Page 35 of Someone Just Like You

I nearly burst with pride. It had seemed a wasted opportunity to limit the company’s social streams to only posts by Rosaria, and TikTok could help attract a younger audience.

“What else have you got?” She sipped the cappuccino the waitress had just placed in front of her.

I followed the path of my notes with my finger. “You have a newsletter, but other than quick links to subscribe, I didn’t notice any incentives.” I looked up. “Have you thought about offering free content to all subscribers as a way to build your list?”

“Hmmm. I like it. One of my decorative planners might work.” She scribbled something illegible on a small notepad. Apparently neat handwriting was where our commonalities diverged.

“Also…I was thinking…have you done any targeted advertising to members from more low-income communities?” I asked.

Rosaria paused with her mug at the edge of her mouth. “I like where this is headed. Go on.”

I took a sip of cappuccino. “For instance, a giveaway or contest offering deluxe memberships to women who might not be able to afford it otherwise…who might not see another way to pay the bills besides working minimum wage. There must be women who could use personalized guidance and encouragement. Law firms do pro-bono work. Can Ceiling Crashers offer something similar?” I held my breath, afraid I’d overstepped.

She placed her cup back on the table and widened her eyes. “This is gold, Molly. I appreciate all the thought you put into this. It must have taken hours!”

“Not really.” The lie rolled off my tongue easily, but I’d enjoyed it so much, I hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed until my eyes refused to stay open.

“My hand hurts from writing all this down, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to read it later.” She made a face. “My handwriting is atrocious.”

I clamped my lips shut. I wasn’t about to argue—one lie was enough—but agreeing outright was unnecessary and mean.

Her forehead crinkled in thought. “Would you mind emailing me this list? I can send you one of our questionnaires in exchange.”

I blurted, “That would be amazing!” with a tad more enthusiasm than intended. I’d wanted to ask but feared it was proprietary.

“Fantastic.” She glanced at her watch and grimaced. “I’m so sorry, but I need to get going.”

So did I. On my agenda for the afternoon was reviewing résumés, following up with hiring managers and prospective candidates, posting ads on LinkedIn, scouring firm websites/job boards for prospective candidates, and sending out cold-call messages. The squeaky wheel got the grease and all that. I insisted on footing the bill since lunch was my idea, and a few minutes later, we said our goodbyes on the corner of Vanderbilt Avenue and 42nd Street.

Rosaria extended her hand. “Thank you so much. This was a true pleasure. Next time is on me.”

“I will hold you to it.” Giddy there would be anext time, I was tempted to pull her into a hug, but kept it professional and accepted her hand, shaking with a firm grip as I’d been taught by my dad in high school to prepare for college interviews.

My phone rang as I floated back to the office. The man himself. “Hi, Dad!”

“How’s my Squirrel?”

My heart warmed at the nickname. There was no rhyme or reason to the animal moniker—just my dad being weird. Nicole was “Goose” and Michelle was “Bear.”

“Never better! I just had a really productive meeting.” I was always quick to assure my parents of my well-being, especially since leaving the law and the steady paycheck that came with it, so they wouldn’t worry about me alone in the big city.

“I’m looking forward to dinner with you girls next month. It will be nice to catch up, just the five of us.”

“Totally!” I only felt a little guilty about the half-truth we’d told our parents regarding the anniversary party. We said it would just be our nuclear family—no spouses or grandkids, much less the Starks andtheirextended relatives. The end justified the means in this case.

“LikeMy Three Sonswith daughters,Little House on the Prairiethe early years, andFull Houseminus the dead mom.”

“Dad!” I laugh-yelled. Growing up, my father had loved to compare our family to old television sitcoms. He said if he divorced Mom and married Mrs. Stark, we’d be a bizarroBrady Bunchbecause he was an architect, like Mike Brady, and Laura was a stay-at-home mother, like Carol, and they each had three children. The six of us found episodes of the show on TV Land and were forever traumatized. Not to mention, given my parents’ real-life temporary separation, even joking about a permanent one—much less the idea of my dad and Mrs. Stark as a couple—didn’t sit well. “I should get back to work,” I said, still chuckling.

“Don’t be a stranger, Squirrel.”

“I won’t. Love you.” We ended the call.

Back in my office a few minutes later, I was too wired from caffeine and jubilant over my meeting with Rosaria to focus on work. Lucky for me, a text came in from Eddie confirming his parents had bought into his and his wife’s invitation to spend the night of the party at their house to try out the newly installed hot tub. Jude’s response came quickly.

Jude:Bathing suits optional?

I flipped the phone screen-down as if it could erase the cringeworthy visual the words had summoned. Not that the Starks were unattractive people, but they werethe Starks. Seeing them naked that one time in the basement was more than enough. Jude hadn’t made up my crush on Eddie way back when, but I preferredallthe Starks in clothing these days. Suddenly, the memory of Jude rubbing down the bar at Hillstone in a “wax on, wax off” motion came to me. He had nice arms, I’d give him that.

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