She hadn’t said it out loud since she left film school. Had barely even let herself think it.
It was terrifying.
None of the problems she considered on her way up were solved. Nothing was for certain. She could be wrong, could get stuck, could not have enough to get there.
But she knew what she wanted to do.
—
On Monday, Emma arrivedat the restaurant for lunch before Jo did. No matter how many times over the weekend she had told herself everything was going to be fine, her whole body felt like a coiled spring, like a bolt screwed in too tight. She squeezed her purse against her side and took a step up the sidewalk away from the restaurant when a black car pulled up to the curb.
Emma pressed her lips together as Jo got out. She was still considering fleeing.
Then Jo smiled in greeting. Her regular, happy-to-see-you, not-at-all-stressed smile, and Emma felt like she could breathe again.
“Good to see you survived your hangover,” Jo teased gently.
Emma grimaced. Apparently they were going to address the kiss—theaccidentalkiss—right off the bat.
But instead, Jo said, “Let’s get a table. I’m starving.”
Okay then. One problem down. Or ignored, anyway. Emma didn’t care about the specifics. Now she just had to get through the career talk.
She might have spoken her dream out loud to herself, but she stayed quiet as they were led to an outdoor table. And as they ordered, and as the waiter brought her a lemonade and Jo a sparkling water. Jo talked sparingly, about the wrap party, about how work in the summer would be easier on them.
She let Emma be quiet until their food arrived, and then she said, “So what do you want to do?”
Emma had ordered a steak salad. She stuffed a hunk of meat in her mouth instead of answering. “Hmm?”
Jo smiled. “I need to know what kind of recommendation letter I should write you.” She stabbed a bite of her Caesar salad. “What job do you want next?”
Emma wanted to direct.
But that was too scary to say out loud. It was a big dream. There were too many ways to fail.
Emma shrugged, noncommittal.
“You’re too good for this, Emma. Too smart.”
Emma didn’t like that, Jo making it seem like her job wasn’t important enough.
“I like my job, Ms. Jones,” she said.
“Ms. Kaplan.” Jo’s voice snapped around theK. “I’m not letting you stagnate as my assistant. It’s nonnegotiable.”
Emma felt like she was failing a test. She knew what she wanted to do, long-term, didn’t she? But she didn’t know how to get there.
“My sister always knew she wanted to have her own bakery,” she said. “She got an Easy-Bake oven as a kid but graduated pretty quickly to the regular one. She’s always been really good at it and has always known it was what she wanted to do.”
Jo probably thought this was a weird segue, but it made sense. It was the only way Emma knew to describe it. Jo wasn’t interrupting, though. She looked interested in learning more.
“I wanted something like that,” Emma said. “I still want it. To be that sure of something. To know what I want to do and know I’m going to be successful at it. I wish I could tell you exactly what I want to do next. Wish I knew my path the way Avery always has.”
Emma paused. She wanted Jo to say something, to fill in thesilence, but Jo just kept looking at her, eyes open and kind, forcing Emma to work this out herself.
“I like my job,” Emma said. “This job. And I’m good at it. What if I’m not good at whatever I move on to? What if I don’t like it?”
“If you don’t like it, you’ll do something else,” Jo said. “If you’re not good at it, you’ll learn. You’re brilliant, Emma. You hit the ground running in this job, picked everything up easily.”