Page 3 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“You’re only half Filipino,” he counters.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m Asian-looking enough that it does the job for him.” I check my inbox to make sure there are no urgent emails. What I do see is a last-minute meeting invite with my editor, Eman, and no subject. I turn to Jonah. “Did you get one of these from Michelle?”

Jonah leans over to look at my screen. “No, but Michelle’s out for the week.”

I swear his editor is always out, but that’s not my business.

“Do you think it’s about layoffs?” I whisper.

The landscape of journalism has changed since I graduated. As if cost-cutting strategies and declining ad revenue weren’t bad enough, people don’t necessarilywantto be reading articles upon articles. Social media headlines are how people get their information, and rarely do people click onlinks in bioto “read more.” A lot of publications have been doing mass layoffs the past year; mycollege classmates and former co-workers are living proof.The Journalis one of the largest news organizations in North America; based on industry rumblings, and the recent numbers, it’s inevitable our company is next.

Jonah lowers his voice. “I heard that if they’re doing it, it’ll be in Q4.”

“That’s in like two months!” I whisper-shout.

“You’ll be fine,” Jonah says. “Your column is one of the more popular ones. There’s no way they’re letting you go.”

“I guess…” I sit back in my chair. This is my first full-time job—a job that’s allowed me to get an apartment in West Hollywood and lease a car that doesn’t break down every other month. Withrealfinancial obligations, I can’t go back to getting paid for one story every three weeks…and that’s if I’m lucky.

“So, what now?” Jonah spins his chair back to face his laptop. “Any more dates lined up?”

“I don’t know.” I sigh. “Maybe I should take a break…”

“Okay,” Jonah scoffs. He knows as well as I do the chances of that are slim to none.

“I swear,” I say, looking at him, “every singleman I’ve gone out with in the past few months gets weird when work comes up.”

Once men find out a woman writes about sex, they’re either a) convinced they’re getting laid that night or b) instantly intimidated by someone so sex-positive and c) never interested in anything else the woman says because they’re not capable of hearing anything past “sex writer.”

“You’re giving men too much credit. They’re just men,” Jonah says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t care how old they are, or how well their mamas raised them. If they’re straight, they’re all the same.”

I stand up. “I need a coffee.”

“What happened toI’m going to start making my coffee at home?” Jonah mocks but starts following me anyway.

“It never tastes the same,” I say with a pout, knowing very well that the strongest sign of restraint is not buying an eight-dollar latte every morning. “How’s your week looking?” I ask as we start walking in the direction I just came from. Past the sound of office chatter, photocopiers, and the newest Taylor Swift song playing from someone’s computer in the distance.

“I have to go to Vegas Saturday to cover that music festival,” he says.

“While you do that, I’ll be ripping my clit in half to make this deadline.”

“Oh, poor you,” Jonah says as we walk into the thankfully empty elevator. “You’re getting paid to orgasm.”

“Hey.” I hit the ground floor button. “Sometimes it’s a lot of work!”

“Oh, I also meant to tell you: Jay’s last day is Friday.” He takes a sip of his coffee. Jay Dunn is one of the senior news reporters atThe Journal.I’ve never met him myself but am familiar with his bylines. “He’s having a going-away party Friday night…I’m gonna be so tired.”

Once we get outside, my eyes squint from the sunlight. It’s barely nine-thirtya.m.and the temperature is already in the mid-nineties. I pull out a hair tie from my pocket and wrap my hair in a topknot. We walk around the block to our local coffee spot that’s, as usual, way too packed. Beneath the palm trees sits an eclectic mix of people taking meetings from their AirPods and people who just finished their eighta.m.Pilates class.

“Jay’s leaving?” I ask once we get in line.

“Yeah, did you know he’s been working here longer than I have?” Jonah has worked atThe Ruefor almost seven years. Whenit comes to historical knowledge of the publication, who people are, how things work, he knows it all. “Iced Americano,” Jonah says to the man at the front sporting a handlebar mustache and overalls. He still has his current iced coffee in hand, but I don’t say anything.

“Iced oat latte, please,” I say after he pays.

“Come with!” Jonah says.

“Is it just for people atThe Journal? Would that be weird?”