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“So where’d you get this idea, Callie?”
“From Jonah.”
“Your boss?” His brows go up. “Interesting.”
“He goes here every morning. I thought it would be nice to do something on the disappearing diners in our neighborhood. Paul actually knows a few other owners in the area and offered to connect us.”
“Good idea.” My dad nods his approval and I practically buzz with pleasure. “We can branch out to the other boroughs too.”
“No, Dad.” My voice comes out more forcefully than I intend, and my father’s head snaps up. “I mean, no, because I really think we should focus on local neighborhood items.”
“Callie,” he says. I steel myself for another conversation about how he wants more for me, how he won’t accept my ideas.
“Don’t.” I speak around the lump in my throat. “I know you’re going to tell me that you don’t want this for me, but I want this. I love reporting. I have so many ideas. Really good ones. Did you know that the neighborhood that reads our paper the most is this one? Even on the website, Upper West Side residents are our most voracious readers. And the articles that get the most traction are the local interest pieces, not the ones about city politics. And the celebrity gossip? People love it. Why do you think I spend so much time getting photos of Jonah? Yes, I sell them, but to the people around here, he’s a local. They care.” My dad stiffens as I speak.
I’ve gone too far. My blood rushes in my ears as I think back to Jonah telling me this is all my dad has. I’m undermining him. What would Jonah do? He’d stick up for himself. I know he would. And he’d stick up for me too. You’re smart, Cal. I lift my chin while I wait for my dad’s response. I might be a mere reporter from the Upper West Side, but there’s a billionaire out there who closed a deal last week because of me.
My dad’s eyes are calculating. “You know, Callie, I think you’re right.”
“I knew you would—wait. You do?”
“I do.” He sighs. “To tell you the truth, I’ve felt like we didn’t have direction now for years. I’ve tried, Cal, I have. But I’m tired. I don’t have it in me to stake places out for a photo, or interview people all day. Hell, I’m winded after a brief walk.”
“That’s not true,” I protest, my heart clenching at the thought of his health.
“It is. The fact is, this paper has been like my child for a long time.” He settles his ever-present cap on his head. “After your mom left, you and the paper were the only things I had.” His voice is rueful. “I tried to force you to fly because I didn’t want this life for you. It’s lonely being a reporter, Callie. The hours are weird and demanding, and you might be forced to choose between your integrity and something else.”
I squirm internally but keep my face calm. That’s exactly what I’ve been struggling with. I was planning to investigate Jonah, but it never felt right.
“I love it, Dad. I want this.”
“I believe you, Cal.” He gives me a smile. “You’ve always stuck by me. You’ve earned this. But don’t think I haven’t noticed how hard it is for you to live with me. That’s not the life I want for you. I can hand some of the reins over for the paper, but I want you in your own place.”
“But you need me.”
He shakes his head. “Not at the cost of yourself.”
In my head, I hear Jonah telling me be more selfish, so instead of arguing, I say, “Okay.”
My dad smiles. “Starting this week, do you want to publish your articles as editor-in-chief?”
I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face. “Hell yes.”
* * *
I’m practically floating by the time I get home later. My dad peels off to meet a friend of his for a beer, and I settle in with my notes from Paul’s interview. He was a great interview subject—honest, funny, thoughtful. The article is going to be a crowd-pleaser. My fingers fly over the keys as I type. I have so many ideas for articles about this. We could do a whole series about the different diners, and we could ask local residents about their favorite meals from each. Maybe even Jonah.
The thought makes me smile, and I pull out my phone to tell him.
Callie
Mind if we interview you about the diner?
I pause before I send it. This is a mistake. I delete the message. Jonah hates the paper and every time I bring it up, he goes cold. He’s not going to do an interview. I toss my phone aside and ignore the ache in my chest while I finish the article.
I’m in bed later, watching a movie, when Jonah calls. I jump at the sound of my phone ringing, and then carefully press accept. Maybe he didn’t mean to call me.
“Callie.” His low voice rolls over me.
