22. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
T he next morning was no better than the last, with no sightings or contact with Gregory. Fortunately, my mother was feeling better, so I met both of my parents for lunch.
When my father asked if I had lunch plans with Gregory, I shook my head and pushed the food around my plate. I knew what Dad was probably thinking, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. I hadn’t even allowed myself to think about it; trying to make sense of Gregory’s words and actions was maddening. And maybe, I feared, hopeless.
Gregory was, to put it mildly, complicated.
My father wouldn’t understand. Most of the time, I didn’t even understand, though I wasn’t ready to give up either, considering how much progress I’d made with him in the past week. We’d had moments . Surely I didn’t imagine those moments; they couldn’t mean nothing.
Fortunately, my parents knew me well enough to recognize when I didn’t want to discuss something, and they usually respected that. Today was no exception, and I was grateful. As I listened to them chatter about a quirky local couple they’d just met at breakfast, I smiled. For all the things wrong with my life, with me , I certainly couldn’t blame my amazing parents. I was very lucky; I’d wanted for nothing while growing up. At least nothing that mattered. It was hard to imagine that anyone could have better parents, actually. Sometimes in the past I felt guilty that I’d had such advantages when others suffered so. But Jack had long ago helped me to realize that guilt wasn’t going to solve any problems. Offer help, empathy, and understanding, Jack said, to those without all my privilege—and recognize just how fortunate I am—but don’t waste energy on guilt. Fight for those who are marginalized, those without the resources and support I’d always taken for granted, he advised. He was right, though courage wasn’t something I had in abundance.
But why was I thinking about Jack? Or my lack of messed-up childhood? I shook my head as I sipped from my mug of forgotten coffee and refocused on the conversation.
Lukewarm coffee aside, the rest of lunch passed rather pleasantly, and my spirits had risen significantly by the time we finished the meal and stood up to leave.
My spirits really soared when I heard my phone buzz in my pantsuit pocket.
I frowned at my phone screen. It was Jenn—not that a text from Jenn was unwelcome, but I’d been expecting to hear from Gregory.
Jenn
Any more kisses yet? Only one bed? Please update me, dying to know
Viviana
Neither :(
Jenn
Grrr
Viviana
You’re telling me
I like your enthusiasm though
Feeling irritable again as I proceeded to the next meeting room, I’d started to put my phone back in my pocket when it buzzed again. Sighing, I considered just ignoring it, but Jenn didn’t deserve that. She was the only person I could confide in these days.
Gregory
Hello, Viviana. I will see you at the evening event, or perhaps after.
Against my instincts, I held back from responding right away, since he obviously didn’t feel any sense of urgency in replying to my messages. Still, my lips curled into a smile and my heart raced as I considered the “perhaps after” part.
Viviana
Then again, tonight might not be a lost cause after all …
Jenn
Well?? Don't leave me hanging!
Viviana
He wants to see me later! 3
I practically skipped along to the next session, wondering what the evening would bring. And what should I wear? Would we perhaps go to his room or mine? With all this occupying my mind, the afternoon session speakers didn’t capture much, if any, of my attention.
I strode into the evening party with much more confidence than I’d felt the night before. After all, I’d spent extra time getting ready for what I hoped would be a special night with Gregory, the first of many, perhaps. The first time was always the most important, especially for a man like Gregory, who could probably have any woman he wanted if he put in the effort to not be rude.
Or even if he didn’t.
I had chosen a sleeveless, sapphire-colored dress that Annie had once gifted me. The upper part was fitted and lined with small silver diamond shapes, and the skirt was long and flowy. The combination of elegant and sophisticated yet soft and feminine was perfect for this occasion. At least I hoped it was elegant—I wasn’t the best judge of fashion. But Annie was, and even though I was mad at her, she’d never have given me a dress that was less than flattering.
I had to suppress the urge to twirl around, and I smiled instead, looking around for my handsome date.
I spotted him immediately, talking to Brandon and a tall woman I didn’t know. I bit my bottom lip, unprepared for such an encounter.
Frowning, I turned on my heel and made my way to an empty table on one side of the room, where I hoped Brandon wouldn’t see me. Once I sat down, I texted Gregory to let him know I’d arrived, feigning ignorance of his location in the room. Setting my phone on the table, I leaned back in my chair and began to look around at the others in the crowd. It was an interesting mix of obvious academic types and more sophisticated publishing house types.
As I scanned the room, my wary eyes landed on a woman I’d encountered in several sessions earlier. The woman, tall and slender in a pantsuit, smiled and walked toward my table. I welcomed the chance for some company. Apart from Gregory, Brandon, and my parents, I knew no one at this conference, so it was a relief to be able to meet some people, especially someone who wasn’t a high-level executive or academic. Jane … what was her name? Not Austen … Alton. Jane Alton was neither an executive nor an academic; in a morning session, she had introduced herself as a proofreader for a Duluth publication.
“Hi, mind if I join you?”
“If you don’t mind the wallflowers table, sure.” I smiled, gesturing to the empty chair across from me. “I’m Viviana Cantwell. And you’re Jane, right?”
“Jane Alton, yes. It’s nice to see a friendly face. I go to literary conferences as often as I can and usually recognize a lot of people I know, but not so much today. Which is odd since I actually live here too.”
As Jane sat down, I breathed a sigh of relief. Sitting alone at an event designed for networking was always awkward, and even though I wasn’t here for the networking, I didn’t need everyone else to know that.
“So, have you been to Duluth before?” Jane asked, sipping her cocktail.
“I have, many times as a child. It was sort of our weekend getaway when we had the chance.” I smiled at the memories. “It’s one of my favorite places, actually.”
“I can see why. I’ve only lived here for a few years myself, but I wish I’d moved here years ago. It’s a beautiful area,” Jane said, her blue eyes twinkling.
“Where did you—” I stopped when Gregory suddenly appeared in front of our table. “Oh, Gregory! There you are.”
“Hello, Viviana,” he said stiffly. “Am I interrupting?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Gregory, this is Jane Alton, who works with the Lake Superior Post , a well-known regional publication—”
“I’m familiar with it,” he interrupted. “And what do you do at the Post , Ms. Alton?”
“I’m a proofreader, mostly for local pieces about—”
“I see.” His lips curved downward into a distinct frown.
I looked at him with narrowed eyes. Was he being condescending because of Jane’s job ? If so, what must he think of my freelance editing position? Shaking my head slightly, I said, “Jane, this is Gregory Fitzgerald, a senior editor at Elliot, a New York publishing house. He’s been visiting Minneapolis because his close friend heads up Bolder Publishing, where I work.”
Jane smiled politely, holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Gregory.”
“It is Dr. Fitzgerald.” He shook her hand quickly. He glanced at his watch and turned to me, his tone laced with impatience. “Are your parents due to arrive soon? I do look forward to becoming better acquainted.”
“I, uh, I believe so,” I said, caught off guard.
Jane, probably sensing she was a third wheel, stood to make a graceful exit. “Well, I see an old friend over there, so I’ll leave you two alone. Maybe I’ll catch up with you later, Viviana.”
I smiled at my new friend, attempting to apologize with my eyes. Just then, my phone buzzed. The text was from my mother, stating that they would not be attending tonight. Apparently my father felt fatigued from the crowds, which happened fairly often, serious introvert that he was. So my parents would be having a quiet dinner to themselves elsewhere. I wasn’t the least bit surprised or disappointed.
But he certainly was, after I told him the news. “What? He’s—they’re not coming?”
He’d rarely stumbled over words before, not even during some of our rather awkward encounters. He must have been surprised indeed. And even crestfallen, judging by the pained look on his face.
“Sorry,” I said slowly, unsure how to interpret Gregory’s strange reaction. “Sometimes my father needs quiet time to recharge during or after events like this. He’s not a fan of crowds.”
He stared down at the table, silent for a moment. “I see.”
“I’m sorry. I … well, I didn’t know you were so looking forward to seeing them, or we could’ve arranged to all meet at a restaurant instead. I’m afraid it’s too late now though, as they’ve already made their own dinner plans.” Should I feel delighted that he was so interested in getting to know my family? Or offended that he seemed less interested in getting to know me ? Surely I was imagining that, though.
He was silent and pulled his phone from his pocket.
After a few minutes of failed attempts at small talk, I sighed. Gregory seemed very distracted, and his clipped one-word answers indicated he was even less interested in small talk than usual. I almost couldn’t blame him, as my attempts at small talk were boring even to me … except that I could blame him somewhat, because he was supposed to at least try , wasn’t he? We were sort of dating, after all. He’d invited me here!
“I see an acquaintance with whom I must speak.” He stood up quickly.
I started to rise, intending to accompany him.
He shook his head and put a firm hand on my shoulder. “No, you stay. You would not be interested in our conversation. We will speak later.”
I sat back in the chair, feeling stunned and slighted, which was unfortunately becoming a frequent feeling around him. “OK,” I said, resigned. “See you later.”
Without another word, he was gone, and I was left to stew in my feelings of resentment and confusion, coupled with a healthy dose of self-pity. What I needed immediately was a stiff drink, so I went in search of one. Fortunately, I also saw Jane, who was wincing as a short, blonde man in a suit spoke loudly to her. Drink in hand, I walked in Jane’s direction.
The relief in her eyes was palpable. “Viviana! I’d love to chat some more about that project. Sorry, Walter, it was nice to see you,” she said quickly as she linked arms with me and dragged me away.
After they were out of earshot, Jane turned to me. “Massive thanks for rescuing me. That’s Walter Bonneville, and he’s a pain in the butt, to be frank. His IQ is off the charts, but his EQ is nonexistent. It’s bad enough I have to work with him occasionally, but he also hits on me every time I see him. Every time.” She shuddered, looking over her shoulder to reassure herself that he was far away.
I giggled as we headed toward a small empty table. “I’m glad to be of service. I’ve only just met you, but I recognized the please-rescue-me expression. It must be universal.”
“Well, speaking of needing to be rescued … Has your, uh, friend left?”
“He has. Jane, I’m sorry he was so rude,” I said.
She offered a wry smile. “We all have bad days, right? It’s fine.”
“I wish I could make up some excuse for him, but I can’t. He’s almost always that way.”
Jane’s lips curved into a frown. “No worries, for me at least. But what about you? It doesn’t bother you?”
I sighed as I slumped into a chair. “It does, but I thought he’d started to come around. He seemed better lately, and we had a lovely date last weekend—” I stopped abruptly. “Jane, I am so, so sorry. I’ve only just met you today. You couldn’t possibly be interested in hearing about the details of my love life, if it can even be called a love life.”
“Nonsense,” Jane said, tossing her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder and leaning forward with a kind smile. “I’d love to hear more. Do you want to start now, or shall we get another drink first?”
The cocktails helped ease my unease, that is, until I spotted Gregory talking to a woman. And not just any woman—a very beautiful one. Tall and shapely with stunning black hair and olive skin, the woman was laughing, actually laughing , ostensibly at something he had said. Jane followed my gaze, which was probably more of a glare.
“Oh my gosh, is he actually flirting with her? Gregory never flirts. He’s … he’s incapable!” I said, just above a whisper.
“Well, perhaps they’re old friends or—” Jane stopped as they both watched him whisper close to That Woman’s ear, after which she smiled coyly. “Or … something,” she finished flatly. She pushed her glasses up her nose and turned to me, sympathy in her eyes.
I downed the rest of my drink and slammed it on the table, ready to confront him.
“Don’t,” Jane warned. “I know what you’re thinking.”
I eyed my new friend suspiciously. “How do you know me so well, when we just met today?”
Jane burst into laughter. “Because we’re totally alike, and I know exactly what I’d be thinking in your shoes.”
I let out a long breath and leaned back in my chair. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. You’ve been nothing but awesome, even though I barely know you. So … it’s not all in my head then? He is being a little infuriating?”
Jane nodded emphatically. “More than a little, I’d say. And I think your glass is empty.”
When I raised my eyes again, Gregory and That Woman were no longer in sight. I clenched my jaw and then rose to join Jane in search of more cocktails. But before we reached the bar, I caught sight of someone familiar.
Irene? I did a double take. Just my luck tonight, another person who’s out to get me.
The sinking feeling in my stomach only worsened when I saw who Irene was talking to—Brandon. How did they know each other? Maybe they had mutual local connections through Bolder.
They deserve each other.
Scowling, I turned away before either of them could spot me.
An hour later, I had enjoyed chatting with Jane, who confessed to her nerves about tomorrow’s breakfast date (or meeting? Jane wasn’t sure) with a colleague she was crushing on. But I couldn’t stop stewing about the scene I’d witnessed with Gregory and That Woman. Nor had I seen him at all since then. I was more than ready to return to my room and sleep off my terrible mood, and I told Jane so.
“Fine by me. I’m more than a little tired myself, and I haven’t even been through the emotional wringer as you have tonight,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “Though I think you handled it admirably. As well as anyone could. Are you going to text him to say you’re leaving?”
I sighed. “Hmm. Do you think I should?”
“I think—” Jane hesitated. “I think that’s up to you.”
“You think I shouldn’t, and you’re probably right. I shouldn’t bother.” I exhaled loudly again as we walked in the direction of our rooms. What would Elizabeth from my novel do? “Knowing me, though, I probably will.”
“There’s no right or wrong answer here,” Jane said.
“Mm-hmm.”
Jane laughed, but before she could speak, I blurted out, “Would you read my book?” I bit my lip, trying to ignore the waves of awkwardness pouring out of me. “I mean, we just met, but I feel like we really connected today …”
So, so awkward . Thanks a lot, alcohol.
“Book, as in … you’ve written a book? Edited one? Or what exactly?”
“I’ve written one. Writing, actually, I’ve still got a long way to go. But I could really use another set of eyes, especially since my story is a bit, uh, stalled lately. Inspiration is currently on hold.”
“That’s cryptic,” Jane said, grinning. “Well, I’d love to. What kind of book is it?”
I was silent for a moment before muttering, “Basically Austen fan fiction.”
“Really?” Jane’s eyes widened. “I—”
“I mean, it’s probably not worth your time. It’s silly, really, the whole thing. The story and even just the idea that I could write something—”
“Hey, I was just going to say that I love Austen adaptations of all kinds! Well, scratch that. I don’t like the ones that write alternative plots or endings for Austen’s novels. Variations, I think they’re called. I steer clear of those. But the sequels and modern adaptations and all of that, I confess I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of money online buying those up.”
“You too?” I asked, my eyes widening. “Wow. Then you won’t mind?”
Jane’s eyes were bright. “Mind? I’d be honored! Do you want feedback of any particular sort?”
“That’s a good question. General feedback, I guess. I also have to warn you, and this is beyond embarrassing …”
“What is it?”
“Well, this whole night is beyond embarrassing, so I guess it doesn’t matter. You see, the novel is sort of based on my own story,” I said hesitantly before adding, “with Gregory.”
“Oh, I see,” said Jane, tilting her head thoughtfully. She smiled and added, “Then I’ll also get to know my new friend a little better.”
Impulsively, I hugged her, though I’d never do that when sober. “Thank you so much. I don’t even want to think about how much worse tonight could’ve gone if you hadn’t been here with me. I’ll let you off the hook though, so you can get some sleep. But tomorrow, I want to hear all about what happens at breakfast with your lady friend!” I grinned at Jane as I grasped my room key from my purse.
Jane laughed and then put her palm over her face. “Oh, I just realized I’m on the wrong floor. Up one floor to my room. A little too much wine.” One side of her mouth was curved upward as she started to turn. “Goodnight then. And if you really want to avoid texting him tonight, just turn off your phone and, like, put it in the bathroom or something.”
As I entered my room and tossed my purse on a table, I decided to do just that. Well, the part about turning it off. Not the part about sleeping with my phone in another room though. As if , I thought with a giggle while powering down my phone and dropping it onto the nightstand. Sinking into the bed, I lamented the stiff, starchy feel of the sheets, missing my own soft, comforting bedding at home. Remembering I would need to set the hotel alarm clock, I reached over and managed to set it, or so I hoped. “I should take off my fancy dress … and shoes,” I mumbled, just before falling asleep.