Good for You: A Novel (50)

“Do I look like I’m not okay with it?” he said, leaning toward her to run a finger up and down her arm.

She shivered with pleasure. “No.”

“Good.” He leaned in and kissed her slowly, then said, “Because I’m not ready to stop.”

“Me, neither,” she murmured. “Why don’t we finish this conversation in the shower?” Going at it in the shower had always sounded complicated to Aly, and even dangerous—how, exactly, did one not break a hip while thrashing about like a single-celled amoeba on a slippery surface? But danger was no longer a deterrent.

“Now?” he questioned.

“Yes. You look . . . filthy,” she said, pretending to be disgusted, and the next thing she knew he was chasing her into the bathroom as she squealed with laughter.

Later, after Aly had toweled off and wandered downstairs to get a snack—all of this physical exertion made her ravenous—she opened her laptop, which Innovate had overnighted to her along with her new contract. They’d offered her an extra ten thousand dollars, which was still less than her old salary, as well as a far more generous bonus structure for any increased revenue and circulation while she served as editorial director. She was still struggling to feel excited about her new role, even though Jada and Helena had both texted their congratulations. Because it was cause for celebration . . . wasn’t it?

As she’d predicted, her inbox contained hundreds of unread emails. Most were pitches from publicists and invitations for editorial meetings that she’d already missed. Seth still hadn’t contacted her, but Aly was tired of wondering if he was going to ask Goodwill to come pick up her things; it was time to be proactive. She sent him a quick text asking him to FedEx her the few pieces of jewelry she hadn’t packed, as well as the two small albums that contained photos of her and Luke as children, and to put the rest in storage until she returned to the city and found a place.

He texted back immediately. Not a problem. You okay?

No doubt James had told him about her so-called promotion. I’m good, she said, because it was at least somewhat true. You?

Same. Maybe we can get coffee or a drink when you’re back in town.

She wondered if he was just saying that to be nice, or if he truly missed her.

Sure, she wrote back. I’ll reach out.

Great. Take care of yourself, Aly.

It was like texting with a virtual stranger, she thought, shaking her head in wonder. It wasn’t Seth’s fault that she’d barely thought about him since she’d arrived in Michigan. Yet it was unsettling to think that she’d spent three years—three whole years of her life!—with someone she could move on from so easily. Luke had asked her if she was sure about Seth. “Really sure?” he’d said when Aly had called him to tell him they were moving in together.

“As sure as a person can be. Seth’s perfect for me,” she’d responded.

Luke had grunted his disbelief. “I don’t want you to be alone, Al, but there’s nothing lonelier than being with someone who isn’t right for you.”

He should know; he hadn’t had a serious girlfriend since college. “You’re an odd duck, Luke,” she’d responded.

But now she couldn’t help but think that he’d been onto something.

She was deleting pointless pitches when she spotted Meagan’s name in the middle of her inbox. So she had reached out. Was Aly shocked? Unsurprised? Both, she decided. She didn’t really feel like reading the email but made herself do it anyway, since they would soon be working side by side again—and Meagan would need her help, after all. Really, All Good needed her help, and that mattered most. No matter what, it would never be “just a magazine” to Aly. It was her life manual; it was a printed catalogue of her childhood hopes and dreams. And reminding herself of that stirred up the excitement she’d been missing since her last conversation with James.

She scanned Meagan’s message.

Hi Aly,

I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am about what I said at the salad bar. I was just letting off some steam. You know how stressful this business can be and I was reeling a bit from the news that we were in trouble (you remember I turned down that job at Shape last year? I was feeling like maybe I shouldn’t have). I never meant to hurt you or imagined that someone would tape you.

I have so many ideas I want to share with you. Can we catch up before you get back in the office? Call me anytime.

xo,

Meagan

Even Meagan’s signature made Aly squirm with discomfort. Her barbed comments at the salad place shouldn’t have come as a surprise—hadn’t Aly listened to her say crappy things about Ellen, as well as many other people they’d worked with? Even though Aly hadn’t participated in the gossip, she’d condoned it with her silence . . . which had helped perpetuate it; she realized that now.

Still. Aly might be able to eventually forgive Meagan—but she’d rather just forget her. She had no desire to speak with her before she returned to Innovate. Or after, for that matter. And she sure as heck didn’t want to work with her on All Good.

And yet she was going to have to.

As a child, whenever Aly accidentally hurt herself—slamming her fingers in a drawer or tumbling after missing a stair—Luke would make sure she was okay. Then, once her tears had dried, he’d say with mock sternness, “Don’t do that!” It made her laugh every time. But now she saw the brilliance lurking behind his playful advice.