The Do-Over(18)
Author: Suzanne Park
I couldn’t help but laugh at her outburst. “Can we turn this off please? I’ve heard enough, and seeing as how you pounded the bag of chips with both fists so there are merely potato particles now, you may have hit your douche bro limit today.”
We all scrambled to find the remote, which each of us swore we were not in possession of, and my ears perked up at Cameron’s casual mentioning of my name.
“Lily Lee’s book really got our attention, making us realize there are so many people Mary and I can help, and we didn’t know there was a market for it until Lily’s book came along and so many people bought it. We loved her ‘everyday woman’ approach to content, with interviews and surveys of women in middle and upper management, and cute graphics on every page. But we wanted to create motivational books for serious women invested in taking their careers to the next level. Not that there’s anything wrong with Lily’s fun approach.” His words made my stomach lurch and drop. My book was frothy and frivolous in his mind, whereas his was a canon masterpiece.
But then his next comments slapped me in the face. “Our book includes sections about prominent thought leaders, written by, well, thought leaders. You want a career guide written by successful, leading business experts. That’s the main difference between our book and others on the shelves.”
It was clear that by others, he meant mine.
Yes . . . in the first book of my series I included surveys and interviews with highlights and sound bites. I added voices other than my own to offer perspective and experiences about management and leadership broader than just mine. And yes, there were graphics and eye-catching designs within the pages, which the publisher thought would draw in a lot of new readers, and they were right. But what Cameron had just said on the evening news in front of millions of viewers was essentially “Lily Lee is a nobody. And she wrote a book for nobodies.”
I shook my head. “That dirty little—”
Beth let out a primal scream into one of her I’M 100% SUNSHINE & CAFFEINE cross-stitched throw pillows. Then she lodged all the cushions on the couch at Cameron’s face. “I’m never one to talk trash about a person, but that guy is a huge bona fide butthole. And trust me, coming from me that’s saying something.”
“Bona fide butthole is right.” Mia managed to find the remote under her ass and turned off the television. “Well, if that’s not motivation to get back out in the work world and write your next book, Lily, I don’t know what is. Fuck that guy.”
Yeah. Fuck that guy. “You’re right. If you’ll excuse me, I have a homework set to do tonight and a book to write.”
I thought Jake being my TA would be challenging enough, but even more problematic would be stepping away from publishing and letting the O’Haras be the loudest career expert voices out there.
No. I couldn’t let that happen. Shutting my bedroom door, I downloaded the CS textbook onto my computer and started the required reading.
Chapter Ten
Each time I stepped foot on campus, I marveled at how different its picturesque scenery was from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. The abundance of oak, maple, and ginkgo trees lining the main pathway made for an idyllic campus setting. Some of the green leaves had dulled, turning a soft yellow, and the mingling of orange, red, and brown would soon follow.
I zipped up my jacket. Fall had officially arrived.
Heading to class early gave me time to refamiliarize myself with and appreciate the campus setting: the inscriptions in Latin on the Corinthian columns of the library; the bas-relief carvings of Athena, Demeter, and Zeus in the central fountain; and the weather-worn pale green copper roofs of the oldest brick buildings that had made me fall in love with the school the first time around. Seeing them now as a super senior (the super-est in all of Carlthorpe history, probably) filled me with a complicated mix of pride, humility, and shame. I liked being back on campus, but also hated it. As classes approached the end of the second week, I had settled into the idea that there were nearly fifteen more weeks remaining of this temporary life diversion, and then I could go back to the way things were.
Fifteen more weeks of my overly excitable roommate.
Fifteen more weeks of homework and studying.
Fifteen more weeks of circumnavigating Jake Cho.
You can do this.
I found a seat near Ethan, who had arrived just before me. “Is this taken?” I asked.
He smiled. “It’s all yours. Saving these other ones.” To his right, he had his sweatshirt in the next spot and a flannel button-down two seats over.
“Do you normally disrobe this much for the sake of your friends?” I looked at the shirt draped over a wooden seat and back to his short-sleeved black tee. “Aren’t you cold?”
He laughed. “Yes and yes. I’m lucky I wore enough layers today but they better show up soon or I might get hypothermia. And you’re lucky I have only two friends in this class other than you. It could have gotten ugly. There’s not much clothing left.” Ethan’s brown, sparkling eyes crinkled on the outer edges, giving him a more mature look. But older in, like, a twenty-six-year-old way.
He pulled an extra-large energy drink from the side pocket of his backpack, along with an individually wrapped cinnamon roll. “Want a bite?”
Ah, to have the metabolism of my younger self. “No thank you, appreciate the offer. I just had a big breakfast.” It was a bowl of overnight oats plus a handful of blueberries. Because that was what thirty-two-year-old women ate who were well past the energy drink and store-bought iced pastry days.
If he had offered me a travel cup of coffee, I would have accepted. Beth didn’t have a coffee machine, and in New York I had always gotten my caffeine fix from the breakfast truck stationed outside my apartment in the mornings. Oscar knew my order: iced coffee, two pumps of chocolate syrup, with enough 2% milk till it turned beige. Never once did Oscar judge me for my coffee, which was essentially coffee-flavored chocolate milk. He had it ready for me every day at eight thirty Monday through Friday, rain or shine, sleet or snow. Oscar was more reliable than the mailman. When I told him I was moving away for a few months, he teared up, wished me well, and offered me a free blueberry muffin as a parting gift.
It suddenly occurred to me that Oscar was one of the few people I’d spoken to candidly about my departure. I hadn’t even come clean to my editor yet. Or to my parents. Why had I confided in this man I barely knew, but not in those people closer to me? What did that say about them? And . . . what did that say about me?