Brooklyn Girls (37 page)

“Pia, hi there,” she says.

She sounds very serious. Oh God, I failed, it’s all over, there’s no way SkinnyWheels will ever be a success, she made a mistake, I’m going to have to ask my parents for the money for Vic.

Then she clears her throat.

“Pia, we’d like to officially offer you a role here at Carus International in a new division that we’re calling Truck Eats. Your official title is head of new projects, you’ll report to me, and your initial salary is seventy-five thousand. We also want to offer you forty thousand outright for a fifty percent share in the SkinnyWheels business, and in return, we’ll back you to expand it, to a limit of five hundred thousand for the first year.”

I make a little hiccup sound of shock.

“Now, that has to include additional trucks and permits, fitting out all the trucks, and hiring support staff, so it’ll be tight. Very tight. Of course, we’ll support you in every way you need—kitchens, food prep, storage, management strategy.…”

I am jumping up and down on the spot, but I can’t get any words out. Lina pauses.

“I hope this is something you’re interested in, Pia. We believe that it’s the right time to invest in something small and real that will grow organically. And we believe that you are the right person to do it for us. Judy and Gilbert were particularly impressed with your commitment and passion.”

“I … thank … you—” My mind is racing. I can’t quite take it all in. “Lina, thank you—”

“Then, in six months, we’d like you to launch either the all-day breakfast truck or the organic Italian truck, depending on which proves the more viable investment in focus groups,” she says. “I’ll be working with you on those two. In the meantime … it’s your baby.”

Lina pauses, but before I can say anything, she lowers her voice. “I understand if you want to continue to go it alone, Pia, it’s a fantastic business and I get it. I know that the corporate world can ruin small and perfect ideas, though I really think this would be different. But if you want to see how far you can go, Carus International is the place to do it. You won’t be tied to a desk, though you will have one here of course, and you’ll still have day-to-day autonomy.”

“Yes!” I finally say. “Yes! Please! Lina, thank you, yes! Yes!”

“Oh, great!” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “I am so thrilled to hear you say that! Can you come in tomorrow at nine and we’ll go over everything?”

“Yes,” I say. “Definitely. I’ll be there. Thank you. Thank you so much!”

I hang up, and, almost in a daze, walk back through to the living room.

Immediately, I am hit by a wall of silent tension. I don’t know why the girls are still sitting there—I mean, hell, they’re not their parents. I guess that’s the weird control my father can exert over a situation.

“You can’t just walk out on us, young lady,” says my father.

“I’ve just been offered forty thousand for half of the business I started six weeks ago,” I say quietly.

“What? Speak up,” he snaps.

“I’ve been offered forty thousand for fifty percent of the business that I started six weeks ago.” My voice is finally loud and confident, but I feel completely relaxed. In fact, I’m not nervous, or worried, or in the least bit intimidated. I’m just me. “And I’ve been offered a permanent salaried position at Carus International. They’re going to back me to expand my business idea.”

“Awesome!” shouts Julia, and all the girls erupt into screams and wild applause. My parents don’t move.

I turn to my parents. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am, that I abused your trust and let you down so many times. But I’m an adult now. You don’t need to worry about me anymore.”

“We have a room for you at the Carlyle,” says my father, sounding less certain. “And you’re leaving with us tomorrow night.”

“No,” I say as clearly as I can. “I’m not. I’m staying here. I have a job. I have a life. This is my home.”

My father stands up, and turns to my mother, who is still staring at me, confused. “You’re coming with us,” she says insistently.

“No, I’m really not,” I say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some celebrating to do.”

My parents stand up awkwardly and walk toward the front door. I stand up to follow them—more out of a desire to make sure they’re really leaving than politeness. Just as they open it, my father turns around.

“If that’s all true, then … well done.”

And then they’re gone, and I’m enveloped in a huge, whooping, screaming mess of girls.

“I can’t believe you did it!”

“I always knew you’d do it!”

“I am so proud of you!”

“I am so happy for you!”

“Get me a bottle of wine,” I say. “We’re celebrating.”

Moments later, the wine is open and we’re all around the kitchen table.

“To Pia!” shouts Julia, holding up her wine.

“To me!” I echo. “And to you, for realizing that I could actually do something with SkinnyWheels—and for helping me do it!”

“Yay!” everyone cheers.

“To us!” says Coco.

“I don’t know what I’d have done without any of you,” I say. “And I’m so sorry my parents just turned up here, by the way. I wonder how they found me.”

“Benny, your boss from the PR agency,” says Angie, reaching for a pack of cards in the middle of the table. “He had your address for the paychecks.”

“Of course,” I say. “Well, I had to deal with them sooner or later.…” I pause, thinking. I wish that had ended better. I wish I’d earned their respect rather than demanded it. But maybe relationships can’t be repaired in one day.

“So, head of new projects,” says Julia. “What’s your first order of business?”

“Drinking this. Then I’m going to smoke a cigarette.”

Julia and Madeleine make disapproving sounds and Angie shouts, “Woo!”

“And I’m going to call Jonah and let him know the news. Then I’m going to introduce Lina to Phil and Lara, so they can talk about A Meal Grows in Brooklyn, and figure out how to buy the idea from them so we can set it up properly to launch, because that’s an awesome idea and deserves another chance at success,” I say. “And then I’m going to build the best little food truck empire in New York goddamn City.”

“I’ll toast to that,” says Julia. “To building empires.”

“To building empires!” we all chorus, and clink glasses.

Angie throws a cork at me. “Hey, I am so proud of you. Have I mentioned that?”

“You know, not everything worked out the way I expected it to, and yet … it’s almost perfect. Bartolo’s, Jonah, Bianca, Cosmo, Vic, Lina, even jail … it all happened for a reason.”

“You took a hell of a lot of risks,” says Angie, shuffling the deck of cards thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s the secret to your success.”

“That’s what Marie told me to do,” I say. “Take risks.”

“To Marie,” says Julia.

We all hold up our wineglasses.

“To Marie.”

I take another sip of wine. “She also said that I’d survive with my friends and family … that’s you guys. You’re my friends
and
my family now. We can always rely on one another.” I pause. “I sound seriously stupid.”

“So now are you going to call Aidan, or what?” prompts Julia.

“Does anybody want any more wine?” I reply.

“Why are you changing the subject?” says Julia.

“Why don’t you answer the question?” echoes Maddy.

We pause. They’re all staring at me, arms folded. I get his business card out of my purse.
Aidan Carr.

I stare at it for a moment and sigh.

“I know you’ve been thinking about him,” says Julia. “You get that moony lovey look on your face.”

“Moony?”

“It’s true,” says Angie. “You look kind of retarded.”

I throw a wine cork at her.

“Call him!” says Coco. “What have you got to lose?”

“My self-respect?”

“You lost that a long time ago,” says Angie.

“Be honest,” says Madeleine. “Do you want to call him?”

“Yes, I want to, but…”

“But nothing!”
shouts Coco. She clears her throat sheepishly. “That came out louder than I thought it would. Sorry.”

“It would go wrong, he’d end up rejecting me.”

“Why would you even say that?” says Madeleine. “No guy in his right mind would reject you.”

“I can’t put myself, you know, out there. I can’t risk it.”

“Isn’t this exactly what you were just talking about?” says Julia. “Taking a risk?”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” adds Coco.

“A blown-off finger behind the sofa?”

“Please, don’t mention the finger,” says Julia, looking sick.

“Let’s put it to a vote,” says Coco. “Who votes Pia calls him?”

Madeleine and Julia raise their hands. “We do!”

“Yeah, grow a pair and call him,” says Angie.

“If you don’t call Aidan, I will cry,” threatens Julia.

“Then stock up on Kleenex, sweet-cheeks. Because it’s not going to happen.”

“How about this,” says Angie. “We’ll flip a coin.”

Julia pulls out a coin from her pocket, flips it, and catches it under her hand.

“Call it, Pia.”

I think for a moment. “Tails.”

Julia pulls her hand away and looks.

“Suck it. You’re calling him.”

CHAPTER 35

An hour later, I still haven’t called Aidan.

Instead, I’m stretching out on my bed, still fully dressed, and reflecting on everything that’s happened.

I did it.

I created a successful business from nothing, sold it, made a profit, got a job I know I’ll love, and saved my home and the home of the people I love.

And this is just the beginning. I feel like I could do anything. I know how to fight for what I believe in, I trust my instincts, and I know what’s really important to me.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but … I love my life.

Then my phone rings. It’s an unlisted number.

“Pia speaking?”

“Pia, it’s your mother.”

I stiffen. What does she want?

She clears her throat. “I am just calling quickly while your father isn’t here to say … I am so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I stammer out. She’s never said that.

“Don’t tell your father I rang. You know what he’s like.”

“I won’t.”

“I love you,” she says, and hangs up.

She hasn’t told me she loves me in years, not since I was a kid, homesick and crying on the phone to her from my first boarding school. And she’s never, ever told me she’s proud of me.

Wow, I miss my mom.

For a second I wish I could go back in time to being six years old, and could climb into her lap and ask her to read me a story, so she’d wrap her arms around me and make me feel safe.

I vow to call her next week, just to talk. If I want a good relationship with her in the future, I have to make the effort.

Then my phone rings again. It’s another unlisted number. Mom, again?

“Hello?”

“Pia, it’s me.” It’s my father. I get a funny thudding feeling in my chest. What does he want?

“Hi.”

“Your mother doesn’t know I’m calling, so I need to be quick.” He clears his throat. “Pia, I’m very impressed with everything you’ve achieved in the past two months. I have just been reading about Carus International and I looked up your food truck on the World Wide Web.… Well done.”

“Thank you,” I say after a pause. Is this really happening? And did he just say “World Wide Web?”

“You’ve really achieved something,” he says. His voice sounds warmer and more relaxed than I’ve heard it in years. “I just want to say that I hope you’re enjoying this bit. Building something, making it a success … I know how exciting and satisfying it is.”

“I will, I am, it is—” I stammer. I’m stunned.

“Enjoy every second of it,
schatzi
.”

“Yes, Daddy. I will … I am.”

He hasn’t called me
schatzi
since I was about ten. It means sweetheart. I get a lump in my throat.

“Well, good-bye. We’ll call you next Sunday.”

And then he hangs up.

I’m left staring at my phone, frozen with surprise.

Then, almost without thinking about it, I take out Aidan’s card again, and lie back on my pillow. I stare at the card for a few minutes.

Aidan Carr.

Should I call Aidan?

Reasons yes: Because I like him, I really do, like I haven’t liked anyone in years. Maybe ever.

Reasons no: Because I fucked up the date. Because I don’t feel as confident about love as I do about SkinnyWheels. Because it will go wrong. Because it always goes wrong. Because I probably like the idea of him more than the reality. Because I don’t even know if I’m capable of having a real relationship. Because I don’t want to get rejected again. Because it’s too hard. Because I’m scared of taking a risk.

With almost trembling hands—oh cliché of clichés!—I dial his number.

It starts ringing. I can feel my heart beating in my throat. God! How can something as simple as calling a guy be even more nerve-racking than presenting to a boardroom of high-powered executives?

“Hello?”

“Hi, hello, uh, Aidan? It’s, uh, it’s Pia,” I say, trying to make my voice deep and calm.

“Hmm … Pia … Pia?” I think I can hear a smile in his voice.

“The girl who pressed the eject button and ruined an otherwise great evening? About two weeks ago?”

“Oh,
that
Pia,” he says. “Well, how do you do?”

“I do very well, thank you,” I say. “Actually, I was just, uh, calling to apologize for being such a freak at dinner. I wasn’t quite myself. I ran into someone I used to know and it threw me.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry I shouted at you. I had no right to. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve been regretting it ever since.”

We both pause.

“I was wondering if we could redo the second half of that dinner?” I say, my voice catching in my throat.

“I’d rather not,” he says. My heart stops for a second. I’m immediately flooded with a burning embarrassment. I knew it. I knew I would be rejected again.

Then he clears his throat.

“I’d rather just see you again. No explanation needed, no second takes of the first take. Just … more.”