Chapter 3
GEORGE
“I’ve solved your writer’s block problem,” Zoe announces as she blows past me into my apartment. “You’re welcome.”
It’s still early enough that I’m in my robe and haven’t had a full cup of coffee yet, and I’m really not ready for whatever it is that’s coming next. She makes a beeline for the bedroom closet.
“Please tell me I don’t need to hide you from the police. I told you, Anabel isn’t the problem.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” She pulls her head back out of my dress shirts. “Where are your suitcases?”
“Hall closet.” And she’s off again. I follow.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but if you could tell me what the hell is going on, I’d really appreciate it.”
“I told you. I solved your problem.” She hoists my largest bag out of the closet, pulls out the handle, and wheels it back toward the bedroom. Over her shoulder, she says, “You’re going on a writer’s retreat.”
“What? No, I’m not. I hate those things. They’re all kumbaya and coffee socials and people trying to hook up. Not to mention, I’m always by far the most well-known person, and everyone seems to view me as a networking Holy Grail.”
We’re back in the bedroom again, and Zoe is digging through my drawers, throwing socks, underwear, and pajamas into the open bag on the bed.
“I know,” she says with a Cheshire Cat grin, “Which is why I’m sending you on your own personal private writing retreat.”
“Ugh, Zoe,” I plunk myself onto the bed, “I don’t want to just sit in a sterile hotel room all by myself over the holidays. That would be even more depressing than, well, this.”
“Which is why you’re not going to a sterile hotel. You’re going to my cousin’s lovely, homey, cozy cabin in Vermont, and he’s coming here.” She moves to the closet and begins rifling through my shirts. “Do you have any flannel?”
“Zoe!”
“Hmm?” She throws me an innocent look.
“You told your cousin that he and I could,” I make a sort of back-and-forth gesture with my hands, “swap homes?”
“No!” It seems like a wait for it moment, so I wait for it. “I haven’t talked to him yet. I needed to check with you first.”
Oh, good God.
“Is this supposed to be you checking with me?”
She comes and sits down next to me on the bed. “Georgie, sweetie, think about it. Do you really want to stay in the city and mope?”
“I’m not moping.”
“Oh, good. So you’ll be happy to come out and see all the out-of-town guests while they’re here for Luca’s wedding?”
“Well, I…”
“And answer their questions about how you are.”
“…I… “
“And how the writing’s going?”
“That isn’t necessarily what they’ll—”
“Because they’re all your friends too. And they’ll undoubtedly want to see you.
Especially with Luca getting married. Especially since I happen to know you’ve been avoiding them all as much as possible.
They’ll want to make sure you’re okay. And I know for a fact that some of them are coming in early to spend the holidays in the city. ”
She’s right, of course. Several people have already sent texts or emails or left voicemail messages letting me know they’ll be in town and asking if I’d like to get together while they’re here. I’ve been hoping if I block it out, it will all magically go away on its own. “Yes, okay, but—”
“And you’re ready for Luca to call, right?
Because even a year and a half later, he still feels guilty about ending things, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to try and convince you to come to the wedding again.
Because just the other day he told me he thought he ought to try and convince you to come to the wedding again. ”
“All right!”
She blinks at me, all doe eyes. “All right?”
“All right. You make some good points. And I maybe could use a change of setting to help with the writing.” Lord knows nothing else is helping. “If your cousin agrees to this arrangement, then okay.”
Zoe flings her arms around me and kisses me. “You won’t regret this. Now, do you have any wool socks?”