“But you can work from anywhere, right?” Sandra says, snatching the wine bottle back. “Like, you don’t really have an office.”
I wince as she proceeds to drink from the bottle. That’s all hers now. I don’t know where she’s been.
“We do have an office,” I point out. “You just don’t have to go. You can work from home if you want. Of course, now I don’t really have a home so I’ll probably start going to the office after all. Maybe they’ll let me sleep under the desk.”
“Jeez, you youngins are so hip these days with your open concept, show up if you want to, offices,” Angie comments. “Is that the future of journalism?”
I wish I had some comeback to that but she’s kind of right. Though, at least she’s recognising what I do as journalism for once.
See, I went to school at Columbia for journalism, and after navigating the very stressful freelance waters for a few years and hunting ceaselessly for something full-time and dependable, I finally got a job as the arts and entertainment writer for the online news site, Upward, shortly after I met Cole.
It’s pretty much my dream job. The pay isn’t the greatest but I do get health benefits, and it’s fun and exciting and I feel like I’m finally doing something with my life. Like I’m someone important, someone who stands out, someone my parents can be proud of. Someone I can be proud of.
Of course, I’m still freelancing on the side because I’m always needing the extra cash but at least it’s something I love and I can pay the bills.
A sharp snoring sound cuts into my thoughts and I look over to see Angie with her head back in her chair, fast asleep. When she’s out, she’s out.
Sandra snickers. “Man, she can’t handle her wine anymore.”
“To be fair, we had at least a bottle each,” I point out. “And she’s been chasing Tabby around all day.”
She sighs and stares at me from under her heavy false lashes, looking both drunk and sincere. “I’m really sorry I didn’t call you last time I was in New York.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry that I don’t get to see you or Angie much anymore. Only when we’re here for Christmas or birthdays or whatever. That’s why I wanted you to come to Ireland. It should be a sisters’ trip. The Stephens sisters take on the Irish. I mean, it’s our grandmother’s homeland after all and you still look like you’d fit right in with the country.” She picks up a long strand of my hair, dyed dark red, and tugs at it. “Just come. I’ll pay for everything.”
I give her a steady look. “You are not paying for anything. I’ve saved up enough as it is, and anyway, I have to work. Right after New Year’s is when everything starts up again. In fact, I’m supposed to turn in an article tomorrow and the day after that.”
She squints as she studies me, leaning in close until I smell her booze breath, and pulls harder at my hair. “I can tell you want to come. Don’t lie about it.”
“I’m not lying,” I tell her, prying her fingers off my hair. “I want to come. I just can’t.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not it. You just can’t be spontaneous.”
“I can be spontaneous,” I practically yell.
“No you can’t. You’re always trying to follow the straight and narrow. You’re too afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” I tell her, feeling the wine fuel my defensiveness. “How am I afraid?”
“You worry too much about doing the wrong thing,” she says. “You worry too much about what people think. Especially what Mom thinks. You work harder than anyone I know, yes even harder than Angie, and you’re harder on yourself than you should be. You just need to … let go. Throw caution to the wind for once and live a little.”
I open my mouth but she raises her finger to shut me up. “And before you tell me that you live in New York and throw all sorts of caution to the wind and that you and Cole were wild, no. That boy was not wild. He was a total sleezeball slimebucket, the kind that knows he’s got the world at his fingertips, the type that pretended to work for everything he has when in fact it was all bought for already. Val, when I heard you dumped his ass, I couldn’t have