30 First Dates (16 page)

Erin blinked, surprised by this turn in the conversation. She reached up and tucked a strand of hair, still blonde with newly retouched roots, behind her right ear, forgetting momentarily the earpiece it was meant to hide.

"I, um…well, yes," she said. "Amelia and Noah were high school sweethearts. I'd been with him for more than a year and was watching him struggle through seeing Amelia with Colin Marks in headlines, on TV—everywhere he turned. It was very clear to me that he was still in love with her. So I let him go, and I told him he should tell Amelia how he felt before it was too late."

Annette nodded. "Before she married someone else."

"Yes," Erin said, nodding emphatically.

"Were you in love with Noah?

Erin laughed. "No comment."

Annette smiled a small smile and, thankfully, moved on to a new line of questioning. "What's next for you, Erin?"

Erin leaned back slightly in her chair and drew in a sharp breath, raising her brows. "I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer that question," she said. "That's basically what 30 First Dates is all about, trying to find the answer to exactly that. Right now I'm just checking items off my list, writing about it, and taking each day as it comes."

"Sound words and sage advice from a blogging superstar on the brink," Annette said into the camera. "Stay with us! When we return, we're watching Fort Worth chef Marla Hoyt show us how she prepares her famous sunny side up mini pizzas. More from
Wake Up, DFW!
after this commercial break."

As soon as the cameras were off, Annette leaned forward, shook Erin's hand and then was on her feet a moment later, headed to another area of the soundstage where a multicolored miniature kitchen was bathed in bright, white light. Erin sat stock still for a couple of seconds, absorbing what had just taken place and feeling, oddly, more nervous than she'd been before she'd gone on camera.

She should have guessed her involvement with Noah might have had something to do with this newfound publicity for 30 First Dates. Maybe she should email him and let him know she hadn't set out to use him in any way? Before she could even complete the thought, a production assistant was rushing over to remove her earpiece and guide her away from the soundstage.

Erin didn't turn her phone on until she'd left the building and was walking to her car. When she did, she was unsurprised by the icons that let her know she had eight new texts and three voicemail messages. The first message was from her mom.

"My little girl, all grown up and on TV," Joanne's voice gushed, and Erin rolled her eyes at the syrupy sarcasm. Sure enough, her mom continued, "Seriously, though, Hon, I thought you did a great job in the interview—it was exciting to watch. This blog thing might really take you somewhere! I know you're busy, but call me when you get a minute and keep me posted. I'll try to keep it from your dad, but honestly, after the show he's bound to hear about it from somebody. So I'll keep
you
posted. Talk soon. Love you."

The next message was from Ben telling her she'd looked like a natural on-screen, which made her smile. The message after that was from Sherri. She hadn't told anyone else she was doing the show, and her friends weren't in
Wake Up, DFW!
's target demographic, so she wasn't expecting a whole lot more commentary.

For that reason, she was caught off guard when Sherri's message said, "Girl. Hang up and take a look at your Facebook profile. Talk to you soon."

Erin whipped her phone app closed and pulled up Facebook. Her wall was covered in comments by real friends and Facebook "friends," everyone from family acquaintances to random relatives to co-workers to her former yoga teacher. Mostly people were congratulating her for being on the show—whether they'd seen it or just heard about it through this explosion on her Facebook wall—or commenting on her hair color, but a few people, mostly old high school friends, were expressing their surprise at discovering the blog.

She hadn't realized how hard she'd been working to hide it from people she knew. The idea of strangers reading it didn't bother her a bit, but the thought of all these people she actually knew…well, the blog did cover some pretty personal subject matter. Her eleventh-grade art teacher wrote, "Nice! Chew 'em up and spit 'em out." Erin groaned out loud.

She'd asked for this.

While she was still scrolling through comments her phone started buzzing in her hand. Ben again. His voicemail message had been along the lines of, "Hey, call me," and didn't seem urgent, so she was surprised he was calling again so soon.

"What's up?" She started her car and began backing out of the space as she talked.

"Hey. You know that everybody knows about the blog now, right?"

Erin sighed heavily. "I was just figuring that out. What, did you see my Facebook page?"

Ben laughed. "Uh, no. I got a call from my dad asking whether I knew 'that cute little girl' I always hung around was on TV. And also telling me you'd dyed your hair blonde, which, by the way, he seemed to like."

Erin thought, "Ugh," as Ben said, "Ugh." She shuddered, laughing.

"So your dad's still not back at wo—" she started to ask.

At the same time, Ben said, "Do you think the show is going to hurt your chances of going back to work?"

Now he chuckled. "No, Dad's still recovering. My mom's started calling it a 'sabbatical.' I think she's convinced herself that's all it was in the first place."

Erin nodded to herself. Ben's parents had reconciled, or at least, Ben's mom seemed happy to forget the whole ugly thing had happened. His dad had moved back home after three nights in the hospital and a few sketchy days at his brother's house. If it hadn't been for the accident, Erin thought, Ben's father probably would have moved out anyway, and the fallout would have been a lot different. From what Ben had been able to glean since the accident, his dad had had a girlfriend for a while and they'd been sneaking around, but the accident had his father spooked. Ben's parents had been acting more lovey-dovey lately than they had in years.

Erin remembered Ben's earlier comment.

"So why do you think the show will hurt my chances at work?" she asked.

"I don't, really," Ben said. "I've just heard about this opportunity"—he dragged out the word—"that I thought you might be interested in. I called my old buddy Kyle. You know, the guy who went to work for the newspaper out of college? He's at some type of finance magazine based in Lewisville now. He's COO, I think, something on the business side of things. Anyway, he said they're always looking for editorial interns, and the pay isn't half bad for an internship. They like to hire grad students or career-changers, and I told him about you. I figured, with your math background and all that."

His words trailed off when Erin didn't respond. "You still there?"

"Sorry," she said. "I'm just…surprised." She paused for a beat, a warmth flooding over her. "You called Kyle for me?"

"Well…yeah," he said awkwardly. "Last time we talked about it, you sounded serious about getting out of teaching and trying something new. Are you? Have you decided just to go back to your old job, then?"

Erin bit her lip.

"Honestly I haven't thought that much about it," she said. "I've been so busy with the blog."

When Ben spoke again, she could tell he was smiling. Probably shaking his head at her fickleness, which was so opposite of himself. She smiled too, feeling so grateful for his help that she almost missed his next words.

"Well, I'll forward you his contact information. No pressure. I told him you might or might not be giving him a call."

"Thank you," she replied in a soft voice. Then her call waiting beeped for the third time during their call, and she let him go.

Deciding the messages could wait, Erin tossed her phone face-down onto the passenger seat and navigated her way up the Central Expressway through the Downtown Canyon, toward home. She turned up the radio and started bobbing her head to Florence & the Machine.

*  *  *

Late that afternoon, Erin sank back into the turquoise shams and gray pillows that lined the headboard of her bed, tucking her feet into a cross-legged position and pulling the laptop that was all but attached to her body these days into her lap. With her bedroom door open, she could hear Sherri in the kitchen putting together a makeshift dinner. Probably a Lean Cuisine. Maybe, if she was feeling ambitious, a grilled cheese sandwich.
I really need to add "start eating better" to my list.

The microwave beeped and Erin thought about getting up to eat. Then she noticed the new counts on her blog. She'd gotten a bump in readership from her morning publicity, though not as much, maybe, as she'd expected. She was up another twenty or so subscribers, and her site had had 400-plus hits that afternoon alone, plus her Twitter following had grown by about 150 in the past three days. She blinked. That was a lot of new re-Tweeting and following back she needed to do. Social media marketing was a full-time job in itself, she was coming to realize.

On that note, she opened her email with trepidation, and sure enough she had forty-four new messages. She flew through the list, deleting spam and answering emails from people she knew who'd heard about the blog or the show and were wishing her well. Then she tackled the others. Lately she'd been getting more and more mail from companies that either wanted to advertise on her blog or pay her to post links on her site. She ran through the list, counting silently—she'd had six of these requests from the last day alone, two of them from online matchmaking sites, one from a European flower vendor and three from various businesses that sold lingerie or sex toys or some combination of the two. These she deleted.

Her finger hovered above the delete key for the remaining requests. She didn't know anything about selling ads, and she wasn't sure how ethical it was to hide ad links inside her posts. But as much time as blogging was taking her these days—answering comments and deleting spam, managing the blog on social media, handling email requests like these, not to mention finding dates, coming up with ideas, and writing and editing the actual posts—she had to find some way to make money from her writing.

Her mind turned once again to Ben's offer.

As she mulled over their conversation, she felt an odd mix of gratitude and confusion. Ben was always thoughtful—he was so much more conscious of other people's needs than she was—but something about this gesture was touching in a way she couldn't explain.

Erin's heart fluttered a little bit, and she felt instantly silly, deciding she was imagining something that wasn't there. Still, her mind turned again to that one night in college. They'd been drinking—Ben probably didn't even remember it, she thought. And besides, she didn't think of
him
as anything other than a friend. He wasn't her type, and she was positive she wasn't his. She was frivolous and goofy. He was serious, a scientist. They balanced each other just fine as friends, but that was it.

Why am I even thinking about this?
Erin's ears grew hot and she forced her thoughts from Ben to the offer he'd presented. Should she call Kyle? Did she really want to take this leap, leave the career she'd grown comfortable with and jump into something entirely unknown?

Yes. Yes, I do.
Erin pulled up North Texas' website again, exploring the pages on the journalism graduate program. She wrinkled her nose at all the undergraduate classes she'd have to take as prerequisites—that thought wasn't appealing, but she figured she couldn't expect to earn a post-grad degree in journalism without learning the tenets of basic reporting. And she loved the sound of the course names.
Feature writing. Visual media. Mass media ethics.
A thrill ran through her as she clicked the link for application requirements. Of all the new and crazy things she was attempting to do this year, this felt like the craziest. The biggest risk.

Erin read the dates and deadlines page, realizing she didn't have much time to make a decision. The new semester started in just over three weeks. She had less than a week to get her application in to make the late admissions deadline.

Before she could work herself up over it too much, she typed out emails to her undergraduate advisor and her favorite professor from UOK to ask for letters of recommendation. Then she began filling out the online admissions form, not getting up from her cross-legged position until she'd clicked "send."

Monday morning, she'd call Kyle.

*  *  *

"What do you think of this menu?" Sherri pointed on the screen to a list of foods that included bacon-wrapped scallops, brie and raspberry tartlets, seared beef roll-ups and mini chocolate soufflé cups.

Erin wrinkled her nose. "Sounds expensive."

Sherri shrugged. "It's no more than the other ones on this list. Besides, you know I told you I'd cover this part. Better this than us spending the whole day slaving in the kitchen." She smiled and shrugged. "I'd much rather spend it getting pampered."

Erin gave her a sheepish look. "I really can't let you do that, Sher. This party thing is on my list, not yours. You've already done too much."

Their joint cocktail party was less than two weeks away. Sherri, in true planner fashion, had organized the event in no time once they'd picked a date. They'd decided to host the party at a downtown photography gallery rather than their apartment—mainly because a client of Sherri's owned the gallery and offered to let her use the space for free.

Between them they were inviting about fifty people. Sherri was using it as a chance to network for work, and Erin was using it as a chance to thank Kyle—whom she
had
called earlier that week, and gone in to interview with two days later. Ben's timing had been perfect. Two summer interns were getting ready to return to their out-of-state schools and the magazine hadn't yet advertised for their replacements. Erin's start date was September 1, which meant the party was also a chance to say good-bye to her old co-workers. She'd invited Dave, of course, and Angie and Dan Wagner and April Pennington, all people from her teachers' lounge lunch gang. She'd also invited Paul because, she figured, why the hell not? Now that she was leaving, maybe she had another shot.