by Cat Carmine
“I’ll hold him,” she says. “I’m going to try again to get him to latch.”
The nurse slips the infant into Lacy’s waiting arms, and I exchange another smile with Tyler.
“Emma,” Lacy says, holding up the baby. “I’d like you to meet Everett Tyler Grant Godfrey.”
“Hi Everett,” I say, going close enough to stroke his soft, tiny hand. “Is Tyler …?”
“Named after me? Yup,” Tyler says, grinning proudly.
“After Tyler coached me through the whole labor, Brendan and I decided he deserved at least some credit.”
I grin at Tyler again, and he shrugs modestly, even though he looks completely thrilled. I shake my head. There’s that warm glow again. Is there nothing this amazing man can’t do?
“Where is Brendan?” I ask. “Will I get to meet him, too?”
“Probably. He’s down in the cafeteria. It’s quiet down there this time of day, and he had to make some calls to make sure everything was going smoothly back in California.”
“Oh, right, Tyler mentioned you guys run a yoga studio out there. That must be fun.”
Lacy and Tyler exchange a look. I see his eyebrows raise.
“It’s okay,” Lacy finally admits. “Honestly, it’s not quite the life we imagined. There are days I think we never should have left New York. You know how sometimes, you get so fed-up with something that you abandon the whole thing for something else? And then later you realize that maybe you should have just tweaked a few things about the first thing instead?”
I nod, my lips twisting ruefully. “Oh, yeah. I think they call that throwing the baby out with the bathwater.”
Lacy pretends to look appalled. “Shhhh,” she says, as she mimes covering Everett’s ears. “She didn’t mean that, sweetie.”
I laugh. “Sorry, baby. Anyway, it’s too bad you’ve got so much going on in California. Wouldn’t it be great if you and Tyler could eventually take over Good Grant Media?”
Lacy’s eyebrows shoot up, and she glances over at Tyler. When I look back at him, he scrubs his hand across his face.
“Yeah, right,” he says eventually. “No way Dad will ever give up the stranglehold he has.”
I look back and forth between them. “Really? He’s got to retire eventually, right? How old is he? Almost seventy?”
“Sixty-eight,” Tyler confirms. “But he’s going to work himself right into the grave, I’m sure of it. Probably beyond that, even.”
Lacy doesn’t say anything. She chucks Everett on the chin lightly as he gums his lips.
“Do you still think so, Ty?” she says eventually. “He’s been so different lately. Maybe it’s Everett, I don’t know. He’s been here every day since that first visit. Brendan even caught him and Mom … canoodling … in the elevator. He damn near dropped my Frappucino in shock.”
Tyler’s eyes widen. I can tell this is brand new information, and I can see his mind churning and trying to process it.
“Have you ever talked to him about retirement?” I prod. “Maybe the whole reason he stuck you in that job in the first place is because he wanted to know he had someone to pass the business down to.”
“You might be right about that,” Tyler admits. “Though there’s no way he’d do that now. Not after last time. But if it was me and Lacy …” he trails off.
Lacy sits up straighter in her nest of pillows. “What do you think, Tyler? Obviously, I’d have to talk to Brendan. I don’t want to make another impulsive decision, especially now that we have Everett to think of. But it would be nice to be back in the city, to be closer to family, and to have something to do with my time other than post new yoga class schedules on our website.”
I feel myself starting to get excited about the possibility, and it isn’t even my future on the line. But I’ve seen how invested Tyler has begun to get in the business, and above all, I want him to be happy — whether that’s with Good Grant or somewhere else.
“I think you should talk to Brendan,” he says. His face is serious, but I see the ghost of a smile there, too. I squeeze his hand once and feel his fingers lace tightly around mine.
For the next two weeks, Tyler and Lacy meet almost every day. Brendan had been surprisingly easy to sway — Lacy said she thought he was secretly way too uptight for all those California vibes, and that he missed his New York yoga classes where everyone treated pigeon pose like it was a fight to the death with their own hip joints. With his blessing, the planning and scheming had begun in earnest, and Lacy and Tyler had mapped out projections, timelines, risks and opportunities.
Every time I’d get to his loft, I’d find them in the living room, papers and laptops spread out around them. Everett would be sleeping in his bassinet or latched to Lacy, but that never seemed to slow her down. Tyler had rented them an apartment on another floor in his building, and I think he was enjoying making up for lost time.
Of course, we were doing our own making up for lost time, too. Every night, when Lacy would return to her own apartment, Tyler and I would fall into bed, a tangle of arms and legs and lips. I couldn’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t go delirious with the feeling of his body next to mine.
There were also times when we were both too tired for sex, and strangely those nights were just as special. Netflix, Chinese food, red wine, foot rubs — a girl could get used to this kind of life. Especially if it meant having a guy like Tyler to share it with.
I still spent most of my days at my own apartment. I’ve been using the time to myself to think about my column, and about the direction I want to take it in — if I even want to keep doing it.
Ever since my disastrous appearance on Wake Up New York!, I’d realized that I just didn’t feel the same way about the kind of advice I used to give. My brand was straight-shooting, responsible, happiness-is-overrated … and that isn’t how I feel anymore. The happiness Tyler has brought me opened my eyes to everything that I was missing out on. Now I don’t think happiness is overrated — I think happiness is all there is.
Which leaves me with a lingering sense of guilt about all the advice I’ve dispensed over the years. How many people have I steered in the wrong direction, or led in to making a bad decision? How many times have I encouraged someone to stay in a relationship that wasn’t bringing them joy, or to go for the guy with the good investment portfolio rather than the one with the good heart?
Over and over, my mind goes back to Not Sure in Nebraska, the woman who’d written to me about whether or not she should accept her boyfriend’s proposal, even though she was unsure about her feelings for him. I’d hemmed and hawed over my response to her, but after my mortifying weekend at Tyler’s Catskills house, I’d fired off a response telling her to say yes, that it was the responsible thing to do, that in time she could learn to love him.
Now I wonder if she took my advice, or if she listened to her gut. I wonder if maybe there’s still time to fix my mistake. Hell, maybe he hasn’t even popped the question yet. Maybe I could right this wrong before I pack it all in.
On Thursday afternoon, while Tyler and Lacy are working away at the loft, I sit at the tiny desk in my Brooklyn bedroom, surrounded by my pale yellow walls and my lace curtains and my patchwork quilt and I pour my heart out to Not Sure in Nebraska. One last piece of advice from Miss Emma. It takes me all afternoon, but by the time I’m done, I feel good. Like I’ve done the right thing. I fire it off to my editor before I can change my mind.
That evening, I feel raw and wrung out. I even think about calling Tyler and telling him I can’t come over, but I realize that I don’t want to be alone. Being with him makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and I could use some of that right now.
I’m hopping out of the shower when our apartment buzzer goes off. I wrap myself in a towel and pad over to the intercom.
“It’s me.” Even through the crackling connection, I recognize Tyler’s voice.
“Come on up.” I buzz him in and a minute later, he’s striding through my front door. My heart
skips a beat when I see him, the same way it always does.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, winding my arms around his neck and greeting him with a kiss. “I thought I was coming to your place?”
He doesn’t answer for a minute, just lets his lips linger over mine. I forget everything and wind my hands through his hair, dropping my towel in the process.
“Well, I wanted to tell you the good news in person, and I couldn’t wait,” he says, taking a step back just far enough to look me up and down. “But if I’d known I’d find you naked, I’d have been here a hell of a lot sooner.”
He reaches for me, but I take a quick step backwards. “Not so fast, mister. I want to hear the good news first.”
“Right.” He grins. “My father agreed to take a meeting with Lacy and me. No guarantees, but he seems at least open to hearing our pitch.”
“Eek! That’s fantastic news!” I launch myself into his arms and cover his face with kisses. Then, leaving the towel on the floor, I let him carry me to the bedroom.
In the time I sit at the Rocky Road Cafe, I drink four espresso shots and eat three pastries and completely fail to get any work done. Every time the silver bells over the front door tinkle, I look up, hoping I’ll see Tyler and Lacy.
Two hours go by, and still there’s no sign of them. I keep telling myself that this is good — that if their presentation is taking this long, it’s because their father is actually listening to them. But that doesn’t calm the quaking in my stomach. I desperately want this to work out for Tyler. For both of them, really.
I know they’re prepared. They’ve spent ages working on this pitch. Their vision for the company is forward-thinking and smart, and if Malcolm Grant doesn’t see that, well, he’s going to miss out on something amazing.
After another half hour passes, I really start to worry. What if things really did go badly? What if, for some reason, he was too upset or embarrassed to come talk to me? What if he’s getting drunk somewhere, freaking out by himself?
I try to tell myself that’s not Tyler, that he’d come here regardless, but still, my pulse races. I glance down at my phone, as if doing so will somehow magically make him call or text me with news.
“Well, hello there, beautiful.”
“Tyler!” I leap out of my seat at the sound of his voice. “What happened? Tell me everything — I’m dying here!”
Instead of answering, he wraps his arms around me and envelops me in the kiss to end all kisses. As soon as his lips are against mine, all my earlier anxiety and worries and caffeine-fueled angst go flying out the window. The same way it does every time he kisses me. How could I have ever thought that the way he made me forget myself was a bad thing?
I twine my arms around his neck, losing myself in the moment, until I hear someone coughing politely behind us.
I pull away and smile guiltily at Lacy, who’s standing behind us with her arms folded. Despite her posture, she has a broad grin on her face.
“Okay, you two. We’re in public here, you know.”
“Oops,” I say, at the same time that Tyler says, “So?”
I swat his arm playfully. “She’s right. Lots of time for that later. Now, one of you has to tell me how it went. I’ve had four espressos and I mean business.”
“You want to do the honors?” Lacy says to Tyler. “I’ll go get us some coffee.”
She makes her way to the bar while Tyler nuzzles my neck. “Are you sure I can’t just keep kissing you, instead?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Now, spill.”
We sit down at the table, and I close my laptop — not that I was getting anything done — wanting to give him my full attention.
Tyler clasps his hands on the table and sighs. For one painful moment, I think he’s going to tell me it didn’t go well. But then his face breaks into a grin.
“He ate it up. All of it. He had a million questions, and he even brought in his VP to hear us out. She loved it, too. They both think it’s the future of the company.”
I squeal and lean over and wrap my arms around his neck again.
“Baby, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you. I knew he was going to love it.”
“So did I,” Tyler boasts, but when I raise my eyebrows, he shrugs. “Okay, I was pretty sure.”
“So, is he actually going to retire?”
Tyler shakes his head. “Not quite yet. He’s going to stay on until the transition is done, but he said he wants to take a big step back. He’s even taking Mom to Italy next month for a couple of weeks. I can’t remember the last time he took a vacation.”
“Ugh, I can’t believe how great this is,” I say again, shaking my head. “And he liked the Good Grant Digital idea?”
“Loved it.” Tyler grins. Good Grant Digital had been his idea — that rather than having digital components as part of all of Good Grant’s individual subsidiaries — music, movie streaming, the ebooks project he wanted to get off the ground at Good Grant Books — they would instead create one massive arm of the company that would license all their digital content, and eventually they’d be able to offer the country’s most comprehensive subscription service. One monthly fee for all the books, television, music, magazines, movies, newspapers, and everything else you could ever hope to consume in a lifetime. It would be great for consumers, great for Good Grant, and of course, great for Tyler and Lacy.
“So, what were you working on while you waited?” Tyler asks, nudging my laptop.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, which is actually the truth.
“Come on, Holloway. What is it?”
I shrug. “I’ve been making some notes for a new book I might write.”
“Seriously?” His smile is so broad that it splits his face wide open. “Emma, that’s awesome. What’s it about?”
I shrug. “I’d rather not talk about it yet. I need to mull it over a bit more, come up with a workable outline.”
It’s not that I don’t want to tell him about it — after all, he helped inspire my idea — but I want to really be able to sell it properly.
“Fine. But I want to be the first to hear about it. I might know someone who works at a publishing company, after all.”
“Ha — maybe not much longer.” I poke him. “Have you thought about who’s going to replace you at Good Grant Books once you leave?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. Diana would be perfect for the role, but I’m not entirely sure I trust her. Ever since you told me that she’s the one who invited you to the gala, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that she did it on purpose, in the hopes of having my father find out about us.”
I clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh God. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you this. That wasn’t the reason she invited me.”
“It wasn’t?” Tyler’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“She called me a couple of weeks ago — turns out she had wanted to ask my advice about something. About a guy thing,” I add in a whisper.
“You’re joking. The Viper?”
“Yep. She met this guy while she was on vacation in Argentina, and he wanted to come visit her here. She wanted to know if I thought a vacation fling could ever turn into something real.”
Tyler shakes his head, an incredulous smile on his face. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “What did you tell her?”
I shrug. “I told her to listen to her heart. That if he wanted to fly all this way to see her, he must think there was something there, too.”
Tyler chuckles. “Well, that would certainly explain why she’s been strutting around the office like the cat that swallowed the canary lately.”
I giggle. “I guess it worked out for her.”
“I guess so.” He shakes his head again, still chuckling softly. “You know, I still think you kick ass at this advice thing. Are you sure you really want to give up your column?”
I take a deep breath. I’ve given this so much thought over the last week that my brain feels like it was mel
ted and then reshaped and then melted again. “I’m sure. I still haven’t figured out exactly what I’m going to do next, but I’ve got savings and the money from my book to live on for a while.”
“And don’t forget your incredibly wealthy — not to mention devastatingly gorgeous — boyfriend, who is more than happy to help you.”
I laugh. “I’m going to try not to rely on your financial support, but I appreciate the offer. No, I think I’m just going to start working on this new book idea, see where it goes, and then hopefully figure things out from there. I don’t know … does that sound too vague?”
Tyler reaches across the table to take my hand. He strokes his thumb over mine, and that light touch alone is enough to make me squirm in my seat.
“I don’t think it sounds vague at all,” he says. “I think it sounds smart. The only thing I ask is that you let me be here by your side while you figure it all out.”
My skin colors, a happy smile pushing up my cheeks. Tyler has already helped me figure out so much about myself, and somehow, even when it’s been hard, it’s still been fun. I don’t think there’s much more a girl could ask for, you know — a man who helps you become the person you were meant to be, and who loves you through every messy iteration.
“Of course,” I tell Tyler, squeezing his hand, my fingers laced through his. “I can’t imagine being anywhere in this world but right by your side.”
Thirty-Two
Dear Not Sure in Nebraska,
A few weeks ago, you wrote me a letter, and I wrote you a response. I’ve written hundreds of responses over the last few years, most of them dishing out advice just like I gave you: be careful, stay smart, play small.
Today I want to tell you, and everyone else who reads this column, that I was wrong. I’m starting to think I might have been wrong all along.
Let me start by telling you a little story. A couple of months ago, I met a man. A man who made my toes curl. Who made my skin sing. Who made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A man who made me feel things I’d never felt before, never even dreamed it was possible to feel.