Something to Talk About(39)

“I know, sweetie,” her mom said. “We’re just worried about you.”

Emma rolled her eyes and collapsed onto her couch. She stared up at the ceiling just like she had after Avery left last night.

She wasn’t mad at Avery anymore, truly. Avery had apologized. They were fine. But her stomach still felt queasy when she thought about Jo. Over and over again she told herself: Jo was her boss, not her friend. Her boss, not her friend.

“Do you think . . . ,” her mom started. “Do you think maybe just because you’re not mad at Avery anymore doesn’t mean you’re not mad anymore?”

“It’s fine,” Emma said. “It doesn’t matter that they’re friends. Or business partners. I honestly don’t care.”

Her mom was quiet.

“I just think—” Emma half scoffed. “I’m just surprised, is all. That Jo didn’t care enough to mention it to me? I’ve been reading scenes for Agent Silver, you know? Don’t tell anyone, because I’m not supposed to, I don’t think. But I am. So I guess I thought she—we—I’m just pretty involved in her business dealings, usually. But apparently I’m not important enough to know anything about her sponsoring a pastry chef for Avery.”

“I’m sure that’s not it,” her mom said. “She probably just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Didn’t know how to tell me, ‘Hey, I saw your sister’ after the first game. It’d be that easy. If she had cared enough to tell me, it would be that easy.”

Emma rolled over, pressed her face into the couch cushions. She felt stupid for pouting. It shouldn’t even matter. Jo didn’t have to tell her anything. And just because she was helping Emma figure out her career didn’t mean she couldn’t sponsor a pastry chef for Avery. There was no reason for Emma to feel like this.

“I don’t think she doesn’t care about you, honey,” Emma’s mom said gently. “You told me how worried she was when you had that asthma attack in New York.”

Emma shrugged even though her mom couldn’t see her.

“Sweetheart,” her mom said. “I’m not saying this to tease and I don’t want you to get mad.”

“That’s always a good start to a sentence,” Emma grumbled.

“Sweetheart,” her mom said again, and Emma felt mildly bad for being rude. “Do you think maybe the rumors about you two might have a point? One that maybe you didn’t realize before?”

Her mom was asking if she had feelings for Jo, had a crush on her. Emma’s instinctual reaction was to roll her eyes and brush it off like she’d been doing since the SAGs, but today her chest ached. Today she was lying facedown on her couch complaining to her mom about her boss not caring about her enough. Today she blinked, and her eyes were wet.

When she finally responded, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”



* * *



—

Jo thanked Emma for her coffee Monday morning like nothing was different. Nothing was for Jo, Emma supposed. She was still lying to her assistant like she had been last week. Or—not lying, exactly. But not telling the truth. The whole summer of them working so well together. Emma in Jo’s office and Jo asking for her help with the Agent Silver script. But she wasn’t important enough to know that Jo had befriended her sister.

Though Emma had told her mom she might have feelings for Jo, she wasn’t sure. That was still a solid maybe. Maybe this hurt so much because she had feelings for Jo and it was obvious now that Jo didn’t feel the same way. But Emma didn’t have to have some stupid crush for this to hurt. This sucked, the way Jo lied to her, the way Jo treated her like a cog in a machine. Even if she didn’t have a crush on Jo—and she might not!—this would feel bad.

It felt like a breakup whether romantic feelings were involved or not. Emma thought she and Jo had a certain type of relationship. Thought they were friends. But Jo was only helping Emma advance her career because of business. She needed Emma to do well because Emma was her assistant and Jo couldn’t have a reputation of assistants who went nowhere. Especially not Emma, because then it would prove what everybody thought—she was only there because Jo was sleeping with her. Emma was basically a business expense to Jo. Meanwhile, barely two weeks ago, Emma had called Jo one of her favorite people. How mortifying.

Jo didn’t ask Emma to work in her office all day. Emma didn’t know how she would’ve replied if Jo had. At five, Jo gave her a smile and told her to have a good night. Emma nodded and left.

The next day, Jo called Emma into her office within an hour of Emma handing over Jo’s coffee. Emma assumed Jo wanted her to bring her work in. She didn’t expect Jo to scrutinize her.

“Are you okay?” Jo asked.

“Uh,” Emma said. “Yeah. Of course. I’m fine. Why?”

Jo shrugged. “You’ve been quiet. I thought maybe something was bothering you.”

You’re bothering me, Emma thought.

“I’m fine, Ms. Jones,” she said instead.

Jo’s smile looked brittle. Emma told herself she didn’t care.



* * *



—

Emma was going to ask for Wednesday afternoon off to see the twins play. She didn’t know how she’d say it, didn’t know whether she’d admit to Jo that she knew or if she’d just surprise her by being at the game. But she woke up Wednesday to rain. The one day it rained in Southern California.