Mr. Wrong Number(33)
“Fine.” She let loose with an eye roll and said, “Tall, handsome, and not a sexist pig; how about that?”
She took a step to go inside, but then she jerked to a stop and her mouth fell wide open as she stared off into the distance. I followed her gaze, or tried to, but there was an entire city in front of her so it was impossible to pinpoint.
“Oh, my God!” She squealed, and I swear she had tears in her eyes as she smiled the biggest, happiest smile and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Oh, my God—it’s just so beautiful.”
“What?”
“See that billboard?” She held out her phone and started taking pictures, but the only billboard I could see was for the Times and had a cartoon on it.
“Where?”
“Over there.” She pointed toward that billboard, but then her face changed. She blinked and said, “Um, it’s a new promo for the Times. Cool, huh?”
“I guess . . . ?” I looked over at it and it just looked like an ad. “I mean, what am I missing here?”
Her mouth turned up into a proud smile and she said, “It’s our new parenting columnist. She’s totally anonymous, but her columns are funny and sarcastic, not the usual boring parental stuff. The first one runs tomorrow and I can’t wait to read it.”
“Holy shit.” I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms, looking back and forth between her and the billboard. Of course. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“What?” Her eyes got really wide and she was quiet for a second before she said, “No. Of course it’s not—I don’t have kids. I’m just excited—”
“Admit it, Livvie. You have the worst poker face.” She’d always been a terrible liar, and clearly nothing had changed. “You’re the 402 Mom, aren’t you?”
She gnawed on the corner of her bottom lip, obviously trying to decide whether or not to come clean.
“Spill it, Marshall.”
“Fine.” Her face went from nervous indecision to that wide smile of excitement. “It’s me! But you cannot tell a soul.”
She plopped down on the patio chair next to me and made a little squealing noise while wringing her hands. “My boss assumed since I used to write content for a parent-ish gossip site that I had kids. I didn’t correct her in the interview, but then my sample column was apparently good enough and I got the job.”
Sounded like a recipe for disaster to me. “No shit?”
“No shit.” She beamed and said, “I’m serious, though—mum is the big old word. Like, no one can know.”
“I get it.” I cleared my throat. “But are you sure you want to go this route? People always find out the truth. I’m sure if you confess now—”
“I can’t do that—are you kidding me?” She looked at me like I was out of my mind. “It’s too late. They will one hundred percent can my ass if anyone finds out.”
“You really think in a town like Omaha it’s not going to come out eventually?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, and the corners of her mouth turned down, making her look worried. “We both know my luck, so sure—it’ll probably blow up in my face at some point. But until that happens, I might as well ride out this dream job, don’t you think?”
I didn’t like seeing her look insecure. Brash, unadulterated boldness was usually her game. I said, “You are a phenomenal writer, Liv. I’m sure if you told the truth, they’d find a way to keep you on.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears and gave me a tiny smile. “How on earth would you know that? The only thing you’ve read of mine was the note I left on the counter the other day about my run-in with your grouchy next-door neighbor.”
“Your mom used to send links to all your ‘Who wore the baby bump better?’ stories to Jack and me.” It wasn’t my thing, reading celebrity gossip, but I’d always been impressed by the way she’d been able to be tongue-in-cheek funny about famous people.
She looked shocked, but then she laughed and said, “Oh, my God—my mother has your email address?”
“When Nancy asks, you answer.”
“Don’t I know it.” She rolled her eyes. “And we shall see about the writing.”
I pointed to my MacBook. “I have no idea how you do it. I’ve been out here for an hour trying to write a letter decent enough to land a huge client but everything I write is trash.”
Her eyebrows furrowed and the wind blew long wisps of hair across her cheek. “I thought you were a numbers guy.”
“That’s the problem.” I wasn’t sure why I was telling her but I said, “I am.”
“Lemme see.” She pulled my computer onto her lap, and I was torn between being offended by her total lack of respect for my privacy and charmed by how fucking comfortable she was. “I’m sure it’s not trash.”
I watched her read it, wondering what universe it was that Jack’s little sister was helping me with my homework. Her dark lashes dipped down as her eyes scanned the screen, and after another minute she said, “Email this to me.”
“What?”
She pushed my laptop at me and said, “Can you email that to me? It’s a great start but you don’t have any voice in there—no you. It sounds like a robot wrote it instead of someone who really wants their business. I’ll change it to what I would write—with track changes turned on—and then you can either accept them or decline them.”