Public Relations

Chapter 25: Mia

"Wisconsin's not even a real state," I mumble, brooding slightly.

After hanging up with Brett, I made a real effort to lose myself in work. I did all the right things. I put on my most expensive noise-cancelling headphones. I got the strongest caffeinated drink I could find without causing major organ failure. I set my status to Do Not Disturb.

But the caffeine made my stomach roil, and I found myself on the toilet wondering where in Wisconsin he was even headed.

In all the months we've worked together, we've never discussed what town he's from.

Shamefully, I Google it. Even more shamefully, I find myself scrolling through the flights for later today from LAX to Milwaukee. There's no nonstops - they all stop in Vegas and  spill into six hours of travel time.

I wouldn't want to make that flight, I think. Good thing I don't have to.

But don't I?

He had spent all that time with me, literally holding me together as I fell apart in his arms just a few days ago. Now it's his turn, his collapse, and I need to pick between supporting him the way he did for me or keeping things distant.

Unfortunately, this issue is much bigger than Brett. I have a verbal agreement standing with Mister Senator Bells, one that he didn't hold up his end of. I feel like a mafia boss planning the downfall of someone indebted to me.

And for what it's worth, if I ever see any of the Bells men, I'm going straight for their kneecaps.

My father also sent me a curt email requesting my presence in his office first thing tomorrow morning. That was the entire message. He didn't even include his signature; it ended with -Jeff.

A thought weasels its way into my mind. A wildly unprofessional, ridiculous thought that I could avoid all of these issues with one poorly calculated decision. And that's all it takes to convince me - in the midst of my caffeine turmoil - to purchase my plane ticket.

* * *

I'm feeling colossally moronic by the time I arrive in Sheboygan, Winsconsin - otherwise known as the actual end of the world - first thing the next morning. It took a red-eye flight plus a not insignificant drive in a rental car to get there. I had to make several stops for food, coffee, and a hoodie, since no one told me Wisconsin is still cold in the summertime.

I roll up to a bagel shop wearing a University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee sweatshirt and an absolutely sour attitude. I'd practiced what to say to Brett over one thousand times in the car, but the words just weren't right. They swelled in my mouth, too large or too small, forced or blasé, overbearing or inconsiderate. I'd never done something this drastic before.

And yet here I am, doing my stupid grand gesture.

It's in the middle of an aggressive takedown of a lox bagel in the rental car that Brett actually calls me.

"Hello?" I ask, desperate to sound casual, but instead I sound like an idiot with my mouth full of cream cheese. I wipe the back of my palm against the side of my mouth and try to discreetly set the bagel down without crinkling the paper too loudly.

"Mia?" Brett's voice is clear as rain, as comforting as a summer storm. "Where are you?"

My heart skips. Does he track me or something?

He answers my question before I can ask it. "Your friend Elizabeth reached out and said you haven't shown up for work this morning." 

I furrow my eyebrows and check my watch. "My shift started like, thirty minutes ago in California time."