Call Me Vi | ONC 2024

Several days later...

I walked through the front doors of The Smokey Tribune at eight am the morning my article was due. Clutched between my fingers was a single sheet of paper riddled with crumple marks around the edges from my tight grip.

Hayden rolled his desk chair to face me as I walked by. "Reags..." he grabbed my arm. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes." I sucked in a deep breath. "For once, I am absolutely sure that this is the right decision."

Hayden stood up. For a moment, I thought he was going to walk out. When I spoke to him after ending my...whatever it was with Violetta, he'd been angry. Angry at me for being so selfishly stubborn. And after a few days and several teary phone calls, he finally came over and I told him everything. He understood but he still didn't like it. Then I'd sent him on his way once we hugged it out because I had some things to seriously consider before I made any rash decisions.

But then he applauded. Him and everyone else at their desks. Every one of my colleagues gave me cheers and claps and good luck wishes.

It was enough that it brought Spencer out of his office, grinning.

"What's going on out here?" he asked, a bright smile on his face. A smile that I knew in a few minutes would be wiped clear.

"Spencer, I-I need to talk to you," I said. My voice wavered, and I glanced at Hayden. He curved his hands into a heart shape.

Spencer's smile wavered, but he nodded nonetheless and led me into his office. He pulled the door closed as I stood at his desk.

"Please, sit."

"No, I don't intend for this to take more than a minute." I cleared my throat. "You approved my vacation time for Valentine's weekend knowing full well that Violetta Dawson, whom you wanted featured in your magazine, was going to be there."

My boss raised his eyebrows. "I knew she would be in Asheville, but I very well did not anticipate you two to share the same hotel."

"Either way," I continued. "Your words to me before I left were to bring you back 'the juiciest mango'. So here it goes." I laid down the piece of paper on his desk, the headline big, bold, and centered.

"'Asheville to Ashes, Dream to Dust'...Reagan, what is this?" Spencer's expression dimmed as his lips turned down into a frown.

"It's my letter of resignation," I said. Despite the pounding of my anxious heart, my voice remained steady. Maybe it was because of my cheering committee who I knew were only pretending to work while they listened intently to our conversation through the closed door. Maybe it was because I knew what it meant—truly meant—to quit my job today.

"Your...what?"

"Writing the article on Violetta the way you wanted it, would've done a disservice to our readers. Not to mention what it would do to her. I know you let me write my articles how I want, but ever since our last conversation you've decided to go in a different direction. So I'm doing the same. I quit. Effective immediately."

As the words left my mouth, a weight lifted from my heart and shoulders. This was right. For the first time, this was the right decision.

Silence lingered between us to the tune of the ticking clock behind Spencer's desk.

Then he pushed back his chair, stood up, and reached out his hand. "Now that," he said "is one hell of a juicy mango. It has been a pleasure working with you, Reagan."

"And you as well." In all honesty, it was heartbreaking. But this job had shown me so many paths to the future, it was finally time for me to make my choice.