Good for You: A Novel (9)

“Meagan?” Aly frowned, trying to remember, but in her mind’s eye, the only thing that appeared was the other patrons parting as she speed-walked out of the salad place. “I’m pretty sure she didn’t say boo in response.”

“Pretty sure, or sure?”

“I have no idea, Harry,” she admitted. “And I thought it would come back to me . . . but it hasn’t.”

“How long did this go on, exactly?”

“No longer than a minute.” Aly’s internal clock was rarely wrong; although she was guessing, she was willing to put money on her recollection of the timing, at least, being fairly accurate.

“And did you tell James what really happened?”

“Of course I didn’t! Why would I give him a reason to think I truly wasn’t competent to do my job?”

“Well, maybe he would’ve told you to see a doctor rather than telling you to take a month off.”

This was a good point. Did she need to see a doctor? Probably, she conceded. And she would—just as soon as she figured out how to undo the mess she’d made.

“Al, why didn’t you text me earlier?” asked Harry gently.

“I knew you had a crazy week, and you’d drop everything to talk to me.”

“Every week is a crazy week, and this is an emergency.”

“Is it really, though?” she said.

Harry and Aly had met as freshmen at Michigan State. They lived in the same dorm, and as they admitted to each other while hiding out in the study lounge one evening, neither of them liked their suitemates—hers were a trio who knew each other from high school and who didn’t see the point in acknowledging her existence, while his were a bunch of “bros,” as he referred to them, who took one look at slight, nerdy Harry and decided to make his year miserable. It wasn’t long before Harry practically moved into Aly’s room; he often even slept in her bed with her. Harry wasn’t out yet, so everyone thought they were a couple, and neither of them cared to dispute that. Other than the whole swapping bodily fluids thing, they practically were. Aside from Luke, Harry was the best person Aly had ever known.

“Aly,” said Harry, “I don’t mean to be dramatic, but you can’t remember what happened. That’s kind of a big deal.”

“I guess,” she said, though the truth was, the more time that passed, the more it seemed like the whole matter had been completely blown out of proportion. She knew enough to understand she’d lost her temper. Yet how many editors in chief before her had been hailed as visionaries despite the fact that—or perhaps because—they terrorized their staffs? How many Hollywood hotshots and politicians had been given one pass after another after exhibiting truly egregious behavior?

But Aly wasn’t those people, she suddenly realized. Here she’d been, faking her competence and hoping it was enough, when lo and behold: she hadn’t fooled anyone. Still, she was down but not out. There had to be a way to reframe this setback as an opportunity.

“Can you ask James to send you the link, so you can at least forward it to me, so I can see how bad it was?” asked Harry.

And have Harry see her behaving . . . well, from what she’d managed to see, like her mother at her very worst? Because those wild eyes, the waving hands, the cursing—they were classic Cindy, hollering on a bender. “Absolutely not,” she told him. “Even if it wasn’t getting taken down—which it is—that is not going to help me. Just the opposite, in fact.”

“Standing offer if you change your mind.”

“I appreciate that, but you can put me down for ‘never’ on that one,” she said, nestling into the corner of the sofa, away from the dent in the center where she and Seth usually watched television together or worked side by side.

“Fine. I can’t say I’m sad to hear that Seth is out of the picture, though.” Harry’d never liked Seth, even though he was unable to articulate why, exactly. When pressed, he simply told Aly that he thought she could do better. But how could she possibly? Seth was polished, precise, and completely obsessed with publishing. Why had Aly broken up with him? She should have just blurted out that she did love him and hadn’t meant any of it.

She was starting to get depressed again.

“Babe?” said Harry. “You still there?”

“I’m here,” she said glumly. “How am I going to make this right?”

“I don’t know, but you always find a way. I’m not worried about you. Except, where are you going to live?”

“That’s the million-dollar question. As you know, I’m kind of broke. And before you say anything, that’s not me asking for money.”

He gasped in mock horror. “Do you think your old friend Harry doesn’t know you at all? You’d probably go wait tables at Hooters before accepting a single dollar from me.”

She had to smile.

“I can hear you grinning,” he said, and she smiled even wider.

“I love you, Har.”

“And I love you. Now, keep that in mind as I gently remind you that now is the perfect time for you to go deal with Luke’s house. You will never again have such an ideal window to do this.”

The corners of her mouth immediately fell. “It isn’t September yet.”