by Karina Halle
“Then…then, let me work here. You said I can write. You said it’s good. So then make me a staff writer.”
He shakes his head. “Kayla, you’re just fine at what you do. The weekly can’t run without ads. Let the writers handle their work. They’ve been at it for years. You’ve written one,” he jabs his finger in the air, “thing.”
“Then let me keep my name to the article and let me write more things,” I plead. “Let me try again. I can prove myself, I know I can. I can do more than just book fucking ads!”
His oversized, hairy nostrils flare at that. He carefully folds his hands in front of him. “Look. Originally you weren’t going to write it anyway. Just appreciate the experience and be proud that it was good enough to get printed, though I’m sure Neil did more than his fair share of cleaning it up. If you look at it that way, I’m sure he deserves to have his name on it just as much as you.” He clears his throat and starts rummaging through the mess of paper cups and sticky notes on his desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to pretending you didn’t barge in here with this terrible self-entitled attitude, and you can go back to doing what you normally do. Got it?”
I press my lips together until they hurt. I so want to yell, scream, hurl things at him. But that won’t get me anywhere. I hate, hate, hate admitting defeat, but that’s what this is—utter defeat.
I leave his office, refusing to look at anyone who might have heard my outburst, and head straight into the bathroom. I’m relieved to find it empty, and I rush over to the toilet stall, put the lid down, and sit. With my head in my hands, I breathe, breathe, breathe, and try to hold it all together.
Breakdowns aren’t common for me. Not the ones that seem to tear you from the inside out, like this one is threatening to do. And I know it’s dumb that I’m feeling this way when I should have seen it coming. It’s just an article. One thing I wrote. And I was an idiot to think it was going to lead to something, that it was going to change my life.
But I can’t ignore the disappointment. It hurts. More than that, it’s embarrassing. I’ve told everyone I know about this and so many people are going to be looking for it come the weekend. Yeah, I did good…but it’s not the same.
I stay in the bathroom stall my whole lunch break, fighting back tears, swallowing my anger. Then, after a while, I push my pity aside and turn on myself, my next best target. I berate myself for freaking out on Joe like I did. He’s an ass and definitely not in the right, but I could have lost my job—my real job—by talking back like I did. That was hella risky and I wasn’t thinking straight. Even though the whole thing is just awful, what I really need to do is go back to Joe and apologize for freaking out.
But my pride can be a lioness, and instead, when I’m finally calm and composed, I go back to my office, sit down, and commit myself to my real job—the one I’m paid to do. The only one I know how to do.
Mondays fucking suck.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kayla
Naturally, I have a hard time shaking it off. I lay low all week, shutting myself away from the world. The only person I see is my mom, and I’m not even planning to go over because I know she’ll ask about it and I don’t want to let her down. But she sounds so sad and helpless over the phone, maybe even weaker than normal, and I can’t say no.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks me from her chair, watching reruns of The Nanny on TV, while I make dinner for us. I ended up telling here there were changes with the article but I didn’t go into details.
“Not really,” I say.
“That’s okay. Talk when you’re ready. Just remember what I told you last time—you’re on your own track.”
Yeah, but my track is officially going nowhere.
I spend the weekend shut in as well, eating a pint of caramel waffle cone ice cream and binging on Netflix. I know that the Outside Lands Festival is going on, I know that Steph and Nicola are getting aggravated by my inability to answer the phone or respond to their texts. I even get a text from Bram on Friday that says, “Kayla, what happened?” assuming that he’s read the article that Neil wrote. But still, I pretend that it doesn’t exist.
When I wake up on Sunday morning though, it’s not my alarm that seems to be blaring in my head. It’s my buzzer.
I groan and slip on my leopard print robe and pad my way over to the intercom.
“What?” I say angrily into the speaker, eyeing the clock on the microwave. It’s nine a.m. and I’d planned on sleeping all day long.
“Hey!” Steph yells, voice crackling. “If you don’t let us upstairs, I’m calling your mother.”
Ugh. And she would, too. Steph and my mom love each other.
“Fine,” I say, buzzing her in, unlocking my door, and then going into the kitchen to make myself a pot of coffee. All the caffeine is needed before I can deal with today.
Moments later, Steph and Nicola barge into the apartment.
“What the hell, Kayla?” Steph exclaims, tossing her purse on my sofa. Both of them look like they’ve just rolled out of bed, wearing pajama pants, flip-flops, and hoodies. “Where have you been?”
“I’ve been right here,” I say tiredly, opening the bag of coffee and inhaling deeply.
Steph walks right over to me, looking me up and down, as if checking for signs of injury or bodysnatching. “You’re ignoring our calls, our texts…”
I shrug and measure out the coffee into the filter before pressing the on button. “Didn’t feel like being social this week. Sorry.”
“Bram told us about the article,” Nicola says quietly. “We read it. It’s excellent, Kayla, really. He’s so happy with it…but…what happened?”
I sigh heavily and turn to face them, crossing my arms. “You mean why is my name not on it?”
“Yeah,” Steph says. “Who is Neil? Is that the same Neil we’ve met?”
I nod. We’ve all partied together.
“Yeah, the same one. He edited it and Joe thought it would be better if his name went on the byline, since I’m not actually a writer.”
“That’s bullshit,” Nicola says, frowning. “We’re not pulling your leg when we tell you it’s great. I mean, really, you should be proud of yourself.”
Am I proud of myself though? I don’t know.
I turn away. “Well, it is what it is. I’m over it.”
“If you were over it, you wouldn’t be avoiding your best friends,” Steph says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Do you need a hug?”
I swat her hand away and back up. “Absolutely not.” I look at them both. “Why are you both here at such an ungodly hour? Who gets up at eight a.m. on a Sunday?”
“Your friends,” Steph says imploringly, “who want to make sure you’re up and ready to go to the festival today.”
“Oh, hell no,” I say, shaking my head vigorously. “I’m not going to that. I’ve already missed two days. What’s the point of going to the third?”
“Two days that were a lot of fun,” Steph says. “Don’t miss the last one. It will take your mind off things, and I think you need to get out of your apartment before you start peeing into jars and letting your toenails grow long.”
“Like Howard Hughes,” Nicola adds.
I give her a dry look. “Yeah, I know who Howard Hughes is.”
“Please. Even Ava is going,” Nicola says. “She’s so excited.”
“Are you going to dress her up like a little fairy hipster?” I ask, picturing her daughter like all the feathers and headband wearing girls that swarm these festivals.
“Maybe.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I tell them. “But it’s Sock Sunday, and I have a lot of reading and napping to do.” I kick my leg out, showcasing the fuzzy knee-length socks with Minions on them.
“Fuck sock Sunday,” Steph says. “Do you know who else is going?” she adds conspiratorially.
I swallow, already feeling heat in my stomach. “Who?”
“Lachlan,” she says. She
adds a knowing little smirk.
“So?” I tell her, ignoring the flutter in my chest. Just the mention of his name and I feel myself light up from the inside, like a switch being turned on.
“Oh, come on,” Nicola says. “Don’t pretend you’re still not all—”
“All what?” I challenge.
“Lovestruck.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “Lovestruck? Please. This is me you’re talking about. Kayla Moore. Maneater extraordinaire.” Even though that phrase has kind of lost its shine.
“Okay, not lovestruck,” Nicola corrects herself. “Infatuated.”
“Horny,” Steph adds. “Kayla is just a horny monster with a raging lady boner.”
I grimace. “It doesn’t sound so good when you say it.”
“Phffft. Whatever. The point is, you need to get laid something fierce,” she adds. “This celibacy thing is not good for you.”
“While that may or may not be true, we all know it won’t be with him,” I say, tapping my foot, wishing the damn coffee would drip faster. “And I thought he wasn’t going to go. He told me he didn’t like crowds and that it wasn’t his scene.”
“Bram bought him a VIP for today. Somehow convinced him,” Nicola says. I look over at her and she gives me a hopeful smile. “You know, he leaves next Sunday for Scotland. This might be the last time you see him.”
I rub my lips together anxiously.
“That’s true,” Steph says. “You probably should say goodbye.”
I eye them both. “I don’t know,” I say reluctantly, even though in my heart I do know. I want to see him again. One more time. I know nothing will come of it, but I’ve become addicted to that high I get when I’m around him. I may not be lovestruck, but there is something so…I don’t know, refreshing, about feeling like a schoolgirl again with one hell of a crush. And I think Steph and Nicola know that, too.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll get ready. What time should we be there?”
“I’ll come get you at noon,” Steph says, smiling triumphantly as they both wave and flounce out of my apartment.
I exhale noisily and look over at the pot of coffee, which is finally done. I’ll drink the whole damn thing, then I’ll get ready.
***
When noon rolls around, I have to admit that I’m actually excited. It feels good to have my mind off of things, and even though I know that tomorrow is Monday and full of suckage again, and that this may be the last time I get to feel those butterflies when I look into Lachlan’s compelling eyes and conveniently brush my body against his, I’m committing myself to live in the moment. Today is only about today and nothing else.
Naturally, it also becomes about looking my best. I want to look good, but I also don’t want to become a parody like so many festival chicks. I settle on suede boots because I know how much dust and dirt gets kicked up in Golden Gate Park, leather shorts for the edgy factor, and a long plaid shirt over a low-backed tank top. Today is one of the few days I can get away without wearing a bra (hell, half the girls will be in bikinis), so I take advantage of that. I add a small crossbody bag and I’m ready to go.
Soon, Linden’s Jeep pulls up to the curb with Steph riding shotgun. I climb in the backseat and learn that Bram is driving Nicola, Ava, and Lachlan in a little bit.
“Hey, you guys,” Steph says, eyeing me in the rear-view mirror as we cruise down Geary Boulevard toward the park. “I just wanted to say that I know you guys have had your differences in the past, but you really need to start playing nice to each other.”
Linden and I exchange a glance.
“I am being nice,” I say.
“When am I not nice?” Linden adds at the same time.
Steph scoffs at us. “I’m not stupid. You guys fight like cats and dogs sometimes. Look, I know it’s weird and awkward that you guys slept together back in the day—”
“That’s not why it’s awkward,” I tell her quickly, leaning forward between their two seats. “It’s that he was such an ass to me afterward.” I thump my fist on Linden’s shoulder.
“Hey,” he says briefly, rubbing his arm. He glances at me with disgraced eyes before looking back to the road. “How many times do I have to apologize for being a bloody wanker?”
“How many times can you say wanker? Don’t you Scots have any other words?”
“Bollocks,” Linden replies.
“He has apologized a lot, Kayla,” Steph says. “And we all know he was a different guy back then. People make mistakes.”
“You slept with James,” I point out to her. Steph and Linden had a very long and complicated relationship before they finally professed their love for one another. “You know about mistakes, too.”
Linden freezes up and I know it’s still a touchy subject for their marriage.
“Anyway,” Steph says, putting her hand on Linden’s and squeezing it, “for all the messed up things we’ve done, I just want to see you two getting along. Kayla, if you stop giving Linden a hard time, then he in turn will stop being a dick. Right?”
I lean back in my seat, folding my arms. “Why does the pressure fall on me?”
“Because you’re the mature one here,” Steph says, and Linden laughs. She hits him on the shoulder where I just did, and he cries out again.
“What the hell, Steph? Can you girls stop hitting me?”
“I’m serious,” Steph says. “Kayla, do you forgive him?”
I sigh. “Of course I do. Bygones and all that shit.”
“Good. Now cowboy, stop being a dick to her.”
“I’m not.”
“Stop it anyway.”
“Fine.”
She looks at the two of us and then nods, apparently satisfied. “Good,” she says to Linden. “Because I’ve never ever seen Kayla act like a bumbling fool over any guy before, so I want to make sure we do what we can to make the two of them happen.”
“What?” I exclaim.
“The two of them?” Linden asks. “What are you talking about?”
“Lachlan,” Steph explains.
Linden cocks his head and eyes me in the rear-view mirror. “You like Lachlan?”
I bury my face in my hands and groan. “What is this, the fourth grade?” I raise my head and look at him. “I think your cousin is stupidly good-looking. Okay?”
“Don’t listen to her,” Steph whispers. “She’s got it bad.”
I can’t deny that, so I don’t. I say to Linden, “I thought you knew that. I figured that’s why you were talking to Lachlan about hooking up with the half-dressed chicks at the festival.”
He shakes his head, looking confused. “Is that why Bram was kicking me? I didn’t know. I just wanted him to have a little fun. The guy could use a little fun in his life.”
“I agree with that,” I mumble.
We ride in silence for a little while until I see Linden glancing at me with a dumb smirk on his face.
“What now?” I ask.
“I had no idea you liked the silent type.” He wags his brows at me. “I thought you liked the loudmouths more.”
“Oh, like you? Please. And just because I’m a loudmouth doesn’t mean I like loudmouths. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Bram already told me I’m barking up the wrong tree, as if I couldn’t tell already.”
Linden seems to consider that. “I dunno. He’s definitely not a relationship kind of guy, seeing as he’s leaving in like a week. But I don’t think he’d toss you out of bed.”
“Well, he kind of tossed me out of his apartment.”
He shrugs. “I’m just saying. He’s hard to get through to and he’s not easily persuaded, as I am sure you know at this point, but he’s still a dude with a dick. I say, make your moves. Again. Let him really know.”
I sigh. “He knows.”
“Does he? Try telling him.”
“He’ll reject me.”
“And I’m sure you’ll hold it against him for years to come,” he says dryly. “But if he doesn’t reject you...isn’t that wo
rth it?”
Steph grins at Linden and runs her hand through his hair. “Do you see this? Do you see what harmony and unity comes from you guys being nice?”
I try not to think she has a point. And I try not to think that Linden is right.
After driving around the Richmond district for twenty minutes, we finally find a parking spot and join the throngs of festival goers heading into the park. Linden grabs a few beers from a man on the street corner selling them illegally from his cooler and hands them to us.
I don’t drink beer very often, but I down that can in seconds. Maybe it’s the infectious energy in the air and the fact that I’ve been cooped up in my apartment for a week. Maybe it’s because I keep thinking about what Linden said and I need the liquid courage.
We slip in through the crowds, the VIP wristbands working just fine, and head towards the beer and wine tents. In the distance from stages unseen, muted music thumps through the eucalyptus trees, carried by the ever-present mist.
I know I should eat lunch first, but my initial instinct is to get in one of the massive lines to buy local wine in tiny plastic cups. Steph waits with me while Linden gets on his phone and tracks down Bram and the others.
By the time we’re both two-fisting glasses of red and fighting our way out of the growing mass of wine-hungry music fans, we spot Linden with Nicola and Bram, Ava sitting high on his shoulders and looking around in awe.
I don’t want the first words out of my mouth to be, “Where’s Lachlan?” but that’s exactly what I say.
Nicola, looking cute in a sundress and jean jacket, points toward the main gate. “It’s a non-smoking event. He wanted to finish his cigar.”
Cigar, huh? I’ve never been with a guy who smokes cigars. Not that I’ve been with Lachlan either, though I have to admit, Linden’s words are still floating around in my head. Should I really make a move? I mean…that’s nothing new to me. If I want a guy and he’s not coming up to me, then I’ll go up to him. I have no shame.