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Astrid beams. “It was my mom’s jewel. I wish I could devote more time to it, but with my recording schedule, and writing new songs, I just can’t make the time.”
“Thank God for Castle.” It almost feels wrong to say that since I gave Astrid a hard time when she hired him on as manager.
“He gave me his resignation last night.”
My head snaps to the left to look at my cousin. “What?”
“He’s leaving New York.” She sighs. “He has family out west and there’s a job that’s his if he wants it. It’s at a radio station. Something local but he wants to give it a try.”
Shit.
As much as I want to fill the void of his absence, I don’t have the time.
“I’ll need to start looking for someone right away,” Astrid says. “Where’s that Help Wanted sign we had? I want to post it in the window.”
Penny steps forward, dusting off her white pants now, too. “Could I apply?”
My gaze darts to Astrid to gauge her reaction. I see instant relief in her expression. “You want the job?”
“I’ve worked retail. I was the manager of a clothing store back in Rhode Island,” she goes on, “I should also mention that I love music. Old, new, country, jazz. You name it. I love it. Go ahead, quiz me.”
I already know by the smile on Astrid’s face that she’s going to give Pen the job, but she plays along.
“Give me the name of the local band who released their first album a few years ago.” She pauses. “They’re music is next level. The band consists of three sisters, and…”
“Cupid Karma,” Penny blurts out. “If you’re not talking about Cupid Karma, you should be.”
Astrid races toward her with her hand outstretched. “You’re hired. When can you start?”
Gaines: I can’t tonight.
This message may have just arrivedon my phone, but it a carbon copy of the one I received yesterday when I was with Penny and Astrid at Vinyl Crush. He sent a similar message three days ago, but added work as the reason he couldn’t meet up with me.
Penny peers at me over the menu in her hand. “What’s up, Els?’
She brought me to Crispy Biscuit for lunch today so she could give me a condensed version of her first time with Daxton. I told her I didn’t need details and I was happy for her, but she insisted we sit down for a meal so she could replay the entire night for me.
I set my phone on the table with the screen down. “How do you know when you’re being ghosted?”
Just as she’s about to answer, I change up the question, “Are repeated brush-offs considered ghosting? Or is that something else?”
“Who the hell is ghosting you?”
I laugh, even though my heart has been breaking a little more each day since Gaines left me to go to work that morning a week and a half ago.
“Who, Els?” She looks around the crowded diner. “Give me his name and I’ll set him straight.”
I glance at the two vintage butterfly hairpins she’s wearing. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” she argues. “If a man repeatedly brushes off your advances, ignores your messages, or never responds to you, consider that man yesterday’s news.”
I want him to be tomorrow’s headline and an important part of the story of my life for each day going forward.
“In the past, I’ve always handled men like that in a certain way.”
I curl my fingers. “Give it to me. Tell me how.”
“Do this by text, or a call, or if you know where to find him, go there.” She smiles. “Tell him that if he wants you, he needs to show that to you, and if he doesn’t, he needs to man up and own that.”
