“None of this is public fucking information.”
“Look, I know you don’t want it out, but it’s happening, and it’s my job to fish out the details. Although help from your father isn’t exactly newsworthy, considering it would be expected support. But if you’re so adamant about it, we can leave that part out. Either way, we’re reporting you’re releasing a debut album because apparently, you won’t, and I think it’s only fair that we hear from you, especially regarding your reasoning behind—”
“This is blackmail.”
“Hardly. It’s a chance to get your view in print.”
“It’s fucking blackmail to grant an interview.”
“Tomato, toe-mah-toe.”
“Tell me this, how is an exclusive in a regional fucking paper going to help promote my album?”
“First of all, your mother’s illustrious career started with this regional paper, and it’s about to celebrate thirty years in print, so a modicum of respect would be appreciated. A paper, by the way, which was ad-based and is now owned by a major media company that reports nationally and makes your point even more moot. I’m assuming the reason for your silence is that you don’t want the media’s help, but—”
“Doesn’t seem I have a fucking choice in the matter anymore, does it?” he snaps furiously.
“No. This is going to print with or without your say, so it would probably be in your best interest to put yourself on record with a viewpoint for your reasoning—speaking of which, we have a common goal. While you’re adamant about keeping your own father’s involvement with your career out of the story, I feel the same way. So, if you agree not to breathe a word of this to your parents, I’ll leave your father’s involvement in producing out of it altogether.”
“Pretty ridiculous, considering your fucking name will be on it.”
“That’s my cross to bear and my issue to deal with after the fact. However, this is my offer, and it expires in exactly one minute.”
This is where it gets tricky. If Easton disagrees, the lead ends here because if Dad catches wind, I’ll have to explain to him I was fact-checking for Rosie—after I found the emails. He won’t be happy, but he’ll be far less furious with me. I eye Dad over my monitor, hating myself briefly for the deception before pushing all my chips in.
“Easton, I really don’t want—”
Easton’s resigned sigh cuts me off before I can get any assuring sentiment out. “How soon can you get to Seattle?”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Don’t expect a fucking warm reception.”
My victorious smile is only dimmed by the pit growing in my stomach.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll text you once I lan—”
The line goes dead as I kick back in my seat, listing and mentally ticking off all the ways this can go horribly wrong.
If my father figures out that I am using his paper’s credibility or his past relationship with Stella to gain a false interview, he could very well fire me. Not to mention the damage it will cause to our relationship. My only cover for this is Rosie and will remain Rosie. But my advantage with Easton is I’m the only one who knows it.
But is it worth it?
Easton could be and probably is just as clueless about our parents’ past relationship as I am. The pregnant pause when I mentioned the paper tells me he may know enough to lead me to a missing piece. Do I really want to go this far for it?
Why can’t I just let it go?
Fed up with questions I could already have answers to, I do the unforgivable thing I shouldn’t. I open the emails and again begin to read.
“Explain this to me again,” Dad says as he thrusts a wooden bowl of my mother’s pasta salad toward me in offering as she lines my plate with garlic Texas Toast. Tonight, Mom has laid out a spread of my favorites on the large oak patio table on the back deck of our expansive ranch home. The patio borders endless acres of perfectly manicured grass. Though I moved out my second year attending UT, I dine with them twice a week. My gaze flicks past my doting parents, who continually fill my plate as I eye the stable full of our horses we never neglect to ride. Though Dad opts out most days, Mom and I share a deep bond in all things equestrian. Nostalgia kicks in as I scan the grounds with appreciation.
When I was young, I knew I was lucky to have the wide-open space in which I acted out my imagination. An imagination that kept me company until my diapers-to-adult best friends Holly and Damon came along, becoming staples in our family. My parents worked long hours to create their combined empire. The tradeoff was that their collective best friends gave me the siblings they didn’t provide. While Mom was born into inheriting her media company from my grandparents, my father worked his way in from the ground up with Austin Speak, becoming editor in chief at only twenty-six. After marrying, they collectively came together and became a reckoning force. Even with the resources, Dad has always kept the paper on a smaller scale. As I stated to Easton, it’s become a nationally recognized news source.
“Earth to Natalie,” Mom muses, drawing me back to them both.
“I’ll only be gone for three, four days tops,” I reiterate, pulling my attention back to and between them. Guilt and a lingering ache in my chest combine, taking my appetite as I push my food around. I’ve already come this far, so I decide to lay out more of my rehearsed excuses.
“I’ve already hit my deadlines,” I report to Dad as he studies me closely, “and honestly, I’m in need of a little R & R. I’m thinking I’ll take a little road trip.”
“Holly can’t go with you?” Mom asks as I sip my beer and shake my head.
“No, she’s got finals coming up.” Truth. But I didn’t ask her. This is a secret I plan to take to my grave. As close as Holly and I are, there’s not a chance in hell she’ll understand why I’m going. Truth be known, I don’t really understand it myself.
“Alone,” Dad repeats, his suspicion and concern dueling.
“Journalists do it all the time,” I admonish.
“For work,” he drags out as he calls bullshit. “Does this have anything to do with our conversation yesterday?”
“What conversation?” Mom asks, looking between us just as warily.
Shit.
“I think our daughter is seeing someone,” Dad speculates.
Thank God.
“No, I’m not,” I correct defensively, which sadly only makes me look more guilty. “I’m just steps ahead of everything at the office right now, and I want some me time. I haven’t taken any off since graduating,” I point out.
“True,” Mom says.
“I’m already narrowing down my articles for the thirtieth anniversary,” I turn to Dad as he mulls over my words.
“You seem confident.”
“It’s inherited.” That remark earns me a dazzling grin from him. “Besides, I’ve been reading Speak since I was five. Memory alone has served me well in picking out the majority of articles to highlight already, and we still have months before it goes to print.”
“Something’s up,” Mom weighs in, aiding Dad’s suspicions as I make peace with the fact there’s no chance of an acting career in my future. I’ll have to up my game tomorrow when I come face-to-face with Easton, or I’ll be screwed.
“Nothing is up. I’m just a little burnt out. I need…something.” Dumping more pasta onto my plate to keep my hands busy, I let a little fake annoyance through. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”