Landline(15)

“Margaret”—Georgie forced herself to smile, hoping it would make her sound less impatient—“is Neal around?”

“He is. Did you want to talk to him?”

“That would be great. Yes. Thank you.”

“He just took the girls over to Dawn’s. She’s got a cockatiel, you know, and she thought the girls might like to see it.”

“Dawn,” Georgie said.

Dawn, the girl next door. The literal girl next door. Dawn, Neal’s ex-almost-fiancée. (It shouldn’t count if there was never a ring, right? If it was just a summer-vacation verbal agreement?) God. And country. And f*ck.

Why couldn’t Neal have a string of ex-girlfriends? Girls that he’d talked to, girls that he’d dated. Girls he’d used for sex, then felt bad about later . . . Why did he just have to have Dawn?

Dawn always came by Neal’s mom’s house to say hi when Georgie and Neal were in town; she lived next door and took care of her parents.

Dawn had pretty brown eyes and smooth brown hair. She was a nurse. She was divorced. She brought the kids stuffed animals that made it back to California and lived on their beds.

Georgie’s head hurt. Her hair smelled like poisonous cupcakes.

“Amadeus!” Margaret said, like she was remembering something.

“Sorry?” Georgie asked, clearing her throat.

“Amadeus. That’s Dawn’s cockatiel. He’s quite a bird.”

“Maybe you could just tell him that I called.”

Margaret was quiet for a few seconds and then—“Oh, you mean Neal.”

“I do. Yeah.”

“Sure, of course, Georgie. I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks, Margaret. Tell him to call me back anytime.”

“Sure. Oh, wait, before you go—Merry Christmas, Georgie! I hope your new show gets picked up.”

Georgie paused. And remembered that she really did like Neal’s mom. “Thanks, Margaret. Merry Christmas. Hug those girls for me.”

“Georgie, wait, how do I hang up on you?”

“I’ll hang up on you. That’ll take care of it.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I’m hanging up now, Margaret. Merry Christmas.”



“That’s funny, right?” Seth asked, then repeated a joke for the fourth time. “Is it funny? Or is it just weird?”

Georgie wasn’t sure. She was having a hard time staying focused.

“I need a break,” Scotty said. “I can’t even see straight.”

“Push through it,” Seth ordered. “This is where the magic happens.”

“This is where I go get frozen yogurt.”

“All you do is eat. You eat, then you start thinking about the next thing you’re going to eat.”

“Eating is the only thing that breaks the monotony,” Scotty said.

Seth’s eyebrows shot up. “This isn’t monotony. This is the f*cking dream.”

“It will be,” Scotty said. “When I have some yogurt.”

“Georgie. Tell him. No frozen yogurt until he says something funny.”

Georgie was slouched down in her chair with her feet up on the table and her eyes closed. “Can’t talk. Too much magic happening.”

“Do you want frozen yogurt, Georgie?” Scotty asked from the door.

“No, thanks.”

She heard the door close. Then felt a pen bounce off her shoulder.

“You should take a nap,” Seth said.

“Hmmm.”

“We need a napping couch. Passing Time is going to have a napping couch. Remember the couch at The Spoon? That was a first-rate napping couch.”

Georgie remembered. It was gray velvet and worn smooth on the cushions. If Georgie was sitting on it, Seth would sit down right beside her, even if there was plenty of room. Even if there was no room at all. He liked to rest his head in her lap or on her shoulder. If he didn’t have a girlfriend, she’d let him. (He almost always had a girlfriend.) Seth was a relentless flirt. Even with Georgie—maybe especially with Georgie.

For the first few months after they met, she found all the attention thrilling. And then—when she realized that Seth flirted with everyone, and that he was usually actively chasing another girl—it was heart-breaking.

And then it was just noise. Like his talking. Like his humming. Georgie liked it, even when she wasn’t paying attention. Sitting on the napping couch, Seth’s head on her shoulder, his wavy cherrywood hair tickling her ear . . .

They were sprawled out on the napping couch the second time Georgie saw Neal. Seth had a girlfriend at the time—leggy, cheekbony, actressy—so he was supporting his own head. Georgie stuck her elbow in his ribs. “There he is again.”

“Ow. Who?”

“The cartoonist,” she said.

“The hobbit?”

“I’m going to go introduce myself.”

“Why?”

“Because we work together,” Georgie said. “It’s what people do.”

“He doesn’t work here. He just turns in his cartoons here.”

“I’m going to introduce myself. And tell him how much I like his work.”

“You’ll wish you hadn’t,” Seth warned. “He’s a scowler. He’s the least friendly hobbit in the Shire.”