Page 116 of When Fate Breaks
I glance between every last flower. Every baby’s breath bud and forget-me-not petal I hand placed and sealed in resin on the floor of my shed ten years ago. I do it again, just to be sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me. When I’m ready, I slowly raise my gaze to Evangeline’s.
We both remain silent, neither one of us willing to speak first.
Eventually, Evangeline successfully yanks her arm away, stumbling backwards through the crowd.
And I watch her go.
Again.
22
SIX YEARS AGO
Annie
Isit in the small stuffy New York City café, across the street from the conference hotel, with a name in a language I can’t read and not a single item on the menu I can afford, tapping my foot and downing my second glass of the cheapest wine on the menu, planning my exit at the first available moment.
Though I’ve been a bundle of nerves and anxiety since the second we walked through the door, I know I’ve won Mr. Coralton over thus far, effectively answering every one of his questions and schmoozing to the best of my ability. Him and Margaret are talking animatedly about former conference years while I’m trying to calculate how many minutes we’ve been sitting here based on the number of absurdly small appetizers we’ve consumed and the amount of times Mr. Coralton has clapped and pointed at either Margaret or me to show his approval of our joking attempts.
It has to be at least 6:30 right now. I’m at least a half hour late.
Blake has been waiting on me for at least thirty minutes.
My chest tightens at that thought and I instantly push back from the table. Margaret and Mr. Coralton’s laughter stops abruptly as they both turn to look at me.
“I, uh– I’m so sorry. This has been great, but I really have to get going now.” The words tumble out of my mouth.
“Oh, no. So soon?” Mr. Coralton asks.
“Unfortunately, yes. I really appreciate–”
Margaret stops me as I am grabbing my bag from the back of my chair. “Oh, Annie, before you go, please give Mr. Coralton a quick rundown of the Earthly Athletics campaign,” Margaret demands, referring to the ridiculous wooden water bottle product I presented a proposal for last month.
I blow a breath out of my nose, exasperated. “Oh, well, the clients were wanting to use the majority of their budget towards traditional television and print ads, but I made the suggestion of going the digital route and it worked out in the end. Thank you so much again–”
I start to stand but Margaret pushes me further, looking from me to Mr. Coralton. “I’m sorry, Randall, but Annie is being modest. With her marketing plan, the product became an instant success. It sold over 50,000 units in the first week. The company ended up signing on for a full year with Briar & Brooks afterwards.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Coralton questions, his eyebrows raised.
“Yes, well,” I mutter, pushing my chair back even further, “I just know how much time people my age spend on the internet and thought that might be their best bet. I’m very thankful it worked out in the end.”
“This kind of thing doesn’t just happen, Ms. Jacks.Youmade that happen. You should be very proud,” he says.
“Yes, sir. I am, sir–”
“Now, is it true that you completed a digital marketing certification at Alabama along with your degree?” Mr. Coralton asks.
“Yes, sir,” I say, puzzled as to how he could possibly know that, but not having the time to care at this moment.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” he points at me. “We need more forward thinking, proactive students these days. Your crop is what the future of marketing is made of.”
“Thank you, sir. But I–”
“Annie, you were also the Vice President of the Future Marketers Association in school, weren’t you?” Margaret asks.
“Um,” I sputter, shocked that Margaret still remembers that, “yes, I–”
“Amazing. Absolutely grand,” Mr. Coralton claps. “And, Ms. Jacks, what are your thoughts on–”
