Page 13 of Not So Fast
“Now, I know you’re all curious about who I got to meet and how that went. I think most of you saw the photo Dirk posted of the two of us together. He was…nice.” Mia stopped the recorder. “Nice?” she asked herself. “Maybe nice for a robot. Nice for a total egomaniac.”
Why was she second-guessing herself? She started over. “Dirk was great for inviting me, and he had a fantastic race,but you can see the guy’s ego from a mile away. It needs its own car.”
She stopped the recorder. “That’s more like it.”
She pressed Record again. “Of course, the real tea to spill is about meeting Xander Bishop—” The instant those words came out of her mouth, she saw flashes of those electric moments with him—when he first walked up to her and she thought she might pass out. When they shook hands. When she made him smile. All of it sent her verbal skills on a vacation. Like they flew to Fiji and downed a bunch of mai tais.
“Fuck.”
She stopped recording. What was she supposed to say? That he’d been rude and angry, but so sexy she sort of liked it?
She pressed Record again. “I met Xander Bishop. He said he was surprised I didn’t recognize him without his dick in his hand. How hilarious is that? Of course, I was shocked he knew anything about my podcast, but that’s beside the point. He didn’t have a great race. It was clear he was disappointed, and he had every reason to be. It was terrible at every step, and if I’m perfectly honest, I think Mega Racing let him down with their tire strategy. Also, I’ve talked about this on the pod before, but I still think he’s struggling with something that goes beyond the performance of the car. It might be stress or simply getting in his own way mentally.
“Now, the big news is that I have been invited to attend the race in Monza. Full disclosure, that invitation came from Xander. I guess he likes podcasters who are brutally honest about his driving? All kidding aside, I was very clear and said I would not go easier on him just because of the invite to Italy. I want to be aboveboard with you all about what’s going on. So. Wow. I’m going to a European race. It’ll bemy first time. And I hope you all know that I am taking you along for the ride. Now, a little bit of housekeeping before I sign off. First, be sure to check out my merch. I have awesome T-shirts and hats and pins. And don’t forget that the firstNot So Fastmeet-up is on May 26 for the Monaco Grand Prix. If you’re near Austin, Texas, or willing to travel, come hang out with me. You can check my social feeds for details.”
Mia stopped the recording.Thatwas what she needed to do—stop letting her brain get in the way and talk to her listeners like she would talk to Jasmine. Fan to fan. And keep it real. Now to sit down to edit this monstrosity, upload to the podcast platforms, then post to social about the new episode so she could get some sleep.
* * *
Mia crashed around 8:00 a.m. and woke a little after noon to so many comments on her socials that she was left to brush her teeth with one hand while tapping replies with the other. She barely made a dent and had a scant fifteen minutes to race out the door. Aided by a few well-timed traffic lights, she made it to her mom’s preferred lunch spot, Papagayo, only five minutes late.
Mia rushed into the restaurant and spotted her mom already seated at a table near the back, drinking iced tea. Mia was always amazed at how much she and her mom looked alike—same wavy brown hair, full face and dark eyes. If the resemblance was so strong, why couldn’t they think the same way?
“Mom. Hi. Sorry I’m late,” Mia said, a bit breathless.
Her mom greeted Mia with a kiss on the cheek, then plopped back into her seat. “I can only give you the speech on punctuality so many times. You’re a grown woman.”
“Which you would think means I don’t require a speech at all. Just a little grace.”
Mia unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap, smiling at her mother to disguise her frantic internal assessment of her mom’s mood. There was no getting around the fact that Amy Neal was an intimidating woman. Or perhapsformidablewas a better word. Either way, you didn’t want to mess with her, a fact Mia had learned many times over. When Mia was in first grade, there was a boy in her class who pulled her haironce. He got in trouble with the teacher, but that wasn’t enough for Amy. In the car circle at school, she climbed out of her run-down Volvo station wagon, knocked on the window of the kid’s mom’s Suburban and delivered a verbal smackdown that prompted an intervention from the principal. Mia loved her mom to the ends of the earth, but if you crossed her, there would be hell to pay.
And Mia loved her mom for being so strong. It had been just the two of them since Mia was eight years old, after Mia’s dad left and never said another word. Mia didn’t remember it leaving too big a hole in her life. Her dad had been a truck driver and was often away for weeks at a time. Even when he was at home, he wasn’t exactly an involved parent. In some ways, Mia had relished the idea that she had her mom all to herself, but she could see now that had been a selfish thought. And although her mom never really spoke about Mia’s dad after he left, Mia had often wondered if at the very least, her mom missed having a partner.
“How was Miami?” her mom asked. “Has podcasting lost its luster yet? Thinking of making a change?”
That was a potshot on multiple levels since Mia was proneto switching jobs when she felt unchallenged or bored, and of course her mom despised Mia’s current trajectory.
“Secretly hoping?”
“Simply bracing for the inevitable. How are your finances holding up? Do you need help?”
“I’m good. Things are getting better.”
“I thought I’d let you know there’s an opening in my office. I was thinking you might want to apply.”
Mia’s mom started her journalism career back in the day when it was a normal thing for every town in America to have a local newspaper. But with so much corporate consolidation within the news industry, those jobs were few and far between now. Mia’s mom’s paper was bought by a bigger paper about a decade ago, which was in turn purchased by a massive corporation, which was then bought by a media behemoth. Her mom had survived rounds and rounds of layoffs.
“There’s no security in journalism. I don’t want to start something new and get laid off a few months later.”
Her mother cast a doubtful glance. “You’ve quit every writing job you’ve had. The online magazine downtown. The arts weekly in South Congress. The copywriting job for that nonprofit. If you just stick to one thing and do a good job, you won’t need to worry about being laid off.”
“You know that’s not true. You’ve seen lots of talented, hardworking writers lose their jobs.”
She shrugged and returned to the menu. “If you don’t want to apply, just say so. You don’t have to turn it into an indictment of my profession.”
Mia reached for her mom’s arm. “You are an amazing journalist, but even more than that you’re an unbelievable writer who inspired me to get a degree in journalism. If I could havea career in your field, I would pursue it. But the opportunities aren’t there.”
Her mom slow-blinked. Once. Twice. “Okay. Fine.”
