by Holly Rayner
“He couldn’t make it,” Mia found herself saying, her voice tentative. “I mean. The flight was canceled.”
Theresa and Charles shared a brief glance. “Oh. So you were still around the office? I thought you’d left,” Theresa said. She busied herself with her brushes, tossing powder through the air in great puffs. “Go ahead, darling. Sit down.”
Mia dropped onto the makeup chair, digging her nails into her palms. “So. He didn’t leave this weekend, then?” she asked tentatively.
Theresa gave her a curious expression. “Nope. He’s been in his office all morning, but I did see him when he came in. Seemed stressed, as usual, but didn’t give me any sass. He wouldn’t have been able to take my reply, anyway. I just can’t handle that sarcasm anymore. Not from him, or anyone.” She shrugged.
“Makes sense. You’re a strong woman,” Charles said, somewhere behind Mia. She felt cool foundation being brushed on her cheeks as Theresa got to work.
“Darn right, I’m strong,” Theresa teased. “Lift your chin, girlie.”
Mia did as she was told, allowing herself to fall into thought. James was merely yards away, potentially standing on the precise spot on which they’d made love.
She swallowed. “Do you ever wonder why he cares so much about this station, anyway? I mean, so many of the others under Chance Media are much bigger, with bigger audiences.”
“Yeah, but you know, this was his first,” Charles said, shrugging his shoulders. “He started this channel when he was 22 years old, and it’s like his baby. He puts as much time and energy into this place as he does anywhere else across the nation. It’s nuts, isn’t it? But also kind of sweet.” Charles winked at them both.
Theresa rolled her eyes. “Sure. Sweet. But I think we’d all like it if he’d leave us alone sometimes,” she affirmed. “Right, Mia? Like the other day; I ran out of there when I was sure he was about to talk to us. Did you get trapped?”
“He just had a few notes on my report,” Mia said, her voice soft. She tried to shake from her reverie, then. “And in fact, I think we’re running a bit late. Am I nearly done?”
“Almost,” Theresa said. She stenciled perfect eyeliner across Mia’s eyelids before sweeping mascara up her lashes. “Okay. Good to go.”
Mia lifted herself up from the seat, tapping lightly on her heels and following Charles out onto set. She felt confident and strong as she searched the crowd of cameramen. As far as she could tell, James was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he would sit this one out. Perhaps he meant to give her space.
Charles and Mia sat in their respective chairs, each donning their microphones.
“How’s the face. One last check?” Charles asked her, tipping his head.
“You look beautiful, Charles,” Mia laughed. “And me?”
“A bit soggy as always, my darling,” he said, grinning at her.
“You’re horrible.”
“And we’ll go into the next segment now,” Jeff, the head cameraman called out. “Ready? Five, four, three, two—” he shot his finger toward them, alerting them that the camera was rolling and they were live. Beneath the heat of the lights, Mia started sweating.
“Hello, and welcome to SNO News daily weather. I’m Charles Bannon.”
“And I’m Mia Daniels,” Mia said brightly. She felt herself fall into the ease of her news anchor voice. “Charles, what does the forecast tell us today?”
Charles launched into his well-practiced lines. “As you all probably saw, we reached record snowfalls for April here in Portland. Eight inches fell on Friday, but nearly none of that stuck. Mia, can we expect further snowfall as we move toward May?”
“Actually, Charles, it seems that will be the last of our late-late winter weather as this weekend finds highs of nearly 60 degrees. I think it’s time to exchange those snow boots to your spring hiking boots and get out there and smell the roses.” She gave her best winning smile, then.
As Charles swept on into a bit about how schools had canceled classes the previous Friday, something caught Mia’s eye behind the cameras. She squinted slightly, realizing that James had appeared in the half-darkness behind the production crew. His eyes were intent and entirely upon her. She felt heat in her cheeks—she wanted to clear her throat—but she was on camera, meant to speak in only a few moments.
Charles finished his section on the teleprompter and Mia glanced toward hers, urging herself to concentrate. After a few too many moments passed, Charles swept his eyes toward her, completing the broadcast for her as she sat wordlessly.
“And have a wonderful sunny week here in Portland. Put those boots away!”
“I know I will,” Mia said, finally finding her voice.
“CUT,” came Jeff’s voice once more. The cameras were off; the broadcast was over. He gestured angrily toward Mia. “What was that about?”
“I’m sorry,” Mia scrambled. “I couldn’t find the words.”
Jeff scoffed. “What does that even mean? That better be the first and last time, Mia.”
“It will be.” She felt meek, tired. She turned her attention back behind the production crew, certain she would see James’ face peering back at her, but he was nowhere to be found.
“All right. All right. Let’s regroup during commercial. The next segment’s about the ballet recital on the west side. It’s all you, Mia, so I don’t want any of this ‘I can’t read’ B.S. Can we get Theresa up here with makeup?”
Mia felt like crawling up into a ball under the counter. The fact that James had stood there, had watched her flub up—it was nearly too much to bear. She felt naked in front of him all over again. But this time, it felt like he had rejected her.
Theresa rushed toward her as Charles stepped away from the front news desk. She brought her brush to Mia’s cheeks and touched up her makeup tenderly, with light strokes. “What’s gotten into you, honey? Do you feel okay?” she whispered. Behind her, the production crew had begun twittering, falling into commercial break laughter. “That didn’t seem like a mistake you would make. You’re a professional, Mia.”
“I know,” Mia grumbled. She felt her stomach flip over. “Don’t remind me.”
Theresa looked at her with stern eyes. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s really going on,” Mia whispered. “I just got nervous because I saw James watching me. You know. It was too much pressure or something.”
Theresa nodded, her left eyebrow rising high. “I see. Well, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He bailed, left set. They said he’s on his way to Chicago for the meeting he missed the other day. We probably won’t see him for weeks now; guess that means you won’t have to worry about messing up again anytime soon.”
“I hope so,” Mia whispered.
Inwardly, she felt like she’d been slapped. James had simply skipped town without saying anything to her, without acknowledging the time they’d spent together. She remembered how joyous she’d felt when he’d gotten into her charade game. She felt he’d revealed a very special, very intimate part of himself. And now, he’d negated their entire day. She felt robbed. And, beyond anything, she knew there wouldn’t be a “next time” for them. He had probably swatted the memory away like a fly.
“Thirty seconds till we’re back on the air, Mia,” Jeff called out. His robust cheeks jiggled as he spoke.
“Good luck up there,” Theresa said, lightly touching up her nose. “And remember: Sir James isn’t watching you anymore. You’re totally fine. Just keep your head up.”
“Thanks, Theresa,” Mia whispered. Her stomach stirred, and tears swelled in her eyes. At this rate, she would be a mess on the air.
As Jeff did the countdown, however, and her words were drawn up on the teleprompter, Mia found herself rising to the occasion, just as she normally did. She felt her vocal chords revving into each word as she spoke about the ballet recital. And she delivered the send-off before commercial with certainty, without pause, almost as if she weren’t a 25-year-
old woman nursing a broken heart.
Jeff applauded her as the cameras clicked off, and she rose from her seat, giving him a slight nod.
“Thanks, Jeff. And sorry about earlier. It won’t happen again.”
“I know it won’t. Because you’re my champ,” Jeff said, snapping his fingers toward her. “We need you. The people of Portland need you. And those ballerinas—they need you most of all.”
Mia gave him a false smile, her gaze fixed on his awful teeth, cinched there between bulbous cheeks. She held herself back from rising to the bait.
She swept her hair off the back of her neck and headed to her office, where she could hide until lunchtime. Maybe then, she’d drive herself back to her tiny apartment and cry into that box of leftover pizza.
Or perhaps, she’d do the appropriate thing: drink a green smoothie, remind herself who she was. She had started from the very bottom, an orphan in a rough system, and now she was a news anchor, at the sunrise of her career. She couldn’t allow a man to distract her now. Not in a million years.
SEVEN
Two weeks later, Mia sat in her usual place in the makeup room, with Theresa before her, organizing her various brushes and babbling away. Theresa had been married for a few years, and generally, her chatter about her outside life involved complaints about her husband. Mia listened ravenously, wishing herself into what she thought of as a very quaint, very adorable environment. The last time she’d been at Theresa and Jack’s apartment, she’d curled up on their couch, a large throw pillow on her lap, enclosed in the warmth of the house. She knew the warmth in their home was pure, stemming from Jack and Theresa’s love for each other.
“You know, I love him. I really do,” Theresa mumbled in the corner of the makeup office, sharpening an eyeliner pencil. “But I swear to God, if he doesn’t start putting down the toilet seat, I’m going to kill him. You always say at the beginning of a relationship that it won’t bother you. You don’t see the little things, you know. They don’t matter yet. But then, suddenly, you’re two years into the marriage, and you want to take their head off because they didn’t put the dirty dish in the sink instead of next to it. Maybe it’s just a part of getting older. I don’t know.” She looked at Mia, her expression mock-serious. “Don’t ever get married.”
Mia tossed up both her hands, giving a slight grimace. “Not that I have any takers, but okay, I promise.”
“That’s silly, honey. You’re gorgeous. Look at you. Speaking of which, Jack and I were discussing setting you up with our good friend, Roger. Would you be open to something like that?”
“A blind date?” Mia asked. She tipped her head left. “I don’t think I’m quite ready yet, actually.”
“Oh, he’s great, Mia. You’d really like him. We met him in college. He’s an artist. Into painting and activism, actually. So very much your type. He didn’t understand how we could waste our nights at the bar when there was a whole world out there to be saving.” Theresa chuckled. “Doesn’t that sound like someone you’d want to take home with you?”
“Sounds inspiring,” Mia teased. “But I don’t know. I’m kind of off guys at the moment. I think I need to focus on myself for a little while.”
Theresa gave her a look. “Now, I know that’s the expression you tell your mom when you haven’t met anyone in a while, but you don’t have to use it with me. What’s going on, honey?”
Mia should have known she couldn’t escape the eye of Theresa. She swallowed, feeling a catch in her throat, but she wasn’t prepared to discuss James. Whenever his name came up at work, she felt her entire spine freeze. She felt her brain fog, and anger riddle through her.
She wasn’t sure why he had such power over her, especially given she’d hardly seen him since he’d ditched her that terrible Monday morning. She’d caught peeks of him talking to other colleagues in various offices all over SNO News, but she’d always darted, rabbit-like, toward the exits. She’d once spotted him laughing with Theresa, which had squeezed her heart. Was it jealousy, she’d wondered, or just a strange sense that the world was no longer one she understood?
“I’m just off them, Theresa. Seriously. The men in this town aren’t cutting it for me right now, and I need to focus on my career. I want to get promoted in the next year. If I’m still doing these silly fluff stories when I’m 27, I think I’ll just give up completely.”
Theresa shook her head, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t get all dramatic on me. I know you live for this job, no matter what you’re reporting. And if you keep your nose to the grindstone, bigshot James will notice you and put you on the next rung. He’s done it before with other anchors. I’ve seen it happen.”
“But I’m a woman,” Mia argued.
“And he definitely notices that.”
“What do you mean?” Mia gasped. Her eyes searched her friend’s face. What did she know?
Theresa flung her hands skyward. “He just watches you sometimes, is all. We’ve all been joking about it for a while now. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to make you self-conscious.” She scratched the back of her neck, easing into a slouch. “You aren’t upset, are you?”
Mia felt explosive. He had been watching her for years, just as she had been. Sure: she’d felt anger at his sarcastic words, at the way he’d trounced around the office, but she’d never been able to tear her eyes away from him for long.
“I think—” she paused, her head pounding.
“Mia, you look pale.”
Theresa reached for the trashcan and tipped it to Mia just in time. Mia vomited into it, throwing up her coffee and her morning muffin.
The heaving finished as quickly as it started, and she was left with a sour, aching taste in her mouth. She wiped her palm against her lips.
“Yuck,” she whispered.
“Oh dear. What did you eat?”
“Just a muffin,” Mia murmured. “And some coffee.”
Theresa frowned, uncertain. “We’ll get you some mouthwash before you go on. And just tell me if you need a bucket once you’re up there. Maybe you’re coming down with one of the spring colds going around.”
“I’m not going to vomit on screen,” Mia laughed. But she saw Theresa’s expression, and her smile faltered. “I mean. I don’t think I will.”
Theresa exhaled sharply through her nose. “Girl, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to be upfront with me. But not now. Mad Jeff is gesturing you to get on set. Go. Go!”
Mia smiled wanly and power-walked toward the news desk, placing herself in the seat beside Charles.
He gave her a warm smile. “You have a good night?” he asked her, flipping the papers before him.
“All right, and yours?” She refocused her mind from her sickness.
“Can’t complain.”
“All right, folks. We’re on the air in five, four, three—”
And then, Mia was thrust into the bright lights of live TV, her stomach churning, and confusion beginning to bleed through her. Her brain was turning on her with constant, manic thoughts of James, and now, her body was falling in on itself, causing her to feel dizzy and nauseous. She hoped and prayed that she’d get through the segment without incident.
Thankfully, when she opened her mouth with her initial ‘good morning’, she was right on cue. And she knew from the expression in the production crew’s eyes that she looked great. Would she be forced to pretend to be “just fine” for the rest of her life?
EIGHT
Mia stood in her apartment building, staring blankly down at her grocery bag. She hadn’t felt like eating in ages, but had forced herself to drive to the grocery store after work and leaf through the fruits and vegetables. Just a look at the meat section had flipped her stomach over, so she’d avoided it and opted for tofu. She had hardly recognized herself in the mirror at the checkout counter, she was so pale, almost green.
“I haven’t been able to eat without vomiting for days,” she’d told Theresa the previous after
noon.
“You do look thin, little Mia,” Theresa had said, her words soft. “Are you doing okay? Do you need to go to talk to someone?”
“No, no,” Mia had said, shaking her head. “It’s like something’s not right. I’m exhausted constantly, as well. Do you think I should go to the doctor?”
Theresa had pushed her eyebrows high, creating tiny wrinkles beneath her silky straight dark bangs. “I hate to ask this, Mia, but are you pregnant? It could be morning sickness, you know.”
Mia had scoffed, scrunching up her nose. “You have to have sex to get pregnant.” And her stomach had tossed and turned, alerting her that she needed to check.