Page 13 of The Apparent Trap

I have to admit that Carmen is so damn good at this part. For such a science nerd (respectfully), she’s also decidedly Gen Z in her tastes. She can speak to whatever is gaining popularity in a way that the other coanchors (Jenny, a millennial who came from covering the White House so really has no interest, and Tate, a Gen Xer who tries to come across as young but fails woefully) don’t connect with as much. And I do enjoy getting to pick these topics with her. Every day, all day, we’re fed a diet of associate producers sending us funny videos, and I get to watch them as an excuse that it’s “work.”

I hear someone shuffle up behind me, and I turn to see it’s Lee. He normally leaves once his segment is done, but I guess this time he’s stopped for a moment to quietly watch Carmen.

As though he senses I’ve noticed him, his eyes flick over to mine. But he just nods in my direction and then looks back to Carmen.

I know he’s watching his daughter; I know from what Carmen’s said that the situation is fraught and complicated, at best. But with my dad’s voice roiling in my mind, it’s impossible to stand next to this man and pretend like everything’s just fine.

I’ll figure out where we’ve met and apologize profusely for not remembering.

I’ve got to get Lee’s voice out of my head. He was wrong about all of it—I’m not stuck in a box any more than he’s going to apologize profusely.

So I turn on my heel and walk out of the studio. I’ve got a ton of work to do. I’ve got a trip to Sweden to finalize plans for. And if maybe I want to ignore what being in Lee Morgan’s periphery does to my heart rate, well, that’s an added bonus.

Chapter 5

It’s a law of absolute certainty that on a day when you say out loud that everything is going right, then something very, very wrong must happen.

I woke up in a good mood. The November switch from daylight savings time a couple weeks ago is rough in the evenings, but the mornings are all lighter. My early walk is now punctuated by crisp air and the purplish hues of sunrise.

And the show is on fire today. Georgia nails a live interview with the transportation secretary, holding his feet to the flames about air traffic control strikes. Carmen, Jenny, and Tate have a moment sure to go viral later with a kindergarten dance phenom who’s charmed everyone’s pants off. And a segment that Carmen and I pretaped with those actors from that nineties show that’s reuniting even got our director, Gil, a little teary eyed.

So riding that high, I made one little mistake. I happened to turn to Georgia after the show ended. “Man, everything is really going right today, huh?”

That must’ve done it.

I was asking for things to get screwed up.

After I grabbed some coffee, I figured I’d swing by Carmen’s office to talk about the interview we’re taping this afternoon.

I’m looking at my phone when I open the door. “Carmen, do you want to go over—”

Holy shit.

My dad is here.

In Carmen’s office.

Embracing Carmen.

And not in a pals kind of way. Her hand is on his cheek, tender. His arms are wrapped around her waist, one hand just a liiiiittle lower than I think my brain is comfortable registering. It’s a train wreck, and I’m unable to avert my eyes.

Holy shit?!

But they both spot me and jump away, as though there’s some plausible deniability if they’re two feet apart now.

“Ezzie!” Carmen’s cheeks are rapidly reddening. If I ever wanted to see her without a mask, I guess this is really the moment, because for the first time, she seems young and embarrassed and not at all at her normal level of complete control.

“Hey, cutie!” my dad says, and I almost want to laugh at how happy he seems at seeing me despite also being clearly embarrassed. At least the man is consistent in some things—he loves me, he’s always affable, and he’s completely oblivious to social norms.

“I um . . . I’ll come back?” I ask, even though my feet feel like lead.

“No, no, no,” my dad replies, grabbing my arm before I can make a move to bolt. “I should’ve said something before, but it was new, and you guys work together, so I wanted to be sure and . . . well . . . Remember when I said I went on a date a few weeks ago?”

My eyes are wide. “Uh-huh.” How the hell could I forget?

“Well, that was with Carmen!”

“I can see that,” I say, dryly, wondering if my eyes are going to stick from staring so hard at this impossible scenario.