Something to Talk About(25)

Emma felt like she was failing a test. She knew what she wanted to do, long-term, didn’t she? But she didn’t know how to get there.

“My sister always knew she wanted to have her own bakery,” she said. “She got an Easy-Bake oven as a kid but graduated pretty quickly to the regular one. She’s always been really good at it and has always known it was what she wanted to do.”

Jo probably thought this was a weird segue, but it made sense. It was the only way Emma knew to describe it. Jo wasn’t interrupting, though. She looked interested in learning more.

“I wanted something like that,” Emma said. “I still want it. To be that sure of something. To know what I want to do and know I’m going to be successful at it. I wish I could tell you exactly what I want to do next. Wish I knew my path the way Avery always has.”

Emma paused. She wanted Jo to say something, to fill in the silence, but Jo just kept looking at her, eyes open and kind, forcing Emma to work this out herself.

“I like my job,” Emma said. “This job. And I’m good at it. What if I’m not good at whatever I move on to? What if I don’t like it?”

“If you don’t like it, you’ll do something else,” Jo said. “If you’re not good at it, you’ll learn. You’re brilliant, Emma. You hit the ground running in this job, picked everything up easily.”

Jo sounded so certain. Emma wished she could believe her. She took another bite of her salad. She wished she could trust herself.

“Things I think I’m sure of, I can still mess up,” she said. “I was certain putting together that article about how great you’d be for Agent Silver was going to be a good thing. And it was awful!”

Jo didn’t disagree because she couldn’t. Emma was right about that.

“So who’s to say I’m not just as wrong about this?”

“You can’t get anywhere without risk, Emma.”

Right. Emma knew that. It didn’t make it any less terrifying. She stared at her lemonade. The melting ice shifted in the glass.

“I dropped out of film school, you know?” she said.

“I do.” Jo’s voice was quiet.

“I was—it was dumb.” Emma ran her finger along the condensation on the outside of her glass. “I tell people I flunked out, like it wasn’t a choice, but I dropped out. It was hard, and I wasn’t very good, and so I gave up.”

“You were young, were you not?”

Emma tried to look at Jo, didn’t quite make it to her face, focusing instead on the wide neck of her top, the line of her collarbone. Finally, she took a breath, brought her eyes to Jo’s.

“I want to direct.”

A slow smile spread across Jo’s face. Emma felt it, warm in her chest.

“You want to direct,” Jo said.

Emma fought the desire to break eye contact, to take her statement back.

“I do.”

“Okay.” Jo went into business mode. “I wouldn’t think you have the credits for the Directors Guild yet, do you?”

Emma shook her head. “I’m close.”

“So you’ll keep working with me, keep working with Innocents.” Jo’s eyes darted around as she brainstormed. “We could make you an associate producer—yes. Midseason I’ll probably be moving to Agent Silver. You’ll move to associate producer then, finishing up your days so you can join the guild. Before the move, you’ll interview and find your replacement as my assistant. What do you think?”

She thought it sounded great, and she told Jo as much. Jo grinned at her.

This meant Emma got to stay with a show she loved, with a cast and crew she adored. And she’d have the days to join the Directors Guild by the end of the season so she could start working her way up. There was a slight pang at the thought of Jo moving on without her, but otherwise, associate producer was the best of both worlds: She was taking a step forward in her career without moving too far out of her comfort zone.

“You really think I can do it?” Emma had to ask.

Jo caught her hand on top of the table and squeezed it. “I think you can do anything, Emma.”



* * *



—

After lunch, Emma headed to Avery’s. Her week off coincided perfectly with Passover. Emma always tried to go home for it, but sometimes her schedule was too busy. This year, she piled Cassius, Rosalind, and Billie into her car. Avery and her husband, Dylan, had their car loaded with their ten-year-old twins. Emma avoided any significant looks Avery sent her way as they packed the cars.

It had been days since the wrap party, but staying up so late and drinking so much took a toll Emma was still recovering from. She refused to admit it may have been related to an emotional conversation at lunch. Her throat was a little scratchy from how loud she sang along to Gina’s karaoke of Brandi Carlile. She resorted to a large iced chai as she followed her sister’s family up the coast.

Their parents still lived in the house where Emma and Avery grew up. Emma was grateful for it, grateful it was only a few hours’ drive before she could bask in the comforts and nostalgia of home. Their parents were waiting on the front porch when they arrived, and were greeted first by the dogs barreling up to say hello.

There was a lot of hugging then, and Emma enjoyed the warm strength of her father’s arms around her for all of two seconds before: