Page 57 of The New Couple in 5B

“No,” I say. “It was a gift from your wife.”

“Keep it as a reminder that these talismans are culturally normal. And that anyone could give you one. There’s nothing strange about you having it, even though Chad and Dana were wearing the same symbol. I think you can buy a box of those evil eye necklaces online for a few dollars.”

It makes a kind of sense. I thank him, put the hand in my bag even though I don’t really want it. My phone is buzzing again; I ignore it.

“Make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Remember to eat well, sleep well, exercise, get enough downtime. These things are the foundation for wellness. When they start to slip, for anyone, things get a little wobbly. PTSD and anxiety love to work their way into the cracks in our foundation.”

I leave his office feeling stronger, more myself. He’s been the voice of reason I never had in my childhood, explaining all the things I didn’t understand. It all seems so manageable after unpacking the events of the past few weeks with him. A lot has happened, good and terrible, and my foundation is crumbly, patched together, thanks to my upbringing. But it’s getting stronger, thanks to the life I’m building with Chad.

It was probably him calling, trying to make up after the argument that kept us up late and had us not really talking in the morning. He left early and I didn’t get up to have breakfast with him, which was mean and childish.

But when I look at my phone, the calls are from Max not Chad, and there are three of them. Which is not like Max.

Walking up the street toward the subway station on Broadway, I ring him back.

“Rosie,” he answers. “Where are you?”

“I’m leaving Dr. Black’s.” Where I grew up, seeing a therapist would be a shameful thing. Here, it’s the norm.

“I have some bad news.”

My strong and positive feelings fade quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“I—uh—got fired this morning.” He sounds level, calm.

“What?” Not possible. Max—super editor, beloved by all. “No.”

“It’s not just me,” he says. “The whole imprint is being folded. Apparently, it’s not profitable enough and is being subsumed by Dunham.” Dunham, a famously literary imprint that publishes fiction and nonfiction.

“Oh, my God, Max,” I say. “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

“I mean—I’m totally shocked. I’ve had two books on the bestseller list this quarter. But my boss got fired, and so did I, as well as some of the other senior team members. Some of the junior folks will be reassigned apparently to other divisions.”

I’ve stopped walking and I’m leaning against the facade of a big apartment building, the crowd of people rushing past me. I don’t want to ask about my book because it seems so selfish. I’ll call Amy when I get off the phone and have her do the dirty work. I stay focused on him as a friend and worry about the blow this will be to his life. I’ll worry about mine later.

“You’ll find another job, right away,” I say. “Of course you will. You have a legion of contacts and friends. You’re so talented, Max.”

He blows out a breath. “I just feel sandbagged.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m home,” he says. “They, like,escortedme from the building. Securitywaitedwhile I cleaned out my office.”

The cruelty and inhumanity of corporations, even publishing, is always shocking to me.

“I’ll come to you.”

“No,” he says, sounding weary. “I just need some time to process, figure out what I’m going to do next. Don’t worry about your book, okay? I’m sure they are still going to publish it. You’ll just be working with another editor, at another imprint. Probably Dunham. You have a lot of fans there.”

My throat constricts with emotion. “I don’t want to work with another editor.”

But the contract is signed, the payment has already been made; it’s cleared my account. Even if Max is gone, the company still owns my book unless I buy myself out of my contract—which I obviously cannot afford to do.

“I don’t want you to have another editor, either,” says Max miserably.

A bus rumbles past, hissing, impossibly loud. I wait until it’s gone before speaking again. “I’m so sorry, Max. This is horrible, ridiculous.”

He pushes out a mirthless laugh. “It’s business, right. No one is indispensable.”

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