Nate Butler
Subject: Making Waves
October 3, 2010, 6:03 p.m.
Subject Line pun intended. I’m so proud of you. You’re turning that no-name paper into a fuel source for shaky subscribers. I have zero doubt Seattle Waves will be a reputable ‘rag’ in no time. While you were a force to be reckoned with here in Austin, you’re a fucking hurricane now, Stella. You outgrew this paper and Texas far before you left it. I regret not giving you more leeway. Please, don’t hold back now. Not for anything or anyone. As much as I hate admitting this, seeing your growth there makes it even more apparent you made the right decision to go. You’re thriving. I’m proud.
Always,
Nate Butler
Editor in Chief, Austin Speak
Stella Emerson
RE: Subject: Making Waves
October 4, 2010, 4:34 p.m.
Nate,
I haven’t been taken seriously as a journalist all damned day due to your email. It was the first thing I saw this morning, and coming from my harshest critic, you know how much it means to me. So, because of that, I’ve been smiling like a lunatic and getting odd looks. You would think I would be used to that by now. I’ll be honest, I’m more in love now with this place than ever because I feel I’m on the precipice of something I can’t explain. I don’t love how much the fit feels right for reasons you’re aware of. At the same time, I’m embracing Seattle. I’m hugging her back, hard. So much so that I’m about to start house hunting. I know, right? Can you fucking believe it? I’m laying roots for the first time ever, and ironically, I’m not scared. It’s like I can picture it, and I’m already there, but Texas is always with me.
Love,
Stella
Stella Emerson
Subject: I’m Sorry
November 9, 2010, 9:00 p.m.
I know why you didn’t answer. I’m so sorry for anything those headlines might have made you feel. Running into Reid was completely unexpected. I don’t know if you want a single detail. I know I wouldn’t, but please know it wasn’t planned. I’m sure you will tell me not to feel guilty, but I fucking do. It hurts me so much to know you were probably blindsided by that picture. Please believe I don’t want any tension or resentment between us, but the sinking feeling inside me tells me it’s unavoidable. Nate, this is the first time in my life that I hate my profession and journalism as a whole. I never wanted to become any part of a headline, let alone one that could damage the two of us.
I’m sorry. I miss hearing from you and wish you would or felt like you could still talk to me.
Love,
Stella
Scrambling, I look up the headlines for November 9, 2010, and see a candid picture of Stella and Reid, tucked away and kissing on a side street in Seattle—and it’s no PG kiss. Not even close. Obviously, they thought they were hidden from view. The article goes on to identify Stella and speculate what this could mean for the Dead Sergeants’ notoriously single drummer. My heart sinks as I read my father’s reply.
Nate Butler
Re: Subject: I’m sorry
November 10, 2010, 3:00 a.m.
Don’t be. Texas is no longer your home, and it’s evident. You’re making another life. I think we’ve always known what that would eventually include. Please don’t let your worry for me overshadow your happiness.
Always
Nate Butler
Editor in Chief, Austin Speak
According to the time stamp, he replied to her at three a.m. from his office. A vision of my dad sitting alone behind his desk while staring at the picture pops into my head as a burn begins in my throat. I can only imagine what he must have felt as he tried to devise the right response for her. In the end, even though I’m sure he felt destroyed, he took the high road and, not only that, attempted to relieve her of the burden.
Stella Emerson
Subject: Headlines
December 13, 2010, 7:00 p.m.
Nate,
We’re engaged, and it’s going to print tomorrow. I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else but me. I wish things were different. I wish I still felt like I have the right to know you—and a large part of me is breaking right now knowing I’ve lost that right. I’m still going to make the case that I loathe that it’s happening and always will.
Love,
Stella
Nate Butler
RE: Subject: Headlines
December 14, 2010, 1:02 a.m.
Stella,
Have you forgotten all I’ve taught you? Any worthy newsman is aware of a national headline before the ink is laid. All I’ve ever wanted or will ever want for you is your happiness. Your engagement is already scheduled to print on page one in Austin Speak tomorrow. Congratulations.
Out of respect for your choice and for myself, this is goodbye, Stella.
Be happy.
Always,
Nate Butler
Editor in Chief, Austin Speak
Eyes misting, I catch sight of my father pacing his office, his phone to his ear. A million questions flit through my mind as I resist the urge to go back and probe into his past to quench my growing curiosity.
A few years before I was born, Stella Emerson Crowne left Texas and, from what I’ve gathered thus far, broke my father’s heart in the process. Mere months later, she married a rock star in a very publicized winter wedding, leaving my dad a casualty of her happiness. A casualty who’s been my rock throughout the whole of my life. A man who’s shaped me into the woman and writer I’ve become.
As a journalist himself, Dad not only had to endure reading the headlines but had a duty to report them as well. I have no doubt he assigned someone to cover her wedding day, owing to her association with the paper. Dragging my mouse over the file, I dig through the archives to see that’s the truth of it. A reporter named JJ, who left Speak years ago, covered the fairytale wedding in its entirety.
He had an obligation to his readers to report the stories they wanted, and because Stella held a desk at Speak, it cemented his fate as both spectator and reporter.
“Daddy,” I whisper hoarsely as my heart breaks for him trying to imagine how he was forced to endure that aspect of it.
Is that why he’s kept this hidden?
Was it humiliating for him?
My eyes remained fixed on him as he bends from where he stands and taps a few keys, squinting as he does so. I can’t even muster a smile as he practically presses his nose to the screen in an effort to read the words. Mom’s been on him for years to use his readers and even bought them in bulk and put them within reach in every imaginable space he occupies.
He’s as stubborn as they come, an inherited trait passed down to me.
Annoyed by whatever task he’s working on, Dad collapses into his chair, squeezing his worn stress ball. I scan for any more correspondence between him and Stella after his goodbye email—and I come up empty.
Was that the last time they spoke? Saw each other?
More questions flit through my mind as I grapple with the heaviness circulating through me. How long had they been broken up before she left for Seattle? How long after did he meet Mom? Pulling up my cell phone, I shoot off a text.
When exactly did you and Daddy start dating?
Her reply comes less than a minute later.
Mom: A hundred years ago.
What was the exact date?
Mom: February 2011. We met at a media party, and you know this. Don’t ask me when we got serious. He’s still my longest one-night stand.
They met mere months after Stella and Dad stopped communicating, but how long after they broke up?
I look up Stella’s last article for Austin Speak and see it was printed almost eight months before she left Austin, which indicates she might have quit the paper when they broke up. My phone buzzes again.
Mom: Why? Afraid you’re illegitimate? (tongue emoji)
Not funny.
Mom: What is this about exactly?
Just curious.
Mom: I’m at the store. Can you grill me later? If you come home tonight, I’ll cook.