The Ex Talk(95)

I lean forward in my seat, trying to see what they’re looking at. “What is it?” Working in a newsroom, you get used to these kinds of reactions when something terrible happens somewhere in the world: people crouched over a phone, hands over mouths. But the two of them seem shocked rather than upset.

“Turn on Pacific Public Radio,” Ruthie says, patting my laptop. “My battery’s dying.”

I spit out a laugh. “No thanks. I’ll just check Twit—”

“Shay. Turn on the fucking radio,” Ruthie repeats, with so much vigor in her voice that I don’t dare disobey her.

Begrudgingly, I navigate over to the PPR homepage and click the little microphone icon to start the livestream. Tatum turns down the café’s sound, and we all lean in to listen to . . . An NPR newsbreak, featuring a story about an alligator in Florida that was finally caught after escaping from a zoo earlier this week.

“Are we . . . into alligators now?” I ask.

Ruthie rolls her eyes. “Just wait until the end of the newsbreak.”

Tatum slides into the booth next to Ruthie, and we wait. When PPR comes back on the air, it immediately becomes clear they’re in the middle of a pledge drive, which sparks an odd twinge in my chest. I didn’t even register that it was happening this week.

“And we’re back, talking about how you can support great local journalism,” says a familiar voice. “Which also happens to be hour number two of my apology tour. If you’re just tuning in, here’s what happened.”

I can’t breathe.

“There was this girl,” Dominic says, and I think my heart might actually stop. “That’s the way these stories always tend to start, right? So. There was this girl, and she’s the smartest, most interesting girl I’ve ever met. We worked together at this very station. She’d been at Pacific Public Radio for ten years, and she’s fantastic at her job. She’s basically an NPR encyclopedia. We even got lucky enough to host a show together . . . but that didn’t exactly go as planned. The show was built on a lie—the notion that the two of us had dated in the past and were now teaming up to dole out relationship advice and hear tales of other dating misadventures. But it gets really, really complicated when you start falling for a girl all your listeners think you’ve already dated and moved on from. Especially when your desk is right next to hers.”

“Shay,” Ruthie says, grabbing my arm. “Shay.”

“I—oh my god.” The café disappears around me. I have tunnel vision, and it’s definitely not just the rosé. All I see is the microphone icon on my screen, and all I hear is Dominic’s voice. He sounds so natural on the air now, more than he ever has.

“But I messed up,” Dominic continues, and then breaks off with a half laugh that jolts my heart, gets it beating again. “I’ve always had a little stage fright, and unfortunately, I froze up when she needed me most. I wasn’t there for her, even after we’d promised to be a team. I’m here today to tell all of you that I’m so deeply sorry for the lie The Ex Talk was based on, but more than that, I’m sorry, Shay. I’m so incredibly sorry, and all I want is to talk to you again.”

This is really happening. Dominic, apologizing on the radio.

“It’s all over Twitter,” Ruthie says, holding her phone to my face, but I can’t process any of the text on it. “Apparently he was saying something about Beanie Babies earlier?”

“This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” Tatum says. “Or heard, I guess.”

“I don’t know if she’s listening,” Dominic is saying, “but I can’t think of another way to tell her how badly I screwed everything up. If she gives me a second chance, even if it’s one I don’t deserve, I will do whatever I can to make things up to her. And more than that . . . I need her to know that I love her. I’ve been in love with her since the island, maybe even before that. And I’m dying to tell her in person.”

Another voice comes on the radio, one I recognize as Marlene Harrison-Yates’. “And if you’d like to call in with a donation to keep Dominic on the air, to keep us going, that number is 206-555-8803, or you can donate online at KPPR.org.”

“Oh my god,” I say again, unsure if I know any other words. My first instinct is to turn it off, shut him down, ignore it all. Insist that he can’t sweet-talk his way back into my life. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to latch onto reality. “He’s still at the station. He’s still working for them. All of this is . . . wow, but it doesn’t change the fact that he took that job after they practically kicked me out.”

“Don’t you think you owe it to him to hear him out?” Ruthie says.

Deep down, I know she’s right. If there’s any chance of fixing things between us, I have to talk to him. “He’s still on the air. What should I do?”

“Go down there and tell him you’re madly in love with him?” she suggests. “I mean, just an idea.”

“I can’t just go down there. I quit, remember? They practically fired me.” With trembling hands, I pick up my phone. “I’ll—I’ll call.” I have no idea what I’m going to say, but it’s the only option that seems to make sense to my soupy brain right now.