Chapter Six
Six
“How was your date?” Polly asked as Vivian walked into the apartment they shared in Arlington.
“It was—” Vivian searched for the right word to describe how it had felt. Too many possibilities came to mind, so she settled on, “Good. It was good.”
If someone had told her a few months ago that she would go on a date with Graham Carlson, she never would have believed them.
“He’s very handsome,” Polly mused, sitting up on the couch. “I’ll admit I’ve never been one for older men, but he’s distinguished. The gray at the temples—there’s something debonair about them.”
“He’s nice,” Vivian replied neutrally, not sure she could reduce her journalistic hero to salt-and-pepper temples. “Very smart.”
“Did you kiss him?” Polly asked, a grin on her face.
Vivian flushed. “He kissed me on the cheek at the end of the evening.”
“That’s it?”
“It was nice. He smelled good,” she added. Judging by the expectant look on Polly’s face, her friend was hoping for more details than what Vivian had just given her.
“Do you like him?” Polly asked, sounding a bit disappointed that the evening hadn’t been juicier.
“Of course I like him. I respect him and admire him a great deal.” Vivian hesitated. “He asked me to dinner next week and I said yes.”
Polly’s eyebrow rose. “You don’t sound very excited for a girl who just got a second date with one of Washington’s most eligible bachelors.”
Was Graham one of Washington’s most eligible bachelors?
On paper, perhaps, by virtue of his career and stature, but Vivian truly didn’t get a sense that he was a playboy.
There was nothing overly smooth or insincere about him.
He seemed like a decent man who was committed to his job and had little time in his life for much else, a sentiment that Vivian could appreciate and understand.
After all, she enjoyed his companionship, but she wasn’t looking for any distractions right now.
She’d moved to D.C. for her career, not because of any romantic interests.
“I am excited. It’s just—” Vivian sank down to the couch beside Polly.
“I guess I’m not like you. I see how you are with Frank, and it’s so lovely.
It’s like I’m in a Doris Day film,” she teased.
“I’ve just never felt that way about anyone.
I don’t think I’m built for such emotions.
Graham is kind and interesting, and I still can’t quite believe that he is interested in me.
I am happy. Truly. My happiness is a quieter sort, I suppose. ”
“I’m sorry,” Polly replied. “I shouldn’t have pushed. It’s none of my business. I just want you to find someone who is as wonderful as you are. I suppose being in love inspires you to want the same for people you care about.”
They’d become close in the time that they’d lived together, and Vivian now considered Polly to be one of her dearest friends.
The further she got from college, the more it seemed like those friendships that she had considered to be close had faded without the proximity of life in the dorms, the shared experience of working at the radio station or studying for their classes.
In a sense, they had all gone in separate directions, their lives flung around the country, and Vivian felt as though she was starting all over again, and this time it was much harder to make friends, particularly when she worked in such a male-dominated environment at the station.
Vivian had partnered with Kerry Krieger on a few more stories, and while Kerry was unfailingly polite, she gave no indication that she was interested in making friends at work, her personal and professional lives clearly separate.
And so, despite the differences in their personalities, Vivian and Polly had become close, their little apartment bringing them together as they bonded over their careers, some of the challenges Polly faced with being taken seriously and treated with respect in her job at the hospital so relatable to Vivian.
“There’s a stack of mail on the table,” Polly announced. “I sorted through it already; what’s left is yours.”
Vivian rose from the couch, walking toward the little two-seater table with a sense of dread.
Her job at the television station barely covered her living expenses, and too often, the mail heralded bills.
Wouldn’t it have been refreshing if just for once she flipped through the stack and found that a previously unknown, long-lost relative had left her a fortune?
“You got a postcard,” Polly called out as Vivian approached the table.
Who would be sending her a postcard? Her mother, perhaps? Unlikely, considering Vivian hadn’t heard from her since graduation, but Vivian had sent her a birthday card, which would have had her return address on it, so perhaps.
“From Italy,” Polly clarified, and this time there was no mistaking the note of glee in her voice.
Italy?
Italy.
“Oh really?” Vivian asked, struggling to keep her voice calm.
“Italy,” Polly repeated. “Frank talked to him the other day, you know. Joe called his desk at the Pentagon about some work thing. He’s been in Italy for about two months now.
He seems to like it. Frank said that before they hung up the phone.
Joe asked him about you—how you were doing—asked him if you were seeing someone. ”
I didn’t ask about you—I should have.
Her lungs constricted, a tightness building in her chest.
“What did— What did Frank tell him?”
She wasn’t sure what she wanted the answer to be.
“That you were doing well. Frank told him we all went to the movies the other night.”
They had. Vivian had expected to feel like a third wheel tagging along on a movie date with Polly and Frank, but it had been surprisingly fun.
“Did Frank—” Why did she feel so uncomfortable asking the question? Why did Polly’s answer matter so much?
Later, she would interrogate it for sure.
“Did Frank mention that I went out on a date with Graham?”
“I didn’t tell him.” Polly smiled, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “I figure we ladies have to stick together. Besides, you and Joe are little more than acquaintances, right? I couldn’t imagine why he needs to know about your dating history.”
—
In the privacy of her bedroom, the door firmly closed behind her, Vivian stared at the postcard.
A Venetian canal looked back at her.
She reached out, her fingers tracing the image. It was all too easy to imagine herself sitting in the little boat as the gondolier moved them along.
Them.
Because of course, in the fantasy, Joe was sitting next to her on the bench.
Ridiculous.
Not to mention how absurd it was that her heartbeat picked up, a tremor sliding through her fingers as she flipped the postcard over.
Vivian—
Saw this and thought of you. Italy is beautiful. I keep thinking of what you said, how you’ve always wanted to see it one day. I find myself making a list in my mind of all the places I’d show you if you were here. Hope you’re well.
And then, two words scrawled at the bottom that sent a thrill through her.
Write me.