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I know now it was anger festering as she looked through the mockups. Anger that I was changing another thing about what she loves.
“Just getting with the times,” I say.
“With this, no one willbuythe paper anymore.”
“Online subscriptions can’t hurt...”
“But it’s not the same.”
“Nothing stays the same. Paper journalism is dying. I’m trying to at least save the paper by bringing it up to date. Don’t you want it to succeed?”
“Of course, I do,” she says sharply.
“Then let me do what I do best.”
“What’s that?” she asks, crossing her arms and giving me a look that settles in me uneasily. “You take something nostalgic, turn it on its head, and make it something completely different just to sell it off to someone else.”
“That’s not entirely true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with the paper yet.”
Erica rolls her eyes.
“I meant what I said about how important it is to you.”
“Like you care.”
She puts the mockups down on the desk.
“I don’t care what you pick. I’ll see you at the meeting,” she says before leaving my office, slamming the door behind her.
At the meeting an hour later, she barely says anything as I settle on the most reminiscent mockup I could, paying tribute to the paper she knows and loves, while still bringing it up to speed with the times. I thought the choice would make her happy, but she barely acknowledges me when the meeting lets out. It’s not even lunchtime, and I just want to get the hell out of there.
I tell Jessica to cancel the rest of the day’s meetings and leave the office, not bothering to tell Erica. It’s not like she cares anyway. I debate going to the bar, but instead head to the gym to get some of my frustration out on the punching bag. As I punch the bag, sweat pouring from my forehead, the soreness from each punch feels good. I didn’t know how much I needed this. It’s been awhile.
My mother’s poor health. Erica’s coldness toward me about everything. The paper. Our past. The kiss. It feels good to let it all out. I tell myself I have to come here more often. It’s a healthier choice than top-shelf bourbon. I’ve needed a release, and since it can’t be with Erica, I guess it will be working out instead. After my workout, I take a cold plunge before heading home. I have the weekend to look forward to. Two days without going through the internal hell Erica has been putting me through.
Chapter 21
Erica
As I run a few changes on my column by my editor, I notice Marco’s office is empty. I shouldn’t be surprised. He does run multiple companies, most of which are housed in this very building. Yet, lately with the acquisition, he’s almost always here, or I at least know where he is. It’s kind of my job to keep tabs on what he’s up to. I feel stupid for even caring about where he might have gone off to, so I try to focus on this mini meeting with my editor.
Still, my eyes keep lifting to the empty leather chair at his desk. I replay our conversation from this morning, and wonder if I had been too hard on him. He owns the paper now. He is able to do whatever he wants with it, and to be honest, all of those mockups were far better than the website we have now. Though I hate to admit it, and would never tell him that. Most everything he’s done so far has improvedThe NY Daily News,much to mysurprise. Everyone seems very impressed with his decisions so far.
Still, I’m realizing it’s easier for me to hide behind my walls when he thinks it’s about the paper, rather than the feelings I’m desperately trying to avoid and the daughter I’m hiding from him. That’s why I put up a fuss over just about everything he does because it keeps him at a distance and my feelings of angst can hide behind me not liking his website mockups or him moving our offices.
“Earth to Erica,” says my editor, Andy, waving his hand in front of my face.
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “My mind is totally elsewhere, which is probably why the column sucks.”
“It doesn’t suck,” he says. “It just needs a few tweaks. That’s why you have me.”
“Thank you.”
“Is everything okay with you?”