Page 51 of The False Flat

“That’s an understatement.”

“Erin is good at marketing, right?”

“I haven’t implemented her idea, but she’s not shy about marketing.”

“It is a good idea.” She rolled her eyes. “You made bold moves in your life. You picked up and moved, you rented an office, you signed two clients from a coffee shop because you took advantage of the situation. And now, you act like you want to throw your hands up because you’ve hit a couple bumps. You’ve barely begun!”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I—”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not letting you give up because you feel sorry for yourself. You’re the reason I’m pursuing my dream now when, for so long, I didn’t think I could. But I saw you doing it, and that changed everything for me.”

I was speechless, opposing thoughts hitting my mind at once. I wanted to be fired up by her pep talk, but she also didn’t have all the facts.

“Erin has a good marketing plan,” Deanna went on. “She just got fired. She needs a job.”

Her eyebrows bobbed.

I stared at her.

“Hire her! Hire Erin.” She’d had too much champagne.

“But, she’s in Minnesota. And my WeWork contract is up in twenty-two days. And maybe it would be easier if I just started looking for a job within an established company. It would be less stressful.” I wanted to impress and inspire, but my energy was tapped.

She closed her eyes, her lips flattening to a line. “Okay, let’s work through this. First, Erin used to live here. Maybe she’d consider coming back, but even if not, there’s remote work. I’m almost positive she’d be interested. Why else would she spend all that time practically planning your marketing event by email? Second, you need to renew your lease. You can’t end this at three months. And we are nowhere near considering that last thing. Don’t you remember Houston? You don’t need to go through something like that again. This is your business.” She stopped, her eyes glassy.

I held my face in my hands, letting her words wash over me. Deanna made it sound simple. But I thought about all the money I could lose. WeWork wanted longer-term commitments if they could get them. I couldn’t afford long term anymore. And Deanna was probably right about Erin, but if she was interested, would I be pulling her into a sinking ship? I couldn’t keep living by what might potentially happen. I needed a sure thing. And to top it off, I was not sure I could do this.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, wanting to please Deanna, wanting to be what she thought I was.

CHAPTER 20

THREE FEET BETWEEN US

I don’t like Grant. I don’t like Grant. I don’t like Grant.

Those were the seventh, eighth, and ninth times I had repeated that under my breath in response to him saying two words to me: “Hi, Penelope.”

I sat next to Grant in a large white van roughly two weeks later and picked at my seat belt in the row behind the front, counting off the nine reasons why I’d probably regret my decision to go to Bonnaroo.

Van roster: Me, Grant, William, Chuck, King, Halo. No Deanna. Deanna wasn’t going to Bonnaroo. She, Mere, and Keyondra had procured a huge catering gig (without penises). Deanna wasn’t going to Bonnaroo.

A skeleton was driving the van: Jack the Pumpkin King, to be exact.

My feelings for Grant were getting more muddled. He’d encouraged me to ride when I’d been hesitant after my accident. He’d talked—about trivial things: organic toothpaste and the best lighting for property photography—while riding by my side, far behind the rest of the pack. This weird connection we had made me comfortable and uncomfortable.

Grant smelled good, always the same, with slight variations: fresh-cut grass or pine or maple, always something from nature, always mixed with the faint hint of trail mix. Smelling your friends is acceptable, right? That’s allowed and doesn’t have to mean anything.

Grant’s girlfriend. He was off limits. A friend. The novelty of his attention would wear off, eventually. It had to because if it didn’t—

King’s crystal-wearing, zen-goddess girlfriend Halo, who didn’t believe in shaving her armpits, and incidentally, the only other woman in the van.

Elaine wasn’t in the van for some work reason. I couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. Elaine and the rest of this birthday party were meeting us there. Grant and I were friends.

No Chad. He’d accused me of taking time away from us, forbade me to go, then retracted his order when he saw my face and assured me I wasn’t the kind of girl who enjoyed camping and told me I’d be miserable. He probably wasn’t wrong, but I hadn’t wanted to back down, so I’d told him I was going whether he went or not. He decided not to come, and we’d had our first official fight as a couple.

Deanna wasn’t going to Bonnaroo.

Life crawled with complication, and Deanna’s idea hadn’t made things any clearer.