Chapter XVI
XVI
Lucy
This morning, before we part ways for long workdays, we get bagels, and he scribbles a rose onto the back of the receipt.
It’s so beautiful, the lines so confident and practiced, that I feel the urge to frame it.
I imagine a whole wall filled with my favorite James sketches, each carefully encased and arranged by me.
And then I remember that I don’t frame things. My mom taught me that. Frames are a bitch to pack. “Keep your memories with you, but keep them light,” she’d say.
He tosses the rose—which maybe he thinks of as just a receipt—in the trash as we leave the shop, and I don’t stop him.
As I head home to spend hours with tort law, I need distraction. I should be hearing back about my grant application any day now. And I’m damn-near positive that what I feel for James is love.
I search for new things about him that are turn-offs. He hates traveling, and he has this green shirt that I dislike. Then I start to struggle.
It sounds like he got fired from his last real job in Philly?
I’m not sure, but that’s the way he made it sound the night we met, and he’s barely talked about that restaurant since.
Maybe because he’s embarrassed? It’s hard to imagine anyone firing James—his food is heartbreakingly good—but maybe that says something about his work ethic or, I don’t know, his professionalism? Something about it doesn’t add up.
My eyes are on the ceiling as I brush my teeth. He’ll be back tonight, then we’re meeting Rebecca for brunch in the morning. I resist the urge to count the number of sleepovers remaining before I leave.
I trudge back into my room and collapse onto my bed. A small part of me is looking forward to the end. The last week has felt like limbo. I want to get unstuck, muscle my way through the awfulness, and move forward with my life.
I grab my laptop off my desk and pull it onto my stomach to start today’s study session. The bar exam is over a month away, but all this time with James has put me woefully behind.
My heart stops when I see my inbox.
I have two new emails. One from the law firm I’m hoping will make me an offer, and one from the administrators of the grant.
Neither subject line gives any hints about the contents, and I waffle for a minute, my heart now pounding, trying to decide which to open first.
The law firm. That feels more likely to contain good news.
As my eyes quickly scan the letter, I breathe a sigh of relief—phrases like “congratulations” and “we’d love to have you” jump out at me. Then I make myself calm down and actually read the whole thing.
They’re making me an offer, like I thought they would.
The starting salary is frankly absurd—more money than my mom made in five years, even at the height of her makeup career.
They assume I’d like to be based out of the New York office, but they’d be happy to have me in Chicago or Portland.
And they’d like me to get back to them with my decision by the end of next week.
Fuck.
This should feel good. But the fact that I immediately imagine what it would be like to move to Portland—and thus be within driving distance of James—makes my heart clench and my stomach drop. I never would have even considered Portland five weeks ago.
But this is just my backup, I remind myself. This firm doesn’t know I’ve landed the UN International Court of Justice clerkship. If I get the grant, I can defer this offer and decide where to move once my stint there is done.
My hands start shaking as I hover over the grant email.
I don’t know when it happened, but I’m sitting up in bed now, trying to take deep, slow breaths—and failing pretty miserably.
I shake my head and remind myself that my advisor said I was a lock.
They always give it to people in my situation.
I’ve got this. Everything is going to work out.
I click on the email but squeeze my eyes shut before it pops onto my screen. Why am I so scared? I force myself to read the first few sentences, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
“We are deeply impressed by your application, your credentials, and your commitment to the foundation’s mission,” it says, “but unfortunately, due to unforeseen financial shortfalls, we will not be able to fund this grant for the foreseeable future.”
I didn’t get it. No one got it.
It vanished.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
How am I going to pay for an apartment? How am I going to feed myself?
My chest starts to heave as it sinks in that I may not be going to The Hague after all. My big plan is crumbling before my eyes.
And the next thought I have . . . is Portland.
My head suddenly feels like it’s being smashed with a vise grip. I lean over just in time to throw up into my trash can.
That miserable feeling I had when I was trying to quit James cold turkey—this is worse.
Just the idea of letting go of this dream position over something as stupid as money and settling for a job in a city I know nothing about, could actually hate, to be close to a guy I’ve known for a few weeks? It makes me feel disgusting.
People change their life plans for love all the time.
They give up opportunities, make sacrifices.
At least that’s what I hear. But this isn’t about making concessions.
We want opposite lives. I want to be a citizen of the world, and he wants to be a fern.
Am I supposed to give up my entire life plan to go sit on a balcony in Oregon? !
I can’t. I won’t.
And yet.
If I’m being really honest . . . a tiny part of me wants to do exactly that.
Fuck.
I can’t tell James about the law firm offer. Or about not getting the grant. Not until I figure out what I’m going to do. On my own.
There has to be something I’m missing. Some way to make this work. But it’s hard to imagine what that could be as I hobble to the bathroom to rebrush my teeth. I feel like my brain is shaking inside my skull.
I’ll talk to my advisor. Reach out to the team at the ICJ. Maybe there are some secret funds somewhere that can help me? Maybe I can take out a loan?
The winterfresh paste is too bright on my brush, sickeningly upbeat. As I spit, the tears come. I wish my mom were here.
I steady myself by pressing my palms into the cold bathroom counter, digging into it with the pads of my fingers.
If I have to let the clerkship go and take this job instead, I’ll stay in New York. That’s the only sensible thing to do. I have to make this choice for myself alone. I won’t be able to look at myself otherwise.
I am not fucking up my future for a guy. I won’t make my life small.
Frankly, I’m better than that.