Page 53 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
But I’m not qualified for real jobs.
Real jobs are given to people with letters after their name. MFAs and PhDs. Even a BA is better than what I’ve got. Because what I’ve got is nothing. And, newsflash, when you’re dealing with a pool of applicants, nothing is the very easiest qualification to beat.
Imagine my surprise when the above-mentioned email tells meExpedition, travel magazine based out of London, wants to bring me on as an associate editor. They trust my eye, they say, and think I’ll have valuable input regarding the reach and scope of the entire magazine. The email ends with an invitation to visit London the first week in July, complete with a tentative itinerary they’ll formalize as soon as I agree.
It’s been hours since the email arrived, and despite my best efforts to keep myself busy, I haven’t been able to focus on anything else. Well, aside from Brody bench pressing a water-logged kayak like it was built out of feathers and air.
I’m in the shower now, expecting Brody any minute to help haul off a load of my grandmother’s belongings. My thoughts areso disjointed, bouncing like a ping pong ball between Brody and London and fancy job offers, I can’t even remember if I washed my hair before applying conditioner. Or maybe I conditioned twice? I sigh and reach for my shampoo. I have got to get a hold of myself.
Pros and cons, Fletcher. Let’s break this down like a normal, logical person.
The email came from a senior editor named Marge whom I’ve worked with before. The magazine has purchased a few of my articles, and they’ve always been great. That goes in the pro column. Working with good people is important.
But I can’t even imagine what being on staff full time would look like.
Having a consistent salary would be amazing. And insurance. And benefits! I’ve never had benefits. That’s three more for the pro list.
But the email made it clear this was not a position I could handle remotely. They want me on location, in the office with everyone else, collaborating, contributing.
I suppose I should feel flattered. I am flattered.
But London?
I’ve been there, of course, but I’ve never considered living there full time. To be fair, I’ve never really considered livinganywherefull time.
But I havebeen feeling like I’m ready for the next thing in my life. I told Brody if I sit still long enough, maybe that thing will find me. Could this be it? A tiny sliver of hesitation wiggles into my brain. Do I want this to be it?
I cut off the shower and reach for a towel, pausing when I hear footsteps downstairs. My heart trips, then steadies when I recognize the cadence of Brody’s walk.
I wrap a second towel around my hair and step into the hallway long enough to shout down the stairs. “Hey! I’ll be down in a sec,” I call.
“No rush,” he calls from...the kitchen? He sounds like he’s in the kitchen. “Can I eat whatever this is on the counter?”
I grin. As soon as I got home from kayaking, I dealt with my buzzing energy by making a batch of homemade granola bars. “Go ahead!” I yell. I hurry to my room and throw on a pair of leggings and a sports bra, then layer on an oversized sweatshirt. I toss my hair into a messy bun, pausing long enough to consider whether I want to put on mascara. Highschool Kate would not have felt like she needed makeup around Brody.
I pick up my mascara, then drop it back on the bathroom counter.
Things aren’t different now, are they?
I pick it back up.
Can things be different if you’re moving to London?
“Gah!” I say out loud, tossing the mascara down one more time. “Get a hold of yourself, Kate.”
I flip off the light with a huff and turn to head downstairs, my face bare.
Brody is leaning against the kitchen counter, his mouth full of granola.
“These are amazing,” he says through a large bite.
“I’m glad you like them. I got the recipe from Preston’s little sister.”
Brody frowns and grumbles. “I don’t like them as much anymore.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. Preston wasn’t that bad.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t.”
