Page 38 of Sunny Side Up

seventeen

I reread Zack’s text over the course of the next few days, even after I replied.

I would have died to hear those words from him during our divorce.

For months, I had agonized over different imagined scenarios, each with the same dialogue, in which Zack begged for my forgiveness until I threw my arms around him, all forgiven: “I can’t get you out of my head.

You’re the only woman for me. I made a mistake.

I’m an idiot. Please, Sunny, I want you back. ”

Seven months later, I did not want him back.

He’d treated me like shit, made me feel worthless.

I was more confident today than I had been in years .

I was never going back to that place. But man, oh man: It was beyond validating to think that Zack was having regrets.

That maybe he finally realized what he’d had, what he’d tossed aside like leftovers gone bad.

I can’t get you out of my head. Can we meet up next week?

The thought of flaunting my newfound self-possession and exploding success was too tempting to pass up. Not to mention: The rush of thinking about Zack knowing that Ted and I were sleeping together had gone straight to my head. I said yes.

I waited two days to text Zack back. What restraint!

Sunny: Hiii sorry, crazy weekend. So funny running into you. Drinks could work. Avery in my office can help find a time.

Now, like the good friends they were, Noor and Brooke were giving me shit for replying.

“I don’t know, Sun,” Noor said. We sat three in a row at the nail salon, our fingers and toes drying under dark-gray fans. “I don’t love the idea of you meeting up again with him so soon.”

“And even if he does want to get back together, which is a whole other conversation, mind you, there’s so much else for you to focus on right now,” Brooke said. “Maybe you should wait until after the SONNY launch? Just to be safe?”

“We don’t want you to get hurt again,” Noor added.

“It’s just one drink at Spring Lounge,” I insisted, ignoring their advice. “I’m an adult. He’s an adult. I’ll be fine.”

In truth, one drink at Spring Lounge had given me goosebumps. Embarrassing, I know.

It was where we first met. Was he being intentionally sentimental? Why else would we return to Spring Lounge as successful thirtysomethings?!

There are times in life when you have to listen to your gut, when you can’t take the advice of others into consideration.

It’s like that cheesy-but-well-meaning Glennon Doyle quote—don’t ask people for directions to places they’ve never been.

I was the one who had loved Zack. Who had lived life with Zack. Who had been divorced by Zack.

If he wanted to see me for a drink, I was the one who would decide.

I arrived on time. He was a few minutes late, like always.

I felt my heart leap into my throat as my ex-husband walked through the Spring Lounge door, smiling right at me.

His hair was longer than I’d remembered it, but it was well styled, the work of a professional who knew how to groom.

He was in a fancy Brooklyn Dad outfit—a corduroy jacket with an oatmeal sweater, a faded Rangers hat.

He looked good, I hated to admit. (But also, shouldn’t there be some pride there, too?

I had married him! Of course, there was still a part of me that loved his looks.)

“Sunny!” Zack said, greeting me with a warm hug.

“You look incredible. Let me get us a round,” he said, off to the bar almost immediately.

He returned a few moments later with two cold pints of Stella.

“Like old times,” he said, handing one to me.

Even though I couldn’t really remember the last time I’d ordered a Stella, let alone drunk one, I accepted it with a smile.

“It’s good to see you,” I said, meaning it. There was something simultaneously unsettling and somehow still centering about being with him again. We hadn’t sat together, this close, since I’d moved out of our apartment six months ago. It felt dizzying to realize how long it had been.

Now, he raised the pint in a toast. “It’s good to see you, too. So… Ted Manns, huh? He seems like a good guy. Very successful.”

But he smiled his signature smile, and I couldn’t help but return the expression.

“He keeps up with me,” I said, smiling into my pint glass.

“Do you want to order anything? Split some nachos or wings?”

It took everything in me not to fall over in my chair then. Zack ? Encouraging me to order a fried appetizer ? I was used to the man who would instruct me to order a salad while his friends’ wives asked for pasta Bolognese.

Maybe he had changed.

Maybe we both had. He continued, “I didn’t know if there was an amount of calories you needed to intake to maintain your new weight.”

There he was. Same Zach. I should have stood up and left, but the sad fact is I was so used to this talk from him that I laughed it off.

“I’m just kidding! You do look different though,” he added.

Zack grinned, shaking his head, still laughing at his joke.

He turned serious. “Sunny, I have to say, I just can’t believe all the success you’re having.

I mean, look at us,” he said, clinking his glass against my own, “both being entrepreneurial. It’s cute, how you’re following in my footsteps.

I’ve heard all about SONNY and can’t wait to see how much it crushes.

The old crew can’t stop talking about it.

You always had a good eye for style. And I hear your newsletter is blowing up. I’m stoked for you, Sun.”

I had to bite my tongue through the familiar whiplash.

The sincere way he seemed to support me, mired by the condescension.

Me following in his footsteps? I was the one with the entrepreneurial bug first!

I launched Le Ballon Rouge way before I even helped Zack grow his podcast. It was my skills and experience that had set Zack up for success!

But looking at him now, I wasn’t so sure. He wore his success so naturally, it seemed inevitable. His eyes shone brighter; even his teeth looked whiter. Did I really have anything to do with that? Would this have been his destiny whether he’d met me or not?

Plus, his smile seemed so genuine. Like he was truly, really excited for me. It was nice to be on the receiving end of his shine again.

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s been a lot, but I’m so excited.”

“You’ve never shied away from hard work. That’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you. Still do.”

Did he just use present tense?!

“What’s the plan for it?”

“We’re launching Memorial Day weekend, the perfect time for a new swim line.” I said, proudly.

“Are you going to do a launch party?”

I groaned. “Yeah, it’s on the agenda. I’ve put out some feelers, but it keeps getting moved to the bottom of the list. We haven’t done a ton for it yet.”

He laughed, sipping his beer.

“Let me make a few calls,” he said, making a note on his phone. “I’ve got some friends who owe me favors. And if you want music, I have the best deejay for you to use. I promised her I’d set her up on a few gigs. It would be a real win-win.”

I sat there, hesitant, chewing it over. I was grateful for the offer, and from anyone else, it would have been a no-brainer.

Yet I couldn’t help but taste the bitterness of condescension in his offer.

Was he genuinely trying to be nice? Was this his way of saying “Sorry”?

Or did he not think I could do this on my own?

“We can even advertise on The Zack Attack , if you want,” he continued. “Help with brand awareness and turnout, too. Maybe we can figure out a promo code for listeners or some shit like that.”

With that offer, I paused. Calling in favors from friends was one thing.

But offering up expensive airspace on his podcast was a totally different deal, and Zack knew that.

Not only did it mean taking valuable promotional spots away from money-is-no-object sports-adjacent brands, it meant aligning himself, publicly, with me.

The me who used to embarrass Zack so much that he convinced me to stop my newsletter, was weird about taking me to work functions, and used to yank me back into my seat, mortified, when I stood up at basketball games.

I leaned back, took a sip of my drink, raised my eyebrow. “And the catch is…”

Zack laughed. “You haven’t changed at all.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Neither have you.”

“Well, I mean it in a good way,” he said.

I took another drink. Why did I agree to this?

“Look, here’s the deal: Spotify wants to capitalize on the growth of Zack Attack . So do I. It’s been insane. And they want the next big Zack thing,” he said.

Ew. Next big “Zack thing”?!

“They want me to launch my own network . A podcast empire.”

I couldn’t help it: That one impressed me.

He took my silent reflection for speechlessness. “ Wow. I know. I can’t believe it myself.” Zack ran his hands through his chestnut-brown hair, put his hat back on, tried to feign humble shock.

“Anyway,” he continued, “that means I have to start looking for new shows to launch, and I think you should do one.”

“What?!” I was so confused. This genuinely felt like a setup. “About PR? Or… I’m sorry, what?!”

“No, no, your newsletter. This would be the podcast version. You’d interview guests, answer questions from your audience, do an advice thing…”

My newsletter. The one he had convinced me to stop writing.

“It’s everywhere. I just saw it on The Today Show on Wednesday—that new actress everyone’s all obsessed with—ah, what is her name, Something Song, she has a guy’s name—”

Aiden Song, but I wasn’t going to give him that one. She’d actually emailed me, personally, to tell me she was a fan. I legit fell out of my chair when that happened, but I kept my face blank now, unfazed.

“She said it was her favorite. I literally hear about it from everyone.”

“Can we back up? Since when do you watch The Today Show ?” Maybe he had changed? He ignored me.

“The people LOVE you,” he said. “Honestly, Sunny, I can’t believe you ever stopped it.

I don’t even know why you did. But now that it’s back, and it’s gaining so much traction, let’s capitalize on this moment.

Now’s the time to strike. And since they want my network to appeal to a broader audience, we need more female listeners… ”

Just what the world needed: more women listening to guys like Zack.

“So.” He rubbed his hands together, clearly gearing up for the big idea. “I think you should consider turning Sunny Side Up into one of my podcast spin-off series.”

The fuck?!

Was this really happening?

When I helped Zack build his brand early on, he’d introduced me only as his publicist. Never as his girlfriend.

I was anonymous.

Now he wanted me to be part of his brand?

How could I trust someone who’d ended a seven-year relationship like he was canceling a streaming service he never watched?

“Zack. Okay,” I took a deep breath. “Thank you for thinking of me for this.” I did mean that part, regardless of his motive. “But it’s a little fucked up. In what world would this be healthy? Or even make sense? Sunny Side Up should have a podcast.”

He raised his glass and nodded.

“But under some Zack Attack sports umbrella…?”

Zack smiled, undeterred. “This is going to be bigger than an umbrella, Sunny. This is going to be an empire. I’m a business guy, you’re a Girl Boss—”

I cringed. “Never say that again.”

“Point is: We don’t have to make this weird. We’re both professionals. And I know you, because you’re like me: You won’t stop until you’re at the top. You’re the most ambitious person I’ve ever met.”

My brain took a moment to decide whether to register that as a compliment or a hit.

“I’m not going to lie. I also miss you, Sunny. I miss what we used to do and accomplish together.” His voice had softened. The look on his face had, too; Pitch-Mode-Zack had melted into earnest Rom-Com-Matthew-McConaughey-Zack in a matter of seconds.

“It’s been weird building this podcast thing without you. We started it together.”

I couldn’t believe he acknowledged that.

“You were my sounding board for so long for these kinds of things: all my crazy ideas, the what-ifs, the pie-in-the-sky shit.” He looked down at his drink and swirled the glass with his hand.

“You believed in me when I was a bottom-feeder at ESPN. You made me feel like all of it was possible. Like success was inevitable.”

He looked up, directly into my eyes.

“Every time I hear your name, every time I overhear some intern talking about, ‘Oh, did you read the latest Sunny Side Up ,’ every time I see Red Ballon win some new award—”

“Le Ballon Rouge,” I corrected him under my breath. An attempt to steady myself, stay focused, remember who I was dealing with here.

“Any time I hear about anything that has to do with you , it makes me feel…”

He shook his head, continuing.

“And then I saw you at the Knicks game…”

Zack blinked his stupid puppy dog eyes at me, sucking me into a flashback of all those years I’d spent loving him.

His sad smile, the nostalgic smell of Spring Lounge, the view of the booth where he put his arm over my shoulders on the night we’d met—it all threatened to undo the armor I’d spent months creating.

He held up his glass, leaned forward, then clinked it against my drink, which was clutched between two hands, close to my chest.

“Here’s to the return of Zack and Sunny,” he said.

Shit.