"I know, Jonathan," I snapped. "But this isn't exactly Time magazine featuring a mother nursing her fourth-grader! This is Eric being a dick. How does that fit into a lifestyle magazine? Our last cover was about the lost art of blacksmithing!"
"I remember," he said drily. "You did a nice job with that, by the way."
"Was that a compliment?"
"It was."
I stared straight ahead. "Well, it doesn't make up for this."
"While we're discussing work, perhaps we could schedule your employee review."
"I think I'm suffering enough, Jonathan, don't you?"
"You can't avoid it forever."
"Can't I? I'm going to try."
"Now that you're here, and I'm here-"
"Jonathan. Please. Not now. I'm doing this pitch for you, okay? We'll do the review next week." Or not, if I could help it.
"You were late again this morning. That makes seventeen days in a row."
Jesus. "I'm sure you have more statistics back in a file in your office, just waiting to humiliate me. Let's wait so we can milk it for all it's worth, shall we?"
He sighed.
"You can always fire me, you know," I suggested.
"I was thinking that if you landed Eric as a columnist, I'd have to give you a raise."
I hadn't had a raise since I'd started.
And now that I was trying to support myself, a raise would be really helpful.
Jonathan glanced at me.
Funny. His eyes, which I could've sworn were blue this morning, looked very green now. And I wanted to see that little flake of gold again. I'd Googled the term he used-heterochromia. Very cool, making my own run-of-the-mill brown eyes feel very dull by comparison.
I adjusted my skirt. Oh, I'd gotten dressed very carefully this morning, let me tell you. I wanted to look chic, sophisticated, calm and so frickin' beautiful Eric would feel like his legs were shot out from underneath him. I'd squeezed myself into some horrible thigh-to-neck undergarment to make me look smooth and curvy, if not exactly svelte, and chosen a sleeveless black turtleneck dress, wide red leather belt, oversize mustard bag and leopard-print shoes with red soles (fake Christian Louboutins, very affordable). It had taken twenty minutes of blow-drying, ten minutes with the hair iron and three hair care products to get my cute little elfin cut to look completely natural and unself-conscious. Of course I'd been late for work.
"Having Eric with us would be very good publicity for the magazine," Jonathan said.
"I know." It irritated me that he had such a beautiful speaking voice.
"I think the pitch would be more effective coming from you."
"I know."
"And I appreciate you doing it. Thank you for not quitting." He slowed down for the Henry Hudson Bridge tollbooth.
So Jonathan was being nice, which made me even more off balance.
The thing was, I hadn't seen Eric since he dumped me.
I missed him so, so much. I missed feeling special. I missed his laugh, his beautiful thick hair, the way he got down on the floor and played with Ollie, barking at him till our dog ran in circles of joy so fast he was just a little brindled blur. I missed sex. I missed feeling like I was home.
"So where are we meeting?" I asked.
"The Blue Bar at the Algonquin."
Of course. If you were an aspiring writer, as Eric now seemed to be, you'd pick the most pretentious (and expensive) bar in New York City.
I let out a huffy breath.
By the time we'd inched through Times Square traffic, I was seething inside. I loved Eric. I hated Eric. This was not going to go well.
We parked in one of those underground garages that charges a kidney and both retinas for two hours, and walked up to the Algonquin. I might have to break it to Eric that Ernest Hemingway was dead, and they weren't about to be best friends.
Jonathan held the door for me, and I took a deep breath, sucked in my stomach (why couldn't I be more like Kate and lose weight in times of stress?) and went in.
There he was, already at the bar, martini glass in hand.
Everything inside me squeezed. Love, betrayal, anger, loneliness, everything, wadded into a tight ball of emotion.
"Hi," I said, and to my irritation, my voice was husky.
"Ainsley." He got up and kissed me on both cheeks. He smelled different, but the same. A new cologne, but still my Eric.
I had to press my lips together to avoid crying.
"You look beautiful," he said, smiling. I didn't answer. Round one went to Eric-I was more shaken by seeing him than he was at seeing me. "Jonathan. Good to see you. How are subscriptions?"
"Very healthy, thank you. We've seen a bump since your column."
Eric smirked. How gratifying for him that Jonathan, who'd clearly thought his blog was idiotic, was now wining and dining him.
"Shall we get a table?" Jonathan suggested, and we did, the blue light making us all look like aliens. The waiter came right over.
"What would you like to drink, Ains?" Eric asked. "I'm having The Hemingway, and it's delicious."
I glanced at the menu. Name aside, it was a girlie drink with fruit juice and a sugar rim. To be true to Hemingway, it should've been a shot of whiskey mixed with bull semen. "I'll have a Ketel One martini, extremely dry, two olives, please," I said. I could drink a real martini, thank you very much.
"Bowmore single malt," Jonathan said.
"On the rocks?"
"Good God, no." So round two went to Jonathan.
"I'll have another Hemingway, Jake," Eric said. Ah. He was friends with the server. How cute.
My chest hurt.
Eric wore a dress shirt unbuttoned a few, a gray suit jacket and jeans. His hair had grown in the weeks since I'd seen him, and he'd gelled it to stick up in front.
He looked hot, in other words.
"Ollie says hello," I said.
His eyes flickered. "How's he doing?"
"Great. Sweet as ever. Perhaps a little confused."
Eric looked down for a second. "Maybe I'll come see him before I leave."
"Still planning to go to Alaska, then?" Jonathan asked.
"Of course." He looked meaningfully across the table. "I made a commitment to Nathan's memory. I'm doing this for him, on some level."
"What about your commitment to me?" I couldn't help saying.
"We didn't have one." He gave me a sad smile. A sad, fake smile. My fists clenched in my lap.
"A trip that big must take a lot of preparation," Jonathan said, and Eric lit up and started talking about walking sticks and ice picks and the best kind of tent.
Our drinks came. Mine went down fast.
"I don't know if I told you, Ainsley," Eric said, "but I may have a book deal in the works! Isn't that great?"
"So great."
"It's about my cancer journey and, of course, the trip to Denali. My agent is fielding offers."
He had an agent now?
"Congratulations," Jonathan said. "And it brings up the reason we'd like you to stay with Hudson Lifestyle. Obviously, your column struck a nerve."
A nerve right in my heart, you asshole. I narrowed my eyes at Eric, who just smiled back.
Jonathan looked at me. "Ainsley? Why don't you tell Eric what we have in mind?"
"Before you start, Ains," Eric said, "I just want you to know that my agent is in talks with Outdoor Magazine, GQ and Maxim." He smiled. "So Hudson is feeling a little...provincial."
"That's incredible," I said. "I mean, they were never interested when the blog was just about you and your testicle. It was only when you crapped all over our relationship that things heated up. How will you sustain interest? Just keep dumping women after they've given you everything?"
"I understand your anger," he said. "Thank you for sharing it with me."
"And thank you, Eric, for so generously understanding."
Jonathan took a sip of his scotch and said nothing.
It didn't take a shrink to figure out why I was really here. I wanted to see him, to see if he was really sticking to his corpse guns.
God. What if he did come back to Hudson Lifestyle?
On one hand, it would be nice to be able to edit Eric's column each month, which would consist of me putting a big red X through it and saying you can't write for shit in a helpful, constructive way.
"A very big raise." Jonathan's voice was extremely quiet.
Eric frowned. "Excuse me?" he said.
"Nothing," Jonathan answered.
My ex-boyfriend looked pissy at that. "Tell me why I should stay with your magazine," he said, sitting back with his girlie grapefruit drink. He smiled, fully prepared to enjoy our sucking up.
I fake-smiled right back. "Well, Eric, as you no doubt recall, Hudson Lifestyle gave you a column when no one else would. You might remember that you did indeed pitch many magazines and blog sites to carry The Cancer Chronicles, and no one so much as returned an email."
His smile slipped for a second, then returned. "Times have changed. Fox News said I was the voice of the modern male."
"Actually, it was a reader comment on the Fox News website-in Sioux City, Iowa, that is-who said you were the voice of the modern male," I corrected. "Other commenters had more colorful names for you, which I'd be happy to list. Or maybe I'll start my own blog about men who exaggerate when they're sick."