“There’s more, the best part—” He paused for dramatic effect here. I blinked slowly at him. “A move to New York!”
“Wait, what? New York City?”
“Manhattan.” He grinned thinly. “A gorgeous apartment in a fantastic area.” He cleared his throat. “They want me there next week.”
“Next week? But you just found out today?”
“Well, it was official today. They mentioned the position, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
“But we talked about you leaving. We never talked about stayingand a promotion.” I was missing something and felt like I was living in a different world than he was. This wasn’t the sort of promotion that came out of the blue. He had to have known.
“I tried to talk to you, but you know how you get. If you even leave your office long enough to talk.” He scratched at his neck, avoiding my gaze.
I slumped forward, arms wrapping around my middle.
“I can’t go to New York. My article is due to the editor in three weeks. It’s supposed to publish before the end of the year. I can’t even think about packing or moving.”
He took another long drink as I spoke, and his eyes hardened as he listened. When he set down the glass bottle with a smack of his lips, he sighed and said, “I kind of thought when I told you the big news that you could maybenotfinish the article. We won’t need the money. I mean, technically, you haven’t even written it.”
My insides flipped around inside my body, like a raw egg being spun, and then stopped suddenly.
“Because I’ve spent the past year getting insider information. I was collecting interviews in secret. So much data combing and collection,” I explained as the dull throb between my temples grew more demanding.
“But you haven’twrittenit.”
“I gave an outline to my editor. It’s already mapped out. We’re well past the point of no return.”
“You don’t think it’s going to look bad if they find out my girlfriend is trying to bring down someone in the same industry?” heasked, arms crossed.
“You aren’t even supposed to be in this industry, helping the rich get richer.” I scoffed.
“I knew you’d be like this,” he said with an eye roll.
He wore the same face as when we were at those awful work parties, and I talked too long about the environmental impacts of oil fracking or microplastics. Like I was an embarrassment. We used to be on the same page.
I placed my hand on my chest to try to stop my gooey insides from spinning out. “I thought you wanted to make a difference?” I asked. “To help people.”
“This would help people. It would helpus.” An angry flush spread up his neck. “You’re being hyper-self-indulgent about this. This is life-changing money. This is a great opportunity. I hoped you might be more supportive.”
“It’s not what we planned. Where is this coming from? How am I supposed to choose this?”
“It shouldn’t even be a choice,” he snapped. “This is our life. Why are others’ lives more important? I can give you a future we only dreamed about. Never worrying if our kids will be able to take trips or sign up for sports because they’re too expensive. Never wondering if there will be gifts from Santa or getting made fun of for wearing knock-off brands. Don’t you want that?”
My throat tightened. Too many thoughts rammed each other inside my head so that nothing got out.
“That’s not fair,” I pointed out.
“You’re not thinking this through.”
I scoffed loudly. All my brain did was think things through. It never quieted or stopped until I got lost in research until it had a purpose.
“I know that your career is important. I have always supported you,” he said.
“Until it negatively impacts you.”
“Now you’re not being fair,” he said.
“You’re asking me not to publish a story that will save lives.”
