Page 10 of Not In A Billion Years

And, just to be clear, you want to discuss the article with my dad?

Despite myself, I smile. She got me. Oh, she got me good.

“You have an exceptional daughter, Mr. Avery,” I say. “I’ll take a regular pie and a Coke, please.”

A man has to eat.

“Great. I’ll be right back with your drink.”

With him gone, I’m finally at liberty to check Miss Avery’s online presence.

First, I go back to the WSJ piece, confirming that the only part with a he/she typo is the one I read and that from the rest of the article, it is clear Blake is, in fact, a woman.

Inner groan.

Next, I google her. The first result at the top of the search page is a string of pictures of Angry Blue Eyes in various sporty outfits closely followed by several articles on her start-up and ascent to Instagram fame. That’s how she kept out of my notice for so long; I don’t follow online trends—fitness related or not. My business model is rooted in the traditional use of the land. What properties will gain the most value over time. Which neighborhoods have the best gentrification potential. What’s the best risk-reward opportunity for each new development.

By the time my pizza arrives, I’ve learned plenty about Blake. She started her business as a teenager shooting workout videos in her childhood home garage. She was only sixteen when she began posting videos of herself doing ballet tutorials, dance routines, and more streamlined workouts. Her Instagram handle is @blakehale.

Blake is a self-proclaimed introvert and says that vlogging, recording herself, and talking about fitness and workouts are the perfect way for her to share her passion for fitness, dancing, and a healthy lifestyle, and to interact with her followers. She has over twenty million of them.

She’s an only child and very attached to her family, especially to her father, whom she credits with all her success for teaching her hard work and always encouraging her to follow her dreams.

According to the gossip columns, she isn’t married or dating anyone at the moment. And she is twenty-six, not barely twenty-one, as I guessed this morning.

I won’t pretend that knowing she’s single and of a dating-appropriate age leaves me indifferent. It is rare for me to have the rug pulled out from under me or for someone to impress me, and she’s managed to do both in just a few hours.

The last person who managed to do that was my ex-girlfriend. My last serious relationship imploded the year after college. But before that, my ex and I had that academic rivalry that would spice things up in the bedroom and prompt us to strive to always best the other in class. After that ended, I’ve never been able to replicate that spark. True, for the past decade I’ve been a workaholic without much time for a personal life. I don’t date women I work with. And most women I meet at social events have been too accommodating or too bland to ignite a real fire in me—maybe also why I’m still single at thirty-three. But I’ve got a feeling Blake would be neither accommodating nor bland.

“Anything else I can do for you?” Blake’s father asks after placing the pizza plate in front of me.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind asking you a few questions if you’re free, Mr. Avery.”

“It’s Joe, we’re a family business. We don’t like formalities here.” Blake’s father takes a look around the restaurant and, after confirming that all other customers are taken care of, he sits in the booth opposite me. “I might have a few minutes. What is it you wanted to discuss?”

“You said Blake used to work here?”

“Yep, never seen a kid working harder. She used to help me and her ma out in the evenings and weekends, go home to study and do her homework, and then get up at dawn to shoot her workout videos in our garage or in the backyard in the summer.”

Each new statement makes me feel a little smaller. At sixteen, I didn’t even have a summer job. I took my first internship at Dad’s firm the summer after I graduated high school and only because I wanted him to pay for a two-month backpacking trip to Europe. Now, I see why Blake thinks her and my brand of “self-made” are two different stories.

Joe continues speaking as if he was reciting a slogan. “You can always wake up half an hour earlier and squeeze in a twenty-minute workout, used to be her motto. Anyway, once she graduated high school, her business was already taking off, and she didn’t have time to come round here to help anymore. Blake started working full-time at Bloominghale and put herself through college, taking evening and weekend classes. She’s a smart kid, that one. I couldn’t be prouder of her.”

And I’ve shrunk further. I’ve always thought of myself as an overachiever, but admittedly my hard-working days didn’t start until after I graduated college—as Blake kindly pointed out, debt-free.

The group of blue collars in the back stands up, and one of them calls out, “Joe.”

Blake’s father gets to his feet. “Sorry, Mr…? I have to go.”

“It’s Gabriel.” I stand as well and offer him my hand to shake.

Joe takes it and jerks his chin toward my plate. “Eat your pizza before it goes cold, Gabriel. You don’t want to waste such a good pie, trust me.” He winks at me and goes to take care of his customers.

I’ve been so absorbed in his tale that I’d completely forgotten about the food. I grab a slice of pizza and take a generous bite.

Mmm.

Joe wasn’t kidding. This has got to be the best pizza in New York. Well, at least I got a good meal out of the morning’s woes.

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