Shit, we liked each other.
No!
I slammed that shut so damn tight and nudged his chest. “Go. Leave. Now.”
Travis ran his hand through his hair, mussing it up as he let out a breath. “Yup.”
We took one more look at one another, then he turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him. That’s when Luna had shown up with her big tail swinging in the air, meowing her demands.
“He’s nobody,” I said to her, hobbling to the kitchen.
I kept telling myself that all Sunday and today. Now, as I’m on my way home in a cab—because sprained ankle—Dad phones to see how it is.
“Almost healed,” I tell him. “I stayed off it most of yesterday, watching movies and researching.”
“Iced and raised?” he asks.
“I’m the daughter of a doctor, what do you think?” I smirk, thank the driver, then stroll through the lobby.
“I think you’re smart enough to havebeena doctor. Speaking of, what’s this I hear you are covering a story about Leo Taylor on your show?”
Crap.
Dad is old school and comes from old money. He wasn’t happy that I wanted to become a journalist, but he accepted it. Mostly. Lawyer and doctor were top of his list, but Mom pushedback, telling him I had very strong English and communication skills.
“Fine, write a book. But you need a real career, Brooklyn. Your mother and I are going to live a long life. Your trust fund will only get you so far.”
Rude.
Said trust fund was from Grandpa, who’d done very well in the property markets in Manhattan in the fifties and sixties. It was enough that if I moved to another state, I could probably live the rest of my life modestly without working.
But not in New York.
Nor was that appealing.
Growing up with two successful parents taught me that a career wasn’t just about earning money, it was about having independence, a purpose in life and meeting people. Friends, a partner, or just interesting and different types of people that broaden your horizons.
The thought of spending my days shopping, gossiping, and thriving on drama because I had nothing else to do was as unappealing as a crusty gym sock.
“Dad, I’ve got an internship with the NYT.” I told him proudly when I’d graduated with honors from Columbia.
“Congratulations,” Dad had replied and meant it. “While it would’ve been good to have a lawyer in the family, I’m happy that you’re following your dreams.”
Dad has always been a loving father. I understood why he’d questioned me at the time, but times had changed since he decided on a career. I would have been a horrible doctor or lawyer. I was too opinionated for either of them.
Next minute he’s telling his friends that I was working forThe New York Timeswith his head held high, and approving murmurs followed.
The day I resigned, I knew he wouldn’t understand my new path. I am not even sure Dad understands the importance of podcasts, or if he’s ever listened to one.
I started off saying I was starting my own media company. Which was true. Then he took more interest, which is what loving fathers did.Goddamn it.
Then he had all his friends follow me.
Great for numbers but terrible for our weekly chats, where he gives me their feedback each week.
“Dad, just tell them to put comments in the comment section and I’ll read them.”
“Why would they do that? They can tell me, and I said I’ll pass them on.”
