Page 65 of Catfish

One of a kind.

“How many interviews did you want me to book?” I don’t glance up at Em because my mood is completely fucking shot.

I can’t decide on what emotion I’m filled with the most. I’m half-irritated with my decision of letting Reagan go and that I didn’t have the opportunity or liberty to pursue shit because I was tied down and wasn’t available to her.

Then I'm relieved because I don't have to worry about her getting hurt. My real identity being found out or my name becoming front-page news for catfishing her.

On paper, it looked like a win-win.

However, between the lines, read a whole different story.

One of hope and another future. Of happiness.

“Doesn’t matter,” I mutter as I continue removing the paint from my palm.

"Well, we don't have too much time available, but I know you like smaller bloggers and newspapers. I'd recommend the Connecticut Current, of course, because everyone and their mother reads it."

“Absolutely.” Silence fills the car, the kind Em lets sift through the air when she wants me to pay the hell attention. Hesitantly, I lift my head to meet her gaping at me. “What?”

"What's up with you today?" Worry and apprehension glistens in her eyes, and it only pricks at my irritation.

I sigh, back to my removal of paint. “With?”

“Did you hate today? I can schedule some other—”

“It’s fine,” I clip. “I like kids.” Em closes her black binder, giving me her full attention.

God, I’ve been with this woman for so long I know what every move and action of hers means.

"Are you...well, we both know you're too arrogant to be nervous, so that's not it," she states matter-of-factly.

A weak tug pulls at my lips. “You’d be right as always, Em.”

“Are you hungry, we can grab something to eat before you have to go to the art opening at Paradise Park. All you have to do is cut the ribbon, I have the speech written for you already.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m good.”

“Alright—” she shifts in her leather seat. “—if you’re not going to tell me then we’ll—”

"Why don't you date, Em?" I don't have to look at her, she's wearing a frown, and her eyes widen before they turn into cracks that I'm surprised her eyes can see out of.

“What?”

"Date," I repeat, flicking more blue paint off my skin. "Why don't you date? You're with me twenty-four, seven, been with me over three years, what's the holdup?"

I see her shift in her seat again. “I don’t know, am I on a time limit or something?”

“You’re twenty-nine, you should.”

“Who cares? I’m happy where I’m at, I don’t need a man to—”

“Make you feel complete.” I roll my eyes. “I run your ass rampant and, unfortunately for you, not in a sexual way.”

“I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation to have with my boss,” she stresses. “You forget that I hired that HR girl, we have breakfast every—”

“Wednesday,” I finish for her. “I know.”

More silence fills in between us before she speaks again. This time with a softer tone.

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