The Wife Draft (Peterick)

Pittsburgh: The Contingency

Brendon and I hit our beer bottles together once the first paper came out of the printing press and was in my office. The special edition of The Times was finally finished, and it only added an extra four pages to the paper.

Joe and Mr. Armstrong were extremely satisfied with our work. I pulled an all-nighter at the office with Brendon, and we worked until all the pictures were selected and the article was edited.

"What's this part here?" Brendon asked with a yawn at four in the morning, pointing towards the end of the narrative. "I don't remember this."

I shrugged and took another gulp of coffee. "You wanted to sleep, so I went out and explored France."

"Sure seems as though you did," Brendon said, tipping his mug in my direction. "'Nother cup of joe?"

I poured more coffee into his mug, and he took a sip before he read the end of the article out loud.

"On our last day overseas, I met a fetching southerner, who I subsequently spent the day with. The final day opened my eyes to a world that one would not imagine while sitting alone in America. Therefore, I leave the journey with a final thought. All world affairs go down in history, regardless of whether people want to remember them or not. But personal affairs go down in history as well, even if the entire world never finds out about them. To my southerner: thank you for showing me, and now all the readers, to just keep walking. You'll eventually run right into where you belong."

Brendon was the first to laugh at my suddenly inspirational ending. And he laughed again when he read it a second time, only with the editor-in-chief and publisher in the room at eight a.m.

Mr. Armstrong and Joe hadn't even read the article themselves yet. They just laughed as Brendon read the ending out loud to them. They didn't understand. But Patrick would. And that was all I wanted.

They were lucky I didn't publish what I really wanted. I pulled the sheet of paper from my desk and shoved it into my pocket.

I took a drink of my beer as Brendon and Joe continued to laugh at me. Mr. Armstrong clapped me on the back and said, "See why I'm giving you the paper, kid? You have the moxie to make a mark. Now, don't get too shucked."

"Who's your southern belle, Pete?" Joe asked. He handed me the paper he was reading. "You better send her a copy."

I ripped the paper from his hand and set my beer bottle on the desk. "I will," I declared, hugging it to my chest so he wouldn't grab it back.

Brendon gasped in realization. "That's why you wouldn't go to the airport with me!"

I rolled my eyes, but I didn't respond to his accusation. It was right, but I refused to verify it.

"Tell you what, Mister Wentz," Mr. Armstrong said, crossing his arms and causing the gray suit jacket to tighten against his waist. "I'll give you December. You too, Urie. Spend time with your families. You gentlemen have done enough."

Brendon was thrilled by the prospect of not having to wake up early for an entire month. My eyes widened, and I could not believe the opportunity that had just fallen into my lap.

I could see Patrick again. My fingers itched for a pen.

"I get to go home now, right?" I asked.

Everyone stopped talking and stared in my direction. Joe was the first to speak. "Well, duh. Your work is done." He tipped back the fedora that was resting on his head and chuckled. "I knew there was something up with you when you got back. It was the cloud of lust surrounding you."