Page 3 of Ticket to You

The woman keeps moving forward. She doesn’t even bother looking back at me. “You can look where you’re going next time.”

“You ran into me just as much as I ran into you.”

She spins quickly and nearly collides against my chest again. We both take a few steps back, glaring at one another. Around us, the party is in full swing, like we’re in the eye of a hurricane. In all the commotion of the fall, I hardly noticed her before. But now, in our little bubble of tense motionlessness, I can finally see her fully for the first time.

The woman is probably a few years younger than me, maybe in her mid-twenties. Her brunette hair is so shiny it catches the candlelight with every tiny movement, emphasizing the small tendrils of gold that cut through the darker curls. She must be six feet tall, but that didn’t stop her from wearing heels—kudos—bringing her almost to my height. I would expect someone with red wine all over their front to cower away and rush to clean up, but this woman stands with her hands propped on her hips. She keeps her posture straight, even when that means the stain is on full display.

Sure, she’s beautiful. But she’s clearly anAtelierwoman. And right now, aside from the new wine stain, her fancy dress and perfect appearance remind me of Hoffman’s opulence, which reminds me why I’m here, sans coworkers-turned-friends.

After a long stretch of a silent stare down, the woman raises her eyebrows at me questioningly.

“Why not throw on a fur coat? Then, people will assume some animal-rights activist got to you. It’ll be quite the conversation starter for tonight.” I say it to break the tension, but my already sour mood makes me sound more sardonic than lighthearted.

“Is that supposed to be a joke? This is couture.” She waves her hands over her dress, and the corners of her lips downturn when she locks her eyes on the stain again. “Andthatwas my boss you just humiliated me in front of.”

“If it is any consolation,myboss was right there for it all, too. You’re not the only one who was humiliated.”

“You’re not the one who has to wear a red wine stain all night. This dress is ruined, my pitch was ruined, thisnightis ruined.” She looks down at the watch on her wrist and wipes the face of it with her palm.

I sigh. “Jane said she would talk to you once you have a chance to clean up.”Don’t say it.“And…”Come on, Adam, don’t say it.“And there are worse things than a stained dress.”Like being laid off unexpectedly right before the holidays.

She glowers, and I imagine she’s debating between slapping me or crying. To be fair, I wouldn’t blame her for either. My words, cold and harsh, are already out there, but I immediately wish I could pluck them from the air and shove them back into my mouth. After only a few seconds, I feel a turning in my stomach, as if she can make me sick with guilt with one twisted expression.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I’ll pay you back for the dress.”

The woman looks my borrowed suit up and down, probably noticing that my shoulders are a bit too broad and my limbs a bit too long for it. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to shell out money for anything designer. Besides, it was a gift. And vintage. I’m afraid it’s irreplaceable. You’re off the hook.”

I nearly protest, but the woman’s narrowed eyes feel like the eyes of a bear, warning me to leave her be. So when she turns and continues to the bathroom, I don’t protest. She said it herself: I ruined her night.

All of my friends atOutdoorsywere either laid off this week or decided to forgo the party in a subtle act of defiance against the company. And because I usually keep to myself, rarely venturing outside my social circle at things like this, I hardly know anyone at the other publications. Thankfully, there’s at least one friendly face. Gemma is near the back of the room, watching the party with a content grin spread across her cheeks. I wind my way to her, going the long way so I can avoid the circle of executives. When Gemma sees me, her smile grows bigger.

“How do people wear suits every day to work?” I ask, shaking out my shoulders, which are already tight from being constrained for the past hour. “I feel like I’m in a straitjacket.”

Gemma’s smile fades a bit. She knows the true reason I’m on edge. “Are you doing okay, Adam?”

Gemma would probably sit here for hours and listen to me drone on—again—about the unfairness of the layoffs, but I’ve already ruined one woman’s night. I shouldn’t ruin another’s. “I’m fine.”

“Have you thought any more about your options?”

I clench my jaw. “As much as I want to start my own magazine, and as much as I wish I could stomp out ofOutdoorsyand hire everyone they just let go, I’m not ready for that.”

Gemma looks at me the way my therapist does, with her head cocked to the side, and her eyes wide and innocent. “Not ready yet? But you’ve been thinking about going independent for a long time, correct?”

“What, am I the next on the chopping block?” I ask, trying to laugh off my angst. “Are you hoping I’ll walk before you have to give me the axe?”

Gemma rolls her eyes. “Adam, you’re thelastpersonOutdoorsywould want to let go. Hell, I’d be gone long before you. It’s just that I hear you talk a lot about doing something on your own, having more freedom.”

I groan and grab a drink from a passing tray, gripping it tightly so that even if someone runs into me I won’t go spilling on Gemma too. “I do want more freedom.” I take a long drink, hoping it’ll dull my mood. “But I need time. A few months, at the very least. And another part of me feels guilty for staying atOutdoorsywhen I know it’s not my end goal. How many of my friends were let go this week who wantedto be there far more than I do?”

“Hey, now.” Gemma claps my shoulder softly. “No survivor’s guilt. The secondOutdoorsyis ready to hire again, I’ll be pushing for our old employees to be given an offer. You have my word.”

When Gemma joinedOutdoorsyas an editor, I was immediately apprehensive. After all, she moved from Hoffman’s largest, most profitable magazine to their smallest. It felt like a spy infiltrated our work family. Because that move also preceded layoffs, I assumed my superstitions were proved correct, that she was only sent toOutdoorsyto trim the fat. But through all of this mess, Gemma has been nothing but an ally. And beneath her professional demeanor, I’ve found she’s softer than a down sleeping bag.

“Well, what do you say I help you get your mind off things for a bit?” Gemma asks, clasping her hands in front of her chin as if she’s praying. She must be close to my mother’s age, but she has ten times my mother’s playfulness.

“Right,” I mumble, swigging back the last of my drink. “The setup.”

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