Good for You: A Novel (8)

He grimaced. “Are you okay to be by yourself?”

Was she? She honestly had no idea. “I’m not going to hurt myself, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Well, good. Um.” He grabbed his suit jacket from the coat rack and turned toward the door. “Will you let me know where you end up?”

“So that’s it, then?” she said to his back. Aly wasn’t sure what she wanted from him, especially since she’d just dumped him.

Actually, she did know. She wanted him to beg her to reconsider, to tell her that he didn’t want to be without her—that together, they would figure out how she could bounce back stronger than ever.

Instead, he spun around and said, “Don’t you think it’s weird that neither of us has mentioned love once in this entire conversation?”

She stared at him. It was kind of weird. Because she did love him. Not passionately, it was true—but she wouldn’t have gotten through Luke’s death without him. And she certainly wouldn’t have spent three whole years of her life with him if her initial fondness—she could still remember the warm, welcoming smile he gave her on their first date—hadn’t blossomed into love after she got to know the good, generous man he was.

So why couldn’t she say it now?

“Goodbye, Aly,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you at work next month.”

Seth was gone before she could tell him that his predicting her return to All Good was the most loving thing he could have possibly said to her.





FIVE


Job. Home. Relationship. In less than twelve hours, Aly had lost most of the primary markers of her identity.

But as she stood in the shower after Seth left, letting the water beat down on her so long that her skin turned red, it occurred to her that it could’ve been far worse. There had been a time when she believed she and Seth would go the distance. Lately, though, he’d seemed less like Mr. Right and more like Mr. Right Now; while their coupled-up friends were starting to get engaged and married, and even have children, she and Seth had been perfectly happy to maintain the status quo. Which didn’t bode well for their future together.

And so, although she tried not to think about it too often, she’d suspected that at some point she’d have to find a place of her own. It was just that she’d expected that time would come later in her tenure as editor in chief, when she was making the kind of salary that could land you in, say, a true one-bedroom with a tiny balcony, or at least somewhere within walking distance of a park. Now she’d be lucky to rent a room in a far-flung corner of Queens.

Aly’s ultimate goal was to become one of those publishing legends whose name was synonymous with the magazine they ran. She’d eventually retire to do something meaningful, like speak at journalism schools. (She had an image of herself gray-haired, clad in ostentatious eyeglasses and long, flowing linen apparel, gesturing animatedly before a class at Columbia.) Or maybe she’d wander around Italy—she’d not been yet, but she hoped to go one day—eating carbs and soaking up the sun. A husband and children never featured in Aly’s future fantasies. It wasn’t that she didn’t want them; Harry and his husband, Tim, had recently welcomed a son, Beckett, and they were so blissed out (if exhausted) that she couldn’t help but be envious. It was just that it was hard to envision being a member of a happy family when she’d never had one before.

Regardless, although her leave was temporary, she would still have to re-prove herself as worthy of her job in order to keep it. Though Aly frequently questioned whether her ascension was a fluke—she didn’t have a master’s degree in journalism like Meagan did, nor Seth’s publishing pedigree—she knew deep down that magazines were a dinosaur, and her real job was to dodge the asteroid as long as possible. And she was devoted to doing that in a way few others were.

Now she just had to remind James of that. “No need to apologize,” he’d assured her earlier that afternoon after she’d said sorry for the fifth time since he and Linda appeared in her office. “We’ve all had our moments. I’m just sorry yours was public.” But publishing was a very, very small world, and the last thing Innovate needed was gossip about rancor in their ranks.

Ugh—she would need to make nice with Meagan and Ashleigh. Though poking herself in the palm with a flaming toothpick sounded more appealing than groveling, Aly knew she had to act like a leader so she could return to being one.

The water finally began to run cold, so she reluctantly got out of the shower and slipped into her pajamas. It was still technically too early to call Harry, but she couldn’t wait any longer.

He picked up on the first ring. “Babe? Everything alright?”

Her face crumpled. Of course, he knew it wasn’t; otherwise, she wouldn’t have called before the late-night talk shows were on. “No,” she said, and oh no—here came the tears. She cried for a few minutes while he made soothing noises and told her it was going to be okay, and eventually she managed to tell him what had happened.

“It wasn’t exactly like I blacked out,” she explained. “It was more like . . . I couldn’t hear the words coming out of my mouth.”

Harry gasped. “That does not sound great, babe.”

“I know,” she said miserably.

“Did she clap back?”