23. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
W hen the alarm sounded the next morning, I drowsily reached over to press snooze on my phone. But the blaring sound continued. Oh, I’d set the hotel alarm clock. Opening one eye, I looked around and spotted the clock on the floor. Grumbling, I swatted at the clock until it was silent.
Why hadn’t I set my phone alarm? I thought, my heart starting to race.
Oh … I was drunk and turned the phone off .
What if Gregory did call? Now I’d never know.
But why would he call me? He only texts and never calls.
Trying to ignore the annoying voice, I kicked off the one shoe I was still wearing, and my lovely, perfect dress from last night was itchy and wrinkled in the harsh morning light. Was that a wine stain? I groaned, rubbing at a dark spot in the bust area.
Distraught, I buried myself back in the covers and pillows. I should skip the closing sessions this morning. My brain was too foggy to remember the topics or the speakers for the day.
And who cares anyway?
After an appropriate amount of time wallowing under the covers, I finally roused myself to sit and turn my phone on. Zero texts. My heart sank. But just as I was about to toss my phone aside, it buzzed several times. I forgot it takes a minute sometimes—I so rarely turn it off.
Gregory
Hello, are you and your family available for breakfast?
You are unavailable. I will make other plans.
The first text was sent at 6 am, and the second at 6:10. Gregory apparently didn’t like to wait; he assumed that everyone else was as attached to their phones as he was. I grimaced and glanced at the clock, which read 9:30. Widening my eyes, I realized I must have fallen back to sleep after turning off my alarm.
Or maybe you drunkenly set the alarm for the wrong time .
I rose from bed and, oddly, began to feel hopeful. Although I’d missed the opportunity to see him, he had tried. He did care. And such an early text meant that he probably hadn’t spent a late night with another woman. Sketchy logic, perhaps, but it felt very comforting. And despite the disappointments of the weekend, he had cared enough to invite me to Duluth this weekend. For someone like Gregory, that had to mean something. At least Bridget Jones thought so in a similar situation. Granted, Bridget’s weekend away was with the commitment-phobe Daniel, not with Mark Darcy. Still, I felt buoyed by these thoughts and smiled as I climbed out of bed.
With renewed enthusiasm, I picked up the conference schedule from the floor and scanned through it. I could at least attend the closing luncheon. He’d likely attend, and if not, I might have another opportunity to talk to Jane.
After I finished showering and felt cozy in my pink Terry robe, a knock sounded at the door. My heart skipped a beat. Gregory?
Should I change out of my robe quickly or just answer the door as is?
Greeting him with fewer clothes than usual surely can’t hurt .
I smiled and threw the door open.
“Oh … hi, Mom.”
My mother looked me up and down and raised one eyebrow as she waltzed inside. “You sound disappointed, my dear. Were you expecting someone else?”
“No!” I averted my eyes. “What’s up, Mom?”
“Your father and I have decided to skip the luncheon, as he’s had enough of the crowds for the weekend. He’d like to leave before the Sunday afternoon traffic. Would you mind terribly if we left a bit early?”
I sat on the edge of the bed and thought for a moment. “I don’t mind. I’m having a bit of convention fatigue myself, honestly.” I frowned, realizing I wouldn’t have an opportunity to see Gregory again. Or Jane.
But no awkward run-ins with Brandon or Irene … maybe worth it .
“Are you sure you don’t mind, dear? I think it’s best for him, but he said it’s up to you,” my mother reassured me.
“Of course. I know how fatiguing such things can be for Dad.” I smiled, reflecting on how my parents were always looking out for each other. They weren’t perfect, but they were the next best thing. Anytime in my life when love seemed like a lie, a mere fairy tale, my parents’ marriage was my reminder that it was possible. Not necessarily common or likely, but possible—at least for some people.
My mother’s lips curled into a smile that reminded me so much of my own. Also a fair-skinned brunette, my mother was slender and even elegant when she wanted to be. She much preferred her usual lab coat attire, but she looked amazing when she put in the effort. If only I had also inherited her talent for science, but I definitely hadn’t.
“All right, I must dash off, and I’ll leave you to dress and pack up. How does a half an hour sound?”
It sounded very soon, but probably the perfect amount of time for me to dress and pack without having excess time to think about and/or do something stupid. “Sure, Mom. I’ll meet you guys at your room when I’m ready.”
After my mother departed, I closed the door and leaned against it. This was for the best—if we’d stayed, I might not have seen or heard from Gregory anyway. And even if he did want to see me, maybe becoming less, well, available would make him realize he wanted to see more of me.
Forty-five minutes later, I knocked on the door of my parents’ hotel room. My mother answered the door, looking completely different than she had earlier. Instead of the elegant pantsuit, she was now wearing leggings and an oversized sweater. “The travel version of Mom,” I said, barely suppressing a giggle.
My mother raised an eyebrow and turned back into the room. “Vivi, you’re right on time. We’ll just get our luggage.”
“Not exactly on time, but I appreciate that you didn’t point it out,” I said, the corners of my mouth twitching.
My father smirked. “How long have we known you, Viv?”
“Point taken,” I said. “Getting ready quickly is not my forte. And neither is waiting. Let’s go!”
As we walked through the hotel toward the exit, I anxiously scanned the halls and rooms we passed, hoping for a sight of Gregory.
As we rounded a corner, I was startled to see Irene in the lobby. The domineering woman's face registered surprise followed by an icy glare and then … was that a smirk? I guess when Jack wasn’t around, she didn’t even pretend to not hate me. Why did Irene hate me so much? We’d barely had any contact, ever, and I had never been anything but courteous to her. I shrugged as we stepped outside. Some people were just permanently grouchy or rude, or both. And lately I’d been unlucky enough to encounter several such people.
When we reached my parents’ car and finished loading all our luggage into the back, I checked my phone again for the hundredth time that morning.
“Coming, Viv? You’ve been glued to your phone more than usual this morning.” My mother stuck her forehead out the window. “Expecting an important message?”
“We’ve spent like 10 minutes together so far this morning,” I said with a laugh as I got into the car.
“True, but I think I’ve seen you check it at least 10 times, my dear.”
I sighed and said nothing as we drove away. My mother also said nothing more, much to my relief. I stared out the window at Lake Superior and the occasional remaining patches of ice on the shores. I silently said farewell to one of my favorite places, hoping I'd be back soon. Maybe I could persuade Jack to come here with me; we hadn’t taken a best friend vacation in years. I smiled idly as the lake slowly faded from my vision, imagining all the long walks we could take, the sightseeing we could do.
But only five minutes later, I realized Dad wasn’t ready to let it go. “Have you been texting Gregory?” he asked, his tone sounding deceptively casual.
“No.”
After another minute or two of silence, he asked, “Viviana, dearest, can I be honest with you?”
I exhaled, knowing that I couldn’t say no, because then I’d wonder forever what my father wanted to say. “Of course, Dad.”
For at least a minute, he seemed to be trying to choose his words. “What do you see in him?”
“What—what do I see in him?” I stammered, surprised at his bluntness. I bristled and crossed my arms even though my parents weren’t looking at me in the backseat. “Gregory has a lot to recommend him, Dad. I’m surprised you didn’t see that.”
“Like what? Apart from his career and ambition and money, things that … well, frankly, things that have never seemed to interest you that much before."
“I guess that’s true. But he has plenty of other things to recommend him.”
“Viviana, dear,” my mother cut in, looking over her shoulder to give me a reassuring smile. “Maybe if you tell us a little more about him, we’d understand what you like about him. Of course, we want to like anyone whom you care about.”
I waited for my father to chime in, but he didn’t. I grasped for words, trying to explain what I couldn't even understand myself. “It’s … he’s … I think he grew up with parents who always expected too much, and he faced some tragedy as a child, and maybe that’s why he … well, it’s hard to explain.”
“Love always is,” my mother said softly, and my father nodded.
After a longer silence, Dad finally spoke again. “I’m sorry, Viv. We just want you to be happy with someone who treats you well, and I just didn’t feel that he treated you well. But I met him only once, and I know very little. If you think he's wonderful, then I'm certain he is.”
I didn’t reply. Was he wonderful? That wasn't exactly how I thought of him. I gazed out the window, wanting to shut out these thoughts.
A few minutes later, my father cleared his throat. “I should let this go, but I have to say that his friend Brandon impressed me even less; I saw him with several different women over the weekend, morning and night, and none of them appeared to be work relationships.”
I turned sharply. “Dad, Brandon is my boss . Or my boss's boss. He owns Bolder.”
My dad balked. “ That is Brandon Bolder?” I saw a look pass between my parents. “I hadn’t put that together. Well, shame on him.”
I shrugged, unable and unwilling to defend him. “I can’t argue with you there. He’s actually been dating Annie too, and I was beginning to suspect he’s not a great guy. Annie doesn't want to hear it though.”
“We seldom do want to hear such things,” my father said.
“Dad, don't worry,” I said. “I’m not dating Brandon. Give it a rest.”
“No, but he’s Gregory’s friend, and the company we keep—”
“Your father and I just love you,” my mother cut in, putting her hand on my father’s shoulder. “We’re sorry if it seems like we’re grilling you. That's not our intention at all. We just want what’s best for you. And … well, we wanted to make sure our invitation to visit us in Italy next year wasn’t putting any kind of weird pressure on you.”
“You mean, like, to find a husband like everyone else in my family?”
“Not unless you want that, darling,” Mom said. “Your life is your own, and you don’t have to follow anyone else’s path.”
Pressing my lips together tightly, I stared stubbornly out the window.
“Truly sorry, Viv. I didn’t mean to upset you. You know that,” Dad said softly.
“I’m not 16,” I muttered. “I’m nearly twice that.”
“I know. Things were so much easier back then, weren’t they?”
I fought a smile. “Well, I wouldn’t quite put it that way. Zits and AP exams and hormones and adolescence … I wouldn’t want to return to that,” I said with a shudder.
“I do miss your bangs though,” my mother said, her eyes twinkling as she looked back. "But not so much the hairspray." We all laughed, recalling the fads of the ’90s and early 2000s.
A few moments later, my phone buzzed with a text from Jane.
I cringed. We’d exchanged phone numbers, but I'd completely forgotten to let Jane know of our early departure. Fortunately, my new friend was very understanding, and we agreed to keep in touch. I was relieved that Jane refrained from asking about Gregory, as I had no patience left to talk or even think about him. I closed my eyes, shutting out the bright sun falling over the endless Midwestern landscape of farms and fields.
In what seemed like a moment later, we pulled into my parents’ driveway, and I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I must have been quite exhausted, as I was usually incapable of sleeping in a car. My neck was going to hurt tomorrow. After hugging my parents, I hauled my luggage into my own car.
The drive home was a blur; fortunately, traffic driving across the Cities wasn’t too horrendous, as it was Sunday, after all. After depositing my keys, coat, shoes, and bags on the floor just inside the apartment, I darted toward the couch. All I wanted to do was collapse with a book or a movie while sipping (or gulping) a glass of wine (or a bottle). Or take a second nap. But then I stopped in my tracks, remembering I needed to stop at the office this weekend to borrow a book from the office library.
This week’s editing project was a book about medical journalism, and I didn’t actually own a copy of the AMA manual, since I rarely edited clinical material. For the hundredth time, I wondered why the editors weren’t all given online subscriptions to the major style guides. Probably because management wants to force everyone to show our faces there occasionally , I thought with a grimace, which is sort of ridiculous since many of us are only freelancers .
I could wait until tomorrow morning to go to the office, but waking up early on a Monday morning was about as likely to happen as Gregory showing up at my door tonight with flowers.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to clear my mind. As much as I wanted to, I hadn’t succeeded in my goal to stop thinking about him.
All the more reason to get the office visit out of the way, so I can bury myself in editing at home for the next few days , I thought as I reluctantly returned to my pile of belongings strewn near the door.
Arriving at the office, I was surprised to see the light on in Ellen’s office. Hoping to avoid contact with anyone, including and perhaps especially Ellen, I quickened my steps on my way to the office library, which was just past Ellen’s office.
Of course, Ellen chose the same moment to exit her office. She stopped short outside the doorway. “Viviana, what a surprise to see you here on a Sunday night!”
I halted and reluctantly turned toward Ellen. “I didn’t expect to see you either.” My brows crinkled, noticing my usually fashionable boss was wearing pink yoga pants and a purple tank top.
Ellen’s cheeks reddened ever so slightly. “I’m off to the gym after I finish some work. There’s a yoga class on Sunday nights …” she trailed off.
I stared at her. Ellen was so not a yoga type. And on a Sunday night? With flawless makeup and hair? How bizarre.
Is she trying to impress someone at the gym? No, no, she couldn’t possibly.
I’d known Ellen for years. She had her flaws, but she wasn’t the lying, cheating type. Was she? She’d been married to a somewhat older, wealthy man for many years. Happily married. Or so I thought.
But before I could think of a way to subtly probe, Ellen put her hands on her hips and turned the focus to me. “And what are you doing here, Viv?”
I explained why I’d come, diving into a bit more detail about the clinical editing job than was needed. With any luck, we’d keep the conversation focused on work. That’s all I could handle right now.
Ellen nodded, seeming distracted as she looked at the clock. But just when I thought I’d escaped any further questions or unwanted conversation, Ellen looked at me directly and said, “Girl, you look worn out. Are you doing OK? Are we working you too hard?”
“No, not at all.”
“You’d let me know if something was off, right?”
“Of course,” I mumbled, knowing that, in fact, I wouldn’t do so. “I’m just tired from the convention. I’m my father’s daughter … being around a lot of people for hours or days on end can be exhausting. Hence the job freelancing from home.”
“The convention?”
“Oh, I thought you knew. The literary conference in Duluth. I went with … my parents.”
“Ah. I didn’t know you were interested in attending that. I knew Brandon was attending with Gregory though.” Ellen paused. “Did you see them?”
“I did.” Then, I decided it would be interesting to gauge Ellen’s reaction to Gregory’s invitation. “Gregory invited me, actually.”
Ellen’s eyes widened, and then she composed her features into a neutral expression. “Oh, he did?”
“Yes,” I said, watching Ellen closely for a reaction. “You seem surprised.”
“Well—” Ellen started. She looked at her nails, which appeared freshly manicured. “No, I suppose not,” she said flatly.
“So, I—”
“Just be careful with that one.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that, since you seemed so encouraging in the beginning. You—you compared him to Mr. Darcy!” I sputtered.
Ellen didn’t speak for a moment, looking at her nails again, and then at the plain wall behind them. Finally, her gaze returned to my anxious face. “Well, first impressions can be misleading,” she said with an unreadable expression, “or maybe they’re correct, but we just don’t always see the truth of them.”
I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. I spoke slowly. “Is there something I should know, Ellen?”
Looking away for a moment and then back to me, Ellen shook her head slowly. “Viviana, if you’re happy, that’s all that matters. I’m not even sure I trust my own judgment lately, so just ignore me.”
“Well …” I faltered. “I wouldn’t say I’m happy. It’s been pretty bumpy, to be honest, and this weekend didn’t go very well. In fact, he—”
Ellen reached out and touched my shoulder. “Viviana, I’m so sorry, but I really can’t stay and chat. I’m here on a Sunday night with a project that got dumped into my lap at the last minute, and I need to get home at a reasonable hour.” Then, she hastily added, “After the gym.”
I just nodded. What an idiot I was for divulging as much as I had. “Yes, of course. I’ll just … I’ll leave you to it then. I was looking forward to an evening at home anyway. Goodnight, Ell.” I turned on my heel and walked away before Ellen could see the hurt in my eyes.
Stupid feelings.
I scowled while entering the office library. I normally loved this room with its wall-to-wall books and cozy yellow chair in the corner, but tonight I was on a mission: get the book and then get the heck out of this place.
Book in hand, I walked past Ellen’s office on my way back. The light was on, but the door was closed, the shades drawn.
Since when do her windows have shades? No, it’s none of my business.
I breathed deeply and hurried past. The last thing I should be doing was worrying about someone else’s relationships or, worse yet, confiding in someone, when I currently lacked the good judgment and emotional clarity to avoid oversharing, a common problem of mine. I used to overshare often with Jack, probably too often. But that too was apparently a thing of the past, something to avoid now. I wondered what Jack was doing tonight, what he’d done this weekend. I’d barely heard from him at all.
I felt a curious ache in my chest as I left the building. Despite wanting desperately to be alone, I was also, well, lonely. It was all so confusing, maddening even.
Wine will solve that problem . And a movie—one that has nothing to do with Mr. Darcy .
But before putting Mr. Darcy thoughts to rest for the night, I decided to email Jane a current draft of my novel. Once at home, I grabbed a bag of chips and a bottle of wine from the kitchen and padded over to the couch, ignoring my unopened luggage.
Viviana
Hi! I’m going out on a limb here and sending you my novel.
Jane
YAY! I hope you’re doing OK.
Viviana
TBH … nope, not really. But thanks.
Jane
Sorry :( Let me know if you ever want to vent. I’m excited to read your book!
Viviana
Just promise me you’ll save all the criticism for a different day, OK?
Jane
Got it. Will save scathing remarks for tomorrow.
Just kidding, of course. I have a feeling I’ll love your writing!
She was probably going to be disappointed, but it felt nice to know that someone was interested in my novel. Apart from the fact that Jane was ridiculously easy to talk to and relate to, it was probably also easier to share such a personal project with someone who didn’t know me as well. Or maybe I was just developing that thick skin that writers need to have.
Um, not likely to happen.