AVA

“Wait, this is where you work?” Bea asks, her eyes widening. We go through the revolving glass doors and end up in the wide, marble-lined lobby. I let her look around for a couple of seconds and drink it all in. It’s not my building, like I didn’t build it, but I do still feel pretty proud.

“Yep, this is the place! Fourteenth floor. I’ll show you my cubicle!”

“Oh good, a cubicle,” she repeats wryly. “I’ve never seen one of those before.”

We step into the elevator and I thumb the button for the fourteenth floor, sliding my shiny new access card through the slot.

“Be nice, Bea,” I scold her gently. “It’s just a start. Everybody gets in on an entry level, don’t they?”

“Not everybody,” she rolls her eyes.

I make a face, cringing. “You didn’t find anything yet?” I ask carefully.

She shakes her head, her lips pressed into a tight line.

“I can’t believe it,” she sighs. “I must’ve given out two hundred resumes, and only three interviews. Still nothing.”

The doors slide open and we walk out into the reception room. The receptionist looks up and smiles from behind her glass desk.

“This way,” I say, leading down the hallway on the left to the row of low partitions that divide the cubicles. Bea’s head swivels back and forth as she drinks it all in. It’s pretty nice. A brightly lit space, filled with twenty-somethings trying to battle each other for creative supremacy every day.

“What do you do here, exactly?” she asks in a low voice, like we’re in a library or something.

“Whatever they tell me to do,” I shrug. “Officially, my title is ‘producer,’ but that doesn’t really mean anything. Not like I’m a movie producer or something. I just, you know, produce things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Mostly PowerPoint presentations,” I chuckle. “Sometimes I even get to produce copies!”

She opens her eyes wide, dramatically nodding as though it’s the most interesting fact in the world.

“You should be president by the end of the week!”

We keep our voices down, but the urge to giggle is almost overwhelming.

“Can I see the studio? Maybe meet the actors or something? I like that Blake guy.”

“Oh, do you watch these videos?” I ask her. Somehow the thought hadn’t even occurred to me.

“I love them!” she sighs. “New media. I’m all about it.”

“Well, when I really am president, I’ll be sure to give you a job,” I assure her. “Let me just get my purse and we’ll go have lunch.”

Bea plops down in my swivel desk chair while I log into my computer, checking for new emails before grabbing my purse.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

“What is it?” she asks, stopping in mid swivel.

“It’s an email… from Ethan.”

She leans forward, intrigued. I scan the thing quickly. It’s a long email, more than I would’ve expected.

“What’s it say?”

“He wants to… go out? Next week?” I answer, confused.

It actually says a lot of things. But it’s weirdly mechanical, almost like a corporate status update. He even mentions that Ben got the oil changed on his Maserati. It seems weird.

“Are you going to go out with him?”

“No,” I answer softly, standing up.

“What you mean, no? Was it that bad?”

I look around the office, nodding at my supervisor, a couple of the interns. I like this place. This is a good fit for me.

“No, I already had to take a sick day. I need to focus.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she huffs.

“I mean, I don’t know,” I sigh. “I’m not sure what to do. I already broke things off with him. There’s no point going back to that, is there?”

“Well, is he going to buy you dinner? You’re not going to say no to a free dinner, are you?”

“I don’t know…”

“I mean, he is your boss. Maybe he just wants to check in? See how you’re doing?”

I shrug.

She rolls her eyes dramatically, nudging me with her shoulder and leaning over the keyboard.

“Here, let me help you,” she starts, typing with her long, clicky fingernails. “Hello, Ethan. Nice to hear from you. I’d love to go out to dinner, thanks for asking. Smooches, Ava.”

My eyes open wide. “Wait, did you just send that? Did you seriously just send him an email?”

She shrugs. “Yes, and now I’m famished. Can we go to lunch please?”

My head starts to spin. “What did you just do?” I demand. “You really just sent that email? Oh my God, I can’t believe you!”

“God, you’re so dramatic. Get your purse.”

She saunters out of my cubicle, and I snatch my purse and trot behind her, trying to keep my voice down.

“Bea, wait!”

But she just sashays toward the receptionist again. She’s very proud of herself, I can tell. My stomach churns ominously.

“Hold on,” I gulp. “Ladies room, now!”

I duck into the ladies room before we get to the reception area, my hands out to steady myself against the counter. The room seems to tip in front of my eyes and I breathe deeply, trying to get a grip.

“Jeez, Ava, I was just joking… are you okay?” Bea says, coming up behind me. She flips on a tap and wets a couple of paper towels that she hands to me.

I dab at my forehead, blinking over and over again.

“Bea, what were you thinking! I did not want to send that email!”

“You don’t look so good,” she mutters, concerned.

“Well, you just agreed to a date that I didn’t want!”

Her hand reaches out, and she pats my arm. “No, I mean it,” she says again. “You don’t look so good, Ava. You okay?”

I fan myself with my hand, shivering slightly. “I’m fine. Just adjusting to the new space.”

“Are you tired? Hungry?”

“Yeah, starving,” I admit.

“Nauseous? Dizzy?”

“Those too.”

She squints at me, staring me up and down. “Is your period late by any chance?”

My heart stops.

A mental image of a calendar pops into my head and I count back twenty-eight days, then a few days more... oh no.

“Oh my God, Bea.”

Bea snaps her giant purse open, plunging her hand in and digging loudly to the bottom. She pulls out a box.

“Why do you have a pregnancy test in your purse?” I ask her.

“It’s for my sister Julie. She freaks out like every other week since they started trying. I always have these,” she answers.

With shaking hands, I take the test from her and duck into a stall. Three minutes later, we’re both staring at the little plastic stick on the counter, holding our breath.

“So… what are you gonna do?” she whispers.

“I have no idea,” I answer, staring at the little plus sign, feeling my life flashing in front of my eyes. “First thing, I’m going to cancel that date.”

“Oh no you don’t,” she shoots back. “You need to keep the date. You need to keep everything normal, Ava. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts,” she insists. “Keep your job. Keep the date. Keep it all a secret. Not forever, just until you figure out what you want to do. Okay? You can do this.”

“Bea… my family… they hate him.”

She nods solemnly, stroking my arm sympathetically.

“We’ll figure all this out, Ava. We will. Everything’s gonna be okay.” She pauses. “You don’t regret this do you?” Her face is screwed up with worry and determination.

I can’t answer.