Something to Talk About(19)

“I suppose I can be seen with someone else,” she said.

“No.”

Jo blinked at Emma, whose cheeks were still flushed pink.

“I just mean—” Emma started. Took a breath. “That network guy was wrong to suggest that. And you definitely don’t have to do it for my benefit.”

“It would be simple,” Jo said. “Go out to dinner with someone once or twice so the paparazzi move on.”

“If you already have dinner plans, of course that’s fine,” Emma said. She rubbed her hands along her thighs. “But my so-called simple solution to people claiming you’d be bad for Agent Silver is what made the network call to begin with. It doesn’t always work out the way you expect.”

Jo conceded the point.

“Regardless, you don’t have to go out of your way on my behalf,” Emma said. “The rumors aren’t that much a of a problem at this point.”

Her smile was stiff. Jo smiled back gently.

“I did have to have a fun phone call with my mom at the beginning,” Emma said. “Typical Jewish mother thrilled at the idea that her kid has a significant other. She completely approved, and was actually a little disappointed when I told her it was just a rumor.”

Jo chuckled, like she knew Emma wanted her to, and tried not to think about how she hadn’t met a girl’s parents since she was in her early twenties. She hadn’t dated enough since then, too famous and just closeted enough to not bother much.

“If you’re sure,” Jo said.

“Certain.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Emma took a breath.

“I want to apologize again, boss,” she said. “I thought I knew what I was doing—with the article. I obviously didn’t. I just—” She broke eye contact. “I hate what they’re saying about you. When everyone who knows you knows you’re going to be great.”

“How can anyone know that? I’ve never done this before. I don’t even know if I can.”

Emma’s eyes snapped back up. “Jo,” she said quietly.

Jo didn’t mean to admit any of that. She hadn’t even told Evelyn about her nerves. She waved her hand dismissively.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “A little self-doubt is all.”

“That’s . . .” Emma trailed off, then geared up again. “That’s understandable—we all doubt ourselves sometimes, especially with something as new as this, and especially when you have the press and the network breathing down your neck. But you’re going to be fine. You’re so goddamn talented—excuse my French—there’s no way you’re not going to be awesome at this, just like everything else you’ve done.”

Jo’s chest fluttered. Emma’s unwavering belief felt strong enough for the both of them. It was so new from what most people were writing about her.

“When I need the reminder . . .” Jo paused, not sure she could actually bring herself to ask for help like this. “You won’t let me forget?” she said eventually.

“Never,” Emma vowed.

Jo believed her.

“Do you have work you can do in here?” Jo asked.

“Sure, boss,” Emma said. “Let me go grab it.”

Emma disappeared, returned with her tablet. She gave Jo a smile and then sat back down on the couch, her focus entirely on her work.

She was used to it by now, Jo supposed. It wasn’t often that Jo asked Emma to work in her office—only when things got incredibly frustrating, when Jo lost the thread of plot or couldn’t get the right tone of dialogue. That was where she was at the moment, brain too busy to figure out the last-minute edits to the finale script. She had thought she was done with it, but there was this one scene that didn’t quite work, and she hadn’t been able to fix it.

Jo wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, about Emma in her office that helped her. She thought perhaps it was Emma’s sturdiness. Emma was steadfast. To have Emma there, silently accomplishing things—it made Jo’s troubles seem irrelevant. There were no excuses. Just do the work.

And Jo did.



* * *



—

The GLAAD Media Awards in early April were Jo’s first public event since the SAGs. She wouldn’t be bringing Emma, obviously. She considered getting Evelyn to fly out from New York, but then Jo would be labeled a lesbian and a slut, probably, so it wouldn’t have been the best choice.

The GLAADs weren’t as bad as other awards shows. They weren’t considered as prestigious, which helped, Jo thought. Made them more bearable. But it was more than that—being in a room with so many young, open, proud people, it made Jo’s heart ache a little, in a good way. She still wasn’t publicly out—no matter what gossip magazines said about Emma and her. She wrote queer people into her shows and she let people speculate, but, as her publicist kept reminding everyone, she had never commented on her love life. She’d considered it once, when she was nineteen. She came out to her parents first.

Her mom told her to think of her career. Her father told her they were never going to speak of it again.

And so she hadn’t, not really. She was, for the most part, okay with that. But then she went to the GLAAD awards and saw young women holding hands, and her heart ached.