Chapter Twenty-Four

Brenna

My mom always said, give yourself twenty-four hours to grieve. Cry, eat ice cream in front of the television, wear grubby pajamas, and let yourself feel whatever you’re feeling at the moment. “Don’t try to push it away,” she said. “Just deal with it. Just let yourself wallow. What you resist, persists.”

When she’d first given me that advice – after I’d received the fuck-off form letter from Harvard – it hadn’t resonated.

“I don’t want to cry,” I’d told her. “I want to hit something. Like the dean of admissions.”

My mom had laughed. “Brenna, I know you’re on a rollercoaster of emotions right now. But you can’t let this dictate the rest of your life. Let yourself mourn, and then pull yourself right back up again. Bootstrap it, kid. You’re a Sinclair. We dust ourselves off and institute plan-B.”

I’d groaned. It had seemed so stupid, so trite. So Oprah Winfrey network.

And yet, my first thought after all this was to call my loving mom for her support. We’d cried together but then we’d strategized, and I’d come out of that cocoon of her love with a solid plan-B.

I’d closed the blinds and pulled the curtains down, ordered fifty dollars worth of Chinese takeout, and queued up a marathon of Real Housewives – my trashiest reality show addiction. Oh, and wine. Definitely couldn’t forget wine at a time like this. I’d walked to the corner bodega in pajama pants and a hoodie with giant sunglasses for six bottles of my favorite white blend, just daring the foreign cashier to judge me.

“All of this?” the cashier had asked with a snicker. ”For you? Aren’t you kind of tiny?”

“I’m having a bad day,” I said, spearing her with my best ‘don’t fuck with me’ glare. “Keep the change.”

As soon as I arrived back home, I flopped on the couch, determined to stay there until the mission of mourning reached completion. My career as senior reporter for Sport Taste remained at the top of the grief list. It was hard not to sink into the pit of depression I felt circling around me like a hungry shark. Ever since my dad had taken me to baseball games as a little kid, I’d known I’d wanted to write about Major League Baseball. It represented spring, renewal, and America.

But that’s over now, I thought as I stuck a spoon into a full carton of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia welcoming the sugary sweetness as it slid down the back of my throat. And now onto something bigger and better.

I tried not to let intrusive thoughts enter my head. I wondered if I’d even be able to get a reference from Nina – or if I’d be blackballed. I’d be lucky to get a verification of employment. I wondered if Riley would publish some exposé about my “relationship” with Rhett.

Most of all, I wondered about Rhett’s thoughts. Despite his easygoing nature, he was something of a cipher. I knew that behind those blue eyes and that cockeyed grin, Rhett held his real hand close to his chest. After all, I barely knew anything about him…and I also knew that wasn’t because of my memory loss. He was one of those guys who threw out emotional tidbits like fish food. I remembered the time we walked around Yankee Stadium and Rhett told me about his friend from high school dying in a car crash. Had it been a lie? Was Rhett trying to reel me in with sympathy, treating me like a confidante in order to wear me down for the big seduction?

Just as I lifted the bottle to pour myself a second glass of wine, my phone buzzed on the table in front of me. My heart leapt in my throat.

Nina!

I shot back a swig of alcoholic fortification before swiping. “Hello?”

“Hi, Brenna?”

“Yes, this is she.”

“Brenna, this is Dani Banks – Nina’s assistant. How are you?”

My heart slammed against my ribs. Why would Dani be calling me from Nina’s phone?

“Um, fine.”

“Good,” Dani replied. “Listen, Nina was hoping you could swing by the office in a little bit, she wants to speak with you. Are you available to come in today? I’m sorry about the short notice. It’s important.”

I glanced down at my ratty pajama pants. “Uh, sure.”

“Good,” Dani chirped. “Can you be here in thirty?”

I groaned inwardly as I reached up and felt my greasy pile of hair. “Give me an hour.”

“Okay,” Dani said. “Thanks, Brenna. See you soon.”

As soon as we hung up, I sprinted into the shower. After briefly scrubbing shampoo and conditioner into my hair, I ran a razor up both legs. When I was done, I pulled on my smartest outfit – a two-piece grey suit that fit snugly around my hips and bosom. I’d worn it when I interviewed with Sport Taste for the senior reporter job, and I thought of it as my lucky charm.

This way, even when Nina officially fires me, at least I’ll look good. The one glass of wine I’d drank faded from my system and took the liquid courage with it – vicious anxiety returned to nip at my senses.

As much as I wanted to take a cab to the offices, I knew I shouldn’t be throwing money away…especially after that Chinese takeout binge. Instead, I took the subway and tried not to groan as we crawled through the underground streets of New York City. Taking the train in the middle of the day had a reckless, almost holiday-ish feel to it – like skipping school, or blowing off work for a bar crawl. I tried to relax and read my Kindle, but nerves blurred my vision, and I kept re-reading the same sentence. I tried to imagine how Nina would put the news.

“Brenna, you’re fired.”

“Brenna, this security guard will watch over you while you empty your desk. If you try to return to the premises, please be aware that I can and will have you arrested.”

“Brenna, your contract has been terminated immediately. You’ll receive an invoice in the mail detailing what you owe to Sport Taste. If you cannot pay within twelve months, a warrant will be issued for your arrest.”

By the time I got downtown, I struggled not to hyperventilate. A quick glance in my compact yielded red, sweaty cheeks and messy hair, but I didn’t have time to stop and fix it. I had to get to Sport Taste as soon as possible – or else I was really going to be screwed.

The elevator seemed to crawl. By the time the doors dinged open, and I stepped into the once-familiar office, my legs wobbled underneath me. A loud din of chatter and conversation floated to my ears, but as soon as I started walking through the cubicles, a dead silence fell over the entire floor. I heard whispers and isolated giggles. Great. I bet Nina sent out an email telling everyone that I’d been fired. How embarrassing.

I steeled my shoulders and strode forward. The few times I tried to make eye contact with one of my now-ex coworkers, they all looked away as if meeting my eyes would cause them to obliterate into dust. Finally, I made it to the other end of the floor and stood in front of Nina’s closed office door. A rush of heated voices argued on the other side.

“Oh, Brenna!” Dani rushed over to me. “I’m so glad you could make it. Nina will see you now.”

“It sounds like she’s busy…”

“Now,” Dani repeated. Her frozen smile didn’t cover her quavering voice. Damn, this is going to be bad. She reached down and opened the door to Nina’s office, pushing it forward.

I gasped. Riley, Rhett, and Nina sat in a face-off. Riley’s crimson face grimaced at the sight of me, but Rhett looked like he’d just seen an episode of Ghost Whisperer after eating spicy Mexican take-out. Flashes of our last interlude and my brazen behavior popped into my mind, sending my already galloping heart straight into orbit.

I blushed beet red as I stepped inside. “Hello, Nina. Dani called and told me you wanted to speak with me. That it was important?”

Nina nodded, businesslike as always. Unflappable. “Yes. Riley, you can leave now.”

Riley got up and skittered away, her brown hair covering her mortified face as she rushed out of the room.

“Brenna, sit,” Nina said, gesturing to the chair that Riley had vacated. I sat down too quickly and winced.

“Watch this, please,” Nina said. She turned her laptop toward me and pulled up a video, making it fill the entire screen. When she pressed play, I frowned.

“This is outside of Yankee Stadium,” I said.

Nina shushed me, holding a finger in front of her mouth. It was obviously surveillance footage – and for a few seconds, I wondered what she wanted me to see. Then I saw grainy figures – myself and Rhett Bradshaw – walk into focus. Nina turned the volume up, and Rhett’s screaming caused me to jump an inch off my upholstered seat. I’d never heard him raise his voice like that. To a woman.

And that woman was me.

“How the fuck do you sleep at night, knowing you’re trying to ruin my life?” Rhett yelled. I watched his on-screen face turn red with anger. “You’re not a journalist, you’re a bulldog.”

“It’s not like I made that up,” I yelled back. “You give me plenty of fodder for ruining your life. You make your own choices. You’re just lucky I leave most of it out. You force me to report about you.”

“You need to back the fuck off,” Rhett said in a huff, his hands flailing through the air. Then, he crossed his arms over his muscular chest. “Can’t you find a new hobby or something? Christ, find some other poor schmuck to rake over the coals.”

“None of them are as interesting as you,” I snapped. “You make it too easy, Rhett Bradshaw. As a journalist, you think I can walk by the low hanging fruit without snapping it off the vine?”

Nina reached down and paused the video. She looked at me.

“Brenna, I’m only going to ask you this once, and you better be honest with me. Have you been in a relationship with Rhett the whole time you’ve been writing hit pieces on him?”

I shook my head, shock and awe clouding my judgment. Even though my memory still hadn’t fully returned, seeing the video jogged something in my brain. I remembered that day. Hell, if I closed my eyes, I could practically feel myself there now. Rhett had confronted me after the first of many hit pieces came out…and here it was, caught on video.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t start…” I trailed off, blushing. “Nothing happened between Rhett and me until after my head injury.”

Nina nodded. She enlarged the video, then pointed to a date at the bottom of the screen. “This is the Yankees’ surveillance footage for the day after the piece was released,” she said. “And provided you didn’t stage this argument, it proves that Riley Buxton was lying about your involvement with Rhett Bradshaw.”

I nodded again.

“Trust me,” Rhett said. “It wasn’t staged.” He looked very sober, sitting there with a baseball cap twisted between his hands. He faced Nina, acting like I wasn’t even in the room.

“Okay,” Nina said. She sighed, closing her laptop and sitting behind her desk. “Brenna, I’d like to ask you to come back to Sport Taste.”

My jaw dropped. “What? Really?”

Nina nodded. “Yes. Although, I would like you to take some time for yourself first. Maybe take a trip, you know, I want that brain to be working again. I was thinking, how about if you start back up with us next month? You’ll be paid for the time you don’t work,” she added. “I don’t want you to feel punished. None of this is your fault. I’m sorry I wasn’t as understanding of the nature of your injury as I should have been as your boss. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

I nodded quickly. Tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked them away, not wanting to cry in front of my tough as nails editor.

Nina nodded again. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we’re glad to have you back. You’re an asset to this publication and to the New York Yankees. In spite of what anyone else might think.” She gave Rhett a pointed look.

“I…thank you, so much,” I said with a breathless sigh. “This is such a relief.”

“I can understand that.” Nina gave me a rare smile. “Now, why don’t you go get started on planning that trip for yourself, hmm?”

“Thank you again,” I said as I stood, wiping my palms on my skirt.

“Of course.” Nina glanced at her watch. “And if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting to run to. Dani!” She grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and darted from the room, leaving a cloud of Yves Saint Laurent Opium in her wake.

When I got up to leave, I frowned. Rhett had somehow slipped out of the room while I’d been bemused over Nina’s sudden about face. Part of me felt relieved that he’d left me alone with my thoughts and emotions, but another part of me wished that he’d hung around.

Sport Taste buzzed with loud conversation when I emerged from Nina’s office. As I walked through the cubicle farm, a couple of people stood up and clapped, or patted me on the shoulder. I smiled self-consciously. It felt good to be back home, even if I wouldn’t be returning to work for another month or so.

I felt dazed as I walked out of the office and waited for the elevator. Almost surreal, like a dream that wouldn’t allow you to wake up before it’s over. I even pinched myself – as embarrassing as that was to admit. It hurt too, so I grinned. This is all going to work out. Finally!

Just as the elevator doors dinged open, the door to Sport Taste opened. I frowned – was Nina going to come running after me and tell me that she’d made a mistake? That she just didn’t want to fire me in front of all those people?

When I spun to look, I saw Riley carrying a cardboard box of her things while flanked by two beefy security guards. When she saw me, her cheeks flushed red, and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

“Hi, Riley,” I said casually, not able to resist the barb that she so richly deserved. “Taking a leave of absence?” I cocked my head to the side and gave her an innocent smile. Direct hit. “Need to get a few things straightened out in your head?”

Riley’s brown eyes blazed angry fire. “Fuck you,” she muttered.

Just then, the elevator doors opened, and the guards hustled her inside. One of them held his hand between the doors. The bitch didn’t even have the good grace to look resigned to her fate or sorry about what she’d done. Piece of garbage. I hoped she’d rot as a waitress in a cheap diner and never work in journalism again.

“Hey, you coming?” the guard asked with a sweep of his hand inside the car.

I grinned at Riley. “No thanks,” I said with a smile. “I’ll wait for the next one.”

As the doors pinged closed, I didn’t wish her well.