“I’ve had calls from three networks over the weekend asking about the vlog,” Melissa informs us in her calm, authoritative tone. “I haven’t set any meetings up yet, and obviously we need to discuss it first, but is this something you’re interested in pursuing? There’s a lot of money involved, whether we simply license the idea for the show or keep you two on as hosts, which is actually what they seem to prefer.”
“Are you serious?!” Owen says, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “Jesus! Of course we’re interested—”
“We are?” I sputter. “But—”
“This is fantastic!” Owen goes on, ignoring my hesitation. “We can do more dates. Tons of dates. I’ll date every woman in Los Angeles if I have to…”
His enthusiasm sends a wave of nausea through me. I’m not going to sit around watching Owen date every woman in Los Angeles for fun and profit while I fake-date every slimy guy just to keep up. I don’t want him to date anyone else. And on top of that, I don’t want to be on TV. This isn’t where I want my career to go. This is, in fact, the furthest thing from where I want my career to go—and our relationship. Because Owen’s never going to settle down with me or anyone else as long as he’s the internet’s—no, primetime’s—favorite manwhore.
He’s still pitching ideas to Melissa, completely oblivious to my discomfort. “Maybe for season two we can do a segment on second and third dates, even. Or people can suggest dates for us to go on, or I can do an episode where I just answer viewer questions…”
My heart sinks so hard I can hear it thump to the floor, my skin crawling with cold sweat. Doom-laden emptiness fills me from the inside.
“Sounds like we’re set then,” Melissa says, looking up from her screen. “When should we set the meetings? I think sooner rather than later is best, since we’d want to get in before pilot season and—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I can’t do this. I won’t.”
The sudden silence in the room is deafening.
Melissa looks at me with a disappointed sympathy that is even more crushing knowing that I’m about to tell her something she’ll like even less.
“Margo—” Owen starts, but I hold up my hand to stop him.
“You can still do the show without me. I’m sure you’ll find someone else who’d be happy to provide the female point of view. In fact, Agnes might be a good choice.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Melissa muses.
“I hardly think switching hosts in mid-stream is the right way to go forward with this,” Owen protests.
“There’s something else,” I say. They both look at me. I swallow hard, then stand up straighter. “I quit. I’m putting in my two weeks notice today.”
Owen’s jaw drops. “You’re quitting? Over the show?”
I laugh, even though my heart is breaking. “No. That’s not why I’m leaving. I was going to tell you today anyway but…well, I guess it has to be like this.” I glance at Melissa, who—unlike Owen—doesn’t seem shocked at all. “I’ve been offered a job at the New York Month. I accepted it today and I’ll be moving to New York at the end of the month.”
The only white lie is the part where I officially accepted, since I still haven’t called Cassandra back. But I suddenly know in this moment that taking this job is the right thing to do. Saying the words out loud just cements my decision.
“Congratulations, Margo,” Melissa says after a moment. “I can’t say I’m surprised, honestly. I knew when I hired you that you’d be working at a place like that some day.”
“Thanks,” I shrug, feeling both incredibly lost and incredibly exhilarated.
I see that Owen’s about to speak, but Melissa continues, “Ok, listen. We’ll talk later about how much time you have left and what we’ll do with your workload. Owen: talk to Agnes or else start thinking about who else can do the show. If I decide to keep it going. We’ll table the network meetings until you’ve decided on a new co-host. That’s it for now.”
Dismissed, Owen and I leave Melissa’s office and make our way back to our desk. When I reach my chair I feel Owen’s hand on my arm as he spins me toward him, his face twisted with anger and amazement.
“What the hell was that?” he hisses in a low voice meant not to be heard, though his face is broadcasting that something’s wrong to the whole office.
“What?” I ask, equally confrontational.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this job?”
I open my mouth in astonishment at his tone. “Excuse me?”
“You should have told me. Or at least mentioned it. Why the fuck would you keep that a secret?”
“Why would it even matter?” I shake his hand off roughly and turn to look him dead in the eye. “We’re ‘just friends,’ aren’t we? You’ve made that abundantly clear. And besides, shouldn’t you be gearing up to date ‘every woman in Los Angeles’ anyway? I’m sure if I stuck around it would only hold you back.”
Owen grits his teeth and glares around him, causing the few people who have stopped to check out why we’re standing toe-to-toe at our desks to pretend they’re not watching.
“I only said that to keep the dating show going,” he says low and hard. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It doesn’t matter what you meant, Owen—the fact is, you can’t commit, and I never asked you to. But beyond what you and I are, or were, or might have been, this job could change my career, change my whole life. I’m not giving it up to stay here and stand by in the hope that you might change into a completely different person.”
There it is, the ugly truth, the fear that’s been nagging at the back of my mind all along.
I turn around and pull out my chair but Owen swings himself back in front of me.
“Like you’re one to talk about commitments?” he says, voice louder now, a silence across the rest of the office indicating we’re the main show. “Were you just having as much fun as you could until you up and moved two thousand miles away? And exactly which part of hiding your plan to make a life-changing career move and relocate across the country qualifies as being a good friend?”
“It wasn’t a plan. I just decided.” I cross my arms, angry and defensive even though I know he has a point. “Besides, it’s not like I actually believed I might mean more to you than any of the other women you date.” I’m lying. I know what we had was more than that. Or maybe I just wanted it to be.
I feel a friendly arm wrap around my shoulders and pull me away, see Tom do the same to Owen.
“Hey guys,” Agnes says soothingly beside me. “Let’s cool it, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Tom says, “maybe this isn’t the place to be having this conversation, huh?”
I let Agnes guide me out of the offices, not because I’m suddenly embarrassed, or self-conscious about all the people around us, but because there’s nothing more to say.
19
Owen
Karma’s got a hell of a kick to it.
The last time I saw Margo, the office had thrown a going-away party and set out some drinks and cake for her. In between all the congratulations and eager questions she got from our coworkers, she and I only managed to exchange a few words. Polite, formal, empty words—as if Margo was trying to make me understand what ‘meaningless’ really means.