Page 6 of Upshot

Peter rolls his eyes and stalks across the office to the bar. Yes, I have a bar in my office, but I rarely drink. Don’t think the irony is lost on me. Fishing two water bottles out of the small refrigerator, he sets one on my desk before falling back into his chair.

“Okay, I’m in. Tell me what you know about this girl.” That’s the best thing about Peter, he’s always all in.

“Thanks, Pete. I don’t have much. I know her name is Brontë—”

“Like the writers? Are you sure? Sounds made up.”

“I’m pretty sure. I mean, you’d think she could come up with something better than that. Anyway, she lives in New York, but she’s from some small town in Texas. I’d guess she’s probably a solid five foot nine or ten. She hit me about here.” I hold my hand up to my throat.

“Is that vertical or horizontal?”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “She said she was working as a model for some fashion thing.” He sits waiting for me to give him more. I shrug.

“Seriously? Is that it? A gorgeous model who lives in New York.” Peter smirks. “Piece of cake.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe I can find my own way out of my room in the morning. Standing, he tosses his empty water bottle free-throw style at a decorative urn my mother bought to give my office a more “posh” feel. Her words, not mine.

“Once again, that’s not a trash can,” I say, fishing the bottle back out.

“Potato-potahto. You say Early American urn, I say fancy trash can.” Peter grins, and I can’t help but laugh.

Peter was one of the scholarship students at the private school I attended. He is brilliant, but a little rough around the edges. We were assigned as roommates our first year. We became immediate best friends. He needed someone to help him navigate the cutthroat world of private academia. I was just hoping he’d teach me to be a badass.

After graduation, I headed to Stanford for my business degree. Peter received a full ride to Virginia Tech for his architecture degree. After earning my MBA, I returned to my family's company. Peter was the first person I brought on board to work on my team.

“Just go,” I whine. I’ll deal with the Brontë problem later. Right now, I just need a little more silence.

“Fine, but we need to go over the plans for the lofts in Oakland, and the Des Moines project has hit a snag. I know,” Peter says, holding up his hands. “Heaven forbid anything happen to your precious Iowa. You’d think you grew up there.”

“After lunch. And don’t knock Iowa. I like it there.”

Another eye roll and Peter leaves. I lay my aching head down on my desk. The intercom tones like it’s issuing a nuclear warning, and I push the button without lifting my head.

“Yes, Bernadette?”

“You’re going to be late for lunch if you don’t leave now.”

“Thank you.” I release the button and groan. This promises to be a very long day.

three

BRONTË

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” Sara asks. She’s standing in the middle of our shared apartment dressed in sweats and sneakers. She’s holding a mug brimming with coffee. God, I miss coffee.

“I’m sure,” I answer. I’m lying. There is nothing in the world I would love more than to change my mind. But reality has kicked me in the butt. “I’ve always known this couldn’t last forever. I just assumed it would last a little longer.”

“You know there’s plenty of work modeling in your… condition.” That doesn’t solve the fact that I’m all alone here. Sure, I have Sara. But she’s no replacement for my family.

“I know, but I think I need to be where my family is. Pretty sure I’m going to need their help,” I say, cramming more of my clothes into the giant suitcase. I’m not sure how I’m going to lift this when it’s full.

“Have you told them?” Sara asks.

“No. It was bad enough telling them I need to move back into my old room. I sure didn’t want to add the rest. ‘Hey, Mom and Dad. Guess what? Not only am I moving home, but I’m knocked up. Who, you ask? Some guy named Rand from California.’ I think I’ll drop that bombshell once I’m home.” I throw my jacket in the suitcase. Zipping it closed, I add it to the other two sitting in the foyer.

“When you change your mind, you always have a place here.” Sara wraps her arms around me in a huge hug.

“Thanks. I’m going to miss you.” We stand, holding each other until a notification buzzes on my phone a few seconds later. “That’s my ride.”

Sara helps me wrestle the suitcases down to the cab. With one last hug, I climb into the back seat for the drive to the airport. I settle into the seat, staring straight ahead. I can do this. I can return home to live. Austen did it, after all. Then again, she wasn’t pregnant with the spawn of some one-night stand.

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