
Something wet drops in my hand, and for a second, I’m confused until I realize it’s a tear.
Fuck.
“Listen—” She frowns, looking at something on her screen. “What the fuck? I’m going to kill his ass!” she yells.
“What’s wrong?”
Maeven looks at the screen again, and when she does, there’s something mixed with the obvious anger in her eyes.
She groans. “Rio dropped a mixtape.”
