34
On Friday, at the end of our third week, the intern schedule brings us all back to our classroom at the end of the day, where
Benedita gives us some exciting news. We’re all invited to come back to the museum tonight to attend a gala that one of the
museum’s major donors is hosting. A murmur of excitement spreads through the room. As Benedita passes our invitations around,
I hear Lydia (or as I still sometimes call her in my head, Notebook Girl) whisper to her friend, “I am so wearing Prada.”
Since I don’t have any Prada (and probably couldn’t even afford a Prada rip-off), I put on my nicest sundress and heels after
dinner and head back to the museum at eight. The whole building is lit up from within, and there are a bunch of people in
gowns and tuxes on the stairs. I feel like I’ve been dropped into a scene from The Devil Wears Prada (only I’m dressed like the girl was before her makeover).
Inside, it’s loud and gorgeous and more than a little intimidating. I shake my head politely at a waiter who offers me champagne
(can’t he tell I’m not a proper guest?) and hurry to the corner, where I spy a group of my fellow interns. They all look as
out-of-place as I feel, except Lydia, who’s dressed in a seriously gorgeous gown and keeps flipping her hair and smiling at
one of the guests nearby.
The interns’ talk turns to everyone’s school plans for fall, and I try to listen politely, but it’s hard to hear much of what they’re say ing. The high ceiling and smooth marble floors make everything louder and yet more muffled at the same time. I smile and nod occasionally, shifting my weight surreptitiously as my feet start to ache in my heels.
After a while, my attention starts to wander. I gaze around the hall, taking in the general atmosphere. The Great Hall is
staggeringly beautiful at night, with the dim light magnifying every intricate carving on the walls and ceiling, and all the
guests look so fancy and glittery. It’s exactly the type of event I always dreamed I’d attend—and yet I can’t picture myself
ever belonging with the people around me, no matter how hard I try.
I spot Benedita in the distance. She’s walking across the room with her wife, whom I’ve learned is also a curator at the museum.
They’re both dressed in long gowns that I know probably aren’t as expensive as the other guests’, but that look just as lovely
to me. They seem to be talking seriously about something, though they’re interrupted every few steps by guests who want to
talk to them.
I catch echoed snippets of their conversation as they come nearer.
“Ana can’t do ballet the same night Molly does tae kwon do, unless we can find a place closer by— Evening Mrs. Bellmont! Yes,
the collection is coming along wonderfully—of course, thanks again—”
“What if we let Ana take the subway by herself? She’s fourteen now, I’d say she’s— Oh, hi, Frederick, lovely to see you. How’s
your wife doing? She must be due any day now, right?”
“Lord, what an insufferable man. The last thing this world needs is more of his DNA— Well, hello, my lovely interns!”
The rest of the group swivels around at Benedita’s greeting, and Lydia rushes forward to compliment her outfit. I hang back, smiling faintly. I may not be able to picture myself as one of the rich, fancy guests, but I can picture myself in Benedita’s shoes. Working hard at a job I love, with a partner by my side who really understands me.
Two interns drop back near me to whisper to each other. “See that guy?” one of them says. “He works at the New York Times. I’m going to go introduce myself, wanna come?”
I jolt in alarm. The New York Times. Crap.
The day’s been so busy, I forgot to do Wordle. I’m so close to hitting a year, I can’t give up on it now.
I make noises about finding a bathroom and then hurry off to a quieter hall. I take out my phone and see I’ve missed a few
texts.
[7:53] Rose: I heard a rumor today that Shelley might be moving to Charlottetown
[7:53] Rose: All the folks who worked with her at the store are thinking of pooling in to pay for her moving van ;-)
[7:53] Rose: Hope you’re doing well!
[8:05] Kiara: Want to have a (virtual) coffee date this weekend?
[8:05] Kiara: I want to hear how things are going down there
[8:05] Kiara: Plus I have news
[8:06] Kiara: (And NO, I’m not pregnant)
[8:06] Kiara: (Thank god)
[8:06] Kiara: It’s about John.
[8:07] Kiara: Hopefully it’s not too weird to hear stuff about him, but I thought you’d want to know he bought the shop.
[8:07] Kiara: Or he’s buying it, anyway
[8:07] Kiara: That douche Fred is totally gouging him, so John’s buying him out slowly over the next couple months
[8:07] Kiara: Still, it’s pretty cool!
[8:08] Kiara: Unless hearing things about him ISN’T cool and makes you feel sad
[8:08] Kiara: In which case please erase these messages from your brain
My heart twists strangely in my chest. John bought the shop ?
I look around the empty hallway. I feel—
I don’t know how I feel. My fingertips are prickly, and there’s the strangest feeling stirring inside me.
I can’t believe John bought the shop.
My thumb hovers over my phone. The urge to text him is almost overwhelming. But what would I say? That I’m happy for him?
That I’m proud of him for going after his dream? That I wish I could be there to see him do it?
I swipe an impatient hand over my cheek. I’m practically crying all of a sudden, which doesn’t make sense. I’ve already put
John and Waldon behind me. This news doesn’t change anything.
Does it?
I flinch as a door bangs open down the hall. A pair of uniformed servers stride toward me carrying heavy bags of ice. They
look at me curiously. I clear my throat and swipe open Wordle, just to have something to point my eyes at.
I try to think of a word to start with—some word that encapsulates the feeling of this gala, maybe—but for some reason I’m
drawing a total blank.
DREAM , whispers a voice in the back of my mind. As in, John is going after his dream.
I shake my head roughly. I’m not going to use that. I’m happy for John, but his future has nothing to do with me.
OUIJA, I type instead, back to my old banker word.
After a few more guesses, I get the answer—STAND.
I stare at it for a second, feeling strangely flat inside. Each Wordle answer used to give me a little thrill. A sign that
I was one day closer to my yearlong streak, maybe even a sign about some upcoming event in my life. Now all I see is a random,
five-letter word.
I turn my eyes to the high, painted ceiling, but all I can see is John standing on my Waldon doorstep.
I do have a dream job , he said.
Footsteps echo again down the hall. The caterers are gone; David, Katarina, and Leah are headed toward me, all of them slightly
flushed and smiling.
“There you are!” Katarina says brightly.
“Benedita said we could wander around the rest of the museum a bit while it’s empty,” Leah adds, “as long as we tell the security
guards where we’re going and don’t try to steal any priceless art. Want to come with?”
“Oh—sure,” I say automatically. “That sounds great.”
“Just let me pee first,” Katarina says, and pops into the ladies’ room nearby.
“Way too much champagne,” Leah adds, following her.
David smiles at me as the bathroom door swings shut behind them. He has a nice smile, I notice. Wide and straight, with a
deep dimple on both cheeks.
“Are you having fun?” he asks.
I nod. “This place is gorgeous at night.”
“Definitely.” He glances at my phone. “Hey, is that Wordle?”
I look down. “Oh—yeah.” I smile sheepishly. “Had to do it before midnight.”
“Don’t show me the answer,” he says, putting one hand over his eyes. “I haven’t done it yet. Don’t want to cheat.”
“Do you have a streak going?”
He nods. “Ninety-two days. You?”
“Almost a year.”
He laughs, bright and easy. “That’s awesome.”
Katarina and Leah emerge from the bathroom, giggling and swaying slightly on their heels.
“C’mon,” Leah says. “Let’s go explore.”
She and Katarina head off, arm in arm, and David takes a few steps after them. Then he turns back and smiles at me. “You coming?”
He holds a hand out to me, palm up.
As he stands there, smiling under the glittering lights, something happens to me—something I’m not sure I could explain if
I live to be a hundred. I have this sudden— vision , I guess, of what my life will be like if I reach out and take his hand.
He and Leah and Katarina and I will grow closer and closer. We’ll eat dinners together and laugh over coffee at lunch, we’ll
slowly start to share our hopes and troubles and fears. And then one night, way down the road, when the memories of John have
faded away, David will smile at me and ask me to dinner, and I’ll say yes, full of fizzy excitement and unbridled glee.
Flash forward another five or ten years, and we’re both curators at some big museum. Maybe the Met, maybe somewhere else entirely.
We’re getting stopped by guests every few feet as we walk through an event, and chatting in between interruptions about our
dog’s flea medicine or a trip we’ve got planned. He says something funny and I laugh and smack his arm. Things aren’t perfect—maybe
we fight now and then, maybe some of our work is a bit of a grind—but at the end of the day, I’m happy. Really, truly happy.
I could have that. I can see it clear as day. And it would be a great life. A really, really great life.
But I could also have a different life. A life that smells like sea salt, where the hours move more slowly and my morning soundtrack is the whir of fishing boats. And maybe there is a museum somewhere in that life, or maybe there’s not. Maybe my days are filled with fifties music and slow, easy voices and cranky old women who don’t trust my flimsy modern car.
The details of that life might be different—maybe some of them are a little better, maybe some of them are a little worse—but
the end result is the same.
I’m happy. Really, truly happy.
Jim’s voice suddenly echoes in my ears. There were thousands of things I wanted to do, I’m sure. But you can’t do everything you want to do in life.
I didn’t understand, back then, what he meant. Now, standing here in the Met with David holding his hand out to me and Leah
and Katarina smiling at me behind him, I think I do.
There are thousands of things I could do with my life. Millions of different winding paths I could take. And there might always
be one that’s brighter, or warmer, but at some point, I have to stop wandering around and choose one .
And this path... this brilliant, sparkly future life standing right in front of me...
This is not the one I’m going to choose.
“Emily?” David says. “Are you coming?”
I blink. David’s hand has dropped back to his side, and all three of them are smiling at me, waiting.
After a moment, I smile back at them. There’s a strange, perfect quiet inside my mind, like when a snowstorm finally comes
to an end.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m coming.”
My heels click on the marble as I head after them down the hall. I’m going to spend this amazing night with the three of them, exploring the Met without a single tourist in it. I’m going to drink champagne, and munch on hors d’oeuvres, and soak in every second of this incredible experience.
Then, in the morning, I’m going to dismantle this beautiful dream.