Chapter 20
TUESDAY, JULY 27
Someone was standing in front of Sawyer’s desk, waiting.
She looked up.
“Oh! Erin! Hello,” Sawyer stammered, surprised by the sudden appearance of her distinguished visitor. “Were you looking for Johanna?”
Erin smiled. “No. I was looking for you,” she said. “I was wondering if you have lunch plans today.”
“Uh…me?” Sawyer’s brain spun. “I don’t…but I usually don’t go to lunch until one thirty.”
Erin didn’t reply right away. Sawyer felt her awkward urge to babble kick in.
“Johanna leaves around noon, Kaylee goes from twelve thirty to one thirty…and then I go at one thirty to two thirty…and most days I usually just bring a bag lunch to Greenacre Park—do you know it? It’s really pretty. Anyway, yeah…those are my plans…which is to say I have no plans, I guess…”
She felt Erin smiling patiently at her.
“I know Greenacre Park,” she said, when she finally spoke. “Would it be all right if I joined you today?”
“Oh! Uh—yeah, of course,” Sawyer replied. “I, um, sure!”
“Perfect. Let’s meet downstairs at one thirty.”
“OK! Uh…great!”
Sawyer willed her mouth to close before she could launch into another stream of babble.
Erin smiled and turned to go. “See you then!”
Sawyer watched her walk away, flattered, but also dazed and wondering why the hell Erin Michaels would want to take a late lunch hour just to hang out with her.
When Sawyer got off the elevator and stepped into the lobby a few minutes after one thirty, she found Erin waiting there for her, as promised. Erin held up a bakery bag.
“I don’t want to step on the toes of your bag lunch, but since I was at that little French bakery around the corner picking up a to-go sandwich, I thought I’d also pick up a couple of pastries to share—if you’re game.”
Sawyer grinned. “Who says no to dessert?”
“No one you should ever trust,” Erin agreed.
They walked over to Greenacre Park, and found a little table and two chairs not far from the waterfall. By then it was 1:40 p.m., and they had the park mostly to themselves.
“So, is this what you do every day?” Erin asked.
“Pretty much,” said Sawyer. “I mean, when the weather’s decent.”
“But always alone?”
“Well, everyone usually goes earlier…But it’s not so bad. I actually get a lot of reading done. I’ve even edited manuscripts here, and I think being in the park is better for concentration than being at home, or at my desk with the phone ringing.”
“So, you spend your lunch hour doing work for Johanna?” Erin asked.
“Well—you know. Just the editorial stuff, which is kind of the fun part, anyway—right?”
Erin nodded. “Yes. Definitely.” She paused, then added, “I heard you pulled Preeti Chaudhari’s manuscript out of the slush pile.”
Sawyer tried and failed to suppress a proud grin. She nodded. “I loved that manuscript. I was reading it and just felt like, Oh my God, I can’t believe this is so good. I’m definitely a believer in the slush pile now.”
“Yes,” Erin agreed. “But it wasn’t Johanna who told me you were the one who discovered it. I heard about that from the other assistants.”
“Oh…” Sawyer said, disappointed but not surprised. “Well, Johanna is so busy. And anyway, she arranged for the actual deal, introducing Preeti to Celine and whatnot.”
“Hmm,” Erin said, in a tone that suggested she was unconvinced.
Sawyer wondered where this—the lunch, the conversation, all of it—was going. Erin laid down her sandwich and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. She cleared her throat.
“Mainly, Sawyer, I wanted to take a minute to chat with you today, and to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Sawyer repeated, utterly confounded.
“About bringing up your Paris Review poems in the elevator,” Erin explained. “I didn’t know Johanna harbored such a grudge against having assistants who have writerly aspirations. Again, some of the other assistants tipped me off—but only after I’d congratulated you in the elevator, I’m afraid. I hope I didn’t let the cat out of the bag in any way that might affect you negatively.”
“Oh…” Sawyer said, caught off guard. “That’s…nice of you. Thank you. I’m sure…I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she stammered.
Erin sighed and resumed eating her sandwich. Between bites, she shyly said, “Well, there’s something else—just a general announcement I’ll be making soon. It’s not about Johanna; it’s just about me.”
Sawyer sat wide-eyed, waiting.
“I’ve accepted a position at Knopf. So I’ll be moving over to Random House at the end of the month.”
“Oh…oh…oh!” Sawyer stammered. “Wow. Um, congratulations, I mean!”
“Thank you.”
“But you’ll be missed! You started building such a great list of authors, and in such a short time!”
“Well, that’s kind of you to say, Sawyer.”
“It’s so true!” Sawyer insisted. “I know we haven’t socialized much, but I’ve been following your list; you’re my inspiration.”
Sawyer halted, realizing that as Johanna’s assistant, she was probably expected to look up to Johanna most of all, not Erin.
Erin smiled kindly.
“I’ll be sad to say goodbye to everyone, but I’m also excited about the move. And part of what I wanted to say to you today is that my door will always be open to you, Sawyer. It’s a shame Johanna doesn’t like writers, because I believe the two pursuits lend themselves to each other. I think you’re going to make an exceptional editor someday.”
Sawyer was genuinely touched. And surprised. It was the kind of encouragement Sawyer had been starving to hear from Johanna.
“Now,” Erin said, as though getting down to business. “Sandwiches are gone. Carrot sticks are gone. Apple slices are gone. I’d say we’ve done a very dutiful job of it.” She paused and smiled. “Time for some dessert?”
Sawyer watched as Erin reached into the bag she’d brought and produced two of the most perfect French pastries Sawyer had ever seen. One was some kind of hazelnut chocolate ganache, and the other was lemon and red currant. Erin produced two plastic forks and two plastic knives and set about slicing each of the pastries in half.
“Cheers,” Erin said, tapping plastic forks with Sawyer and grinning.
“Cheers,” Sawyer agreed.
They each took a bite of the first one. Then, each took a bite of the second one.
Sawyer made a face, allowing her eyes to roll back in her head.
“OK,” she joked. “Official verdict: great taste in books and authors…and in French pastries!”
Erin laughed, and together they gobbled the rest of the sugary delicacies down, chatting, chewing, happy.
When Sawyer got home that evening, she went immediately to the computer and logged on, before even bothering to step out of her shoes.
Adventures_of_Tom:Hey. You there?
Sawyer waited a minute, and took the time to kick off her shoes and wiggle out of her skirt and blouse, then poured herself a glass of ice water and gulped it down. Finally, her computer pinged.
Nikolai70:Hey
Adventures_of_Tom:Good! You’re online
Nikolai70:Indeed I am
Adventures_of_Tom:Are you busy?
Nikolai70:Nah. I’ve just been sitting around waiting for this gorgeous brunette weirdo with a nerdy literary name to reach out and contact me
Adventures_of_Tom:What are the odds? I just so happen to be a brunette weirdo with a nerdy literary name
Nikolai70:You don’t say…but it doesn’t go unnoticed how you edited out the gorgeous part. Learn to take a compliment.
Adventures_of_Tom:I’m actually writing to give YOU a compliment
Nikolai70:I’m listening
Adventures_of_Tom:Well, I think it’s a compliment—basically, I’m writing to tell you that you were right about something.
Nikolai70:What was I right about? (Not that I doubt my correctness on said matter)
Adventures_of_Tom:That editor—the one I told you about from the elevator, who said the nice things about my poems being published in The Paris Review
Nikolai70:What about her?
Adventures_of_Tom:We ate lunch together today. She’s moving to Knopf. She said her door was “always open to me”
Nikolai70:See? What are you waiting for. Go work for her
Adventures_of_Tom:Well, it’s not THAT simple. But…yeah…I think you were onto something
Nikolai70:Of course I was. I know everything
Sawyer snorted and rolled her eyes, but smiled. She paused to take a long sip of the ice water. It had been a sweaty subway ride, and she’d practically bolted up the stairs of her apartment building. Now she was finally starting to cool down. She could feel the beads of sweat on her skin slowly transforming to a light film of salt.
Adventures_of_Tom:Hot today. Makes me miss swimming
Nikolai70:Me too
Adventures_of_Tom:According to your mom—you always miss it
Nikolai70:Well. If it ain’t broke…
Adventures_of_Tom:Anyway, thanks again for a fun day
Nikolai70:I meant it when I said my pleasure
Sawyer paused again, flattered.
But after a minute…she became aware of the instant effect a single flattering word from Nick had on her. A flicker of self-consciousness crept in.
She hadn’t really asked him, point-blank, why he’d broken up with Kendra.
She had a flash of Nick at the Yale Club, praising Kendra for being “uncomplicated”—and that was basically code for sex without strings, wasn’t it?
She had a flash of the girls at the club, flipping their hair, trying to catch Nick’s eye. Sawyer knew well enough to know those girls had been around before Kendra and were fated to be around long after.
What exactly did he do on all those days between their Fridays together?
She felt an inkling of paranoia creep in that she was being naive to think Nick honestly cared about their time together as much as she did.
She drained the rest of the ice water in her glass and went to the fridge. This time, she poured herself a glass of wine, and cut it with seltzer to make a homemade wine spritzer. She sat back down in front of the computer.
Adventures_of_Tom:Am I really the first girl you’ve brought to your mom’s house, like your mom said?
Nikolai70:My mom said so, didn’t she?
Adventures_of_Tom:Yeah, but that’s like, hyperbole. Right? It can’t be totally true
Adventures_of_Tom:Can it?
Nikolai70:What are you getting at, Sawyer?
Adventures_of_Tom:It just seems like you’ve probably had a lot of female friends
Sawyer waited, but Nick did not reply. She took another sip and continued typing.
Adventures_of_Tom:What about the girl you lived with—the one you almost proposed to? Didn’t you bring her to your mom’s house?
Nikolai70:No.
Adventures_of_Tom:You didn’t? Why not?
Nikolai70:NO. Stop.
Adventures_of_Tom:Stop what?
Nikolai70:I don’t want to answer all these questions over the internet like this.
Nikolai70:To be honest, I really hate messaging with you
Sawyer blinked, surprised.
Adventures_of_Tom:You hate messaging with me?
Nikolai70:Yes
Adventures_of_Tom:Nick…I love logging on, finding you online, and trading messages.
Nikolai70:Of course you like it. You’re a writer. But for me, it’s tiring. I do it because it’s all I’ve got. Until Fridays, when I get to actually see you.
Sawyer didn’t reply right away. She knew she was probably missing the point, but she was hung up on the fact that she’d grown to love talking to him online, and he…“hated” it?
Nikolai70:Look, all I’m saying is that if you’re going to ask me these kinds of questions, this is a conversation we should have on the phone at least.
Nikolai70:Send me your phone number. I’ll call you.
Sawyer put her hands over the keyboard again, intending to type her phone number. But she surprised herself when she paused, full of a new and unfamiliar hesitation.
Nikolai70:Sawyer? You there?
Nikolai70:Send your number, or you can call mine—212-555-0374.
Again, Sawyer hesitated. She could feel Nick waiting for her, but for some reason she was paralyzed.
After a long pause, the screen blinked with a new message from Nick.
Nikolai70:OK. It’s fine. Forget it.
Adventures_of_Tom:Nick—wait. I’m just thinking.
Nikolai70:I know. I think I understand what’s going on here.
Adventures_of_Tom:What
Nikolai70:You don’t want us to start talking on the phone, because you’re worried I might call when he’s around.
Charles.Nick meant Charles.
And he wasn’t wrong.
As soon as Nick had brought up talking on the phone, Sawyer’s mind had gone straight back to the night she’d come home from Coney Island. The night she hadn’t been able to answer Charles’s question: Where were you?
Something about Nick’s offer to talk on the phone had scared her.
The screen blinked with another new message.
Nikolai70:I’m right. I know I’m right.
Adventures_of_Tom:Nick—hang on
Nikolai70:It’s fine, Sawyer.
Nikolai70:But I’ve gotta go. This is taking it out of me.
Adventures_of_Tom:Wait—you’re logging off?
Nikolai70:Yes. I’m tired
Adventures_of_Tom:Wait
Nikolai70:Sorry. I’ll catch you later.
***AOL User Nikolai70 has gone offline***
Sawyer stared at the screen—this time in utter dismay. It felt like Nick had just slammed a door in her face.
She couldn’t decide if she was mad, sad, or sorry.
She logged off, and sat and thought things over for a very long time—long enough for the summer sunlight to dim in the windows, and dusk to fall.
Finally, once she had made up her mind, she returned to sit in front of the computer and logged back in again.
She did not open AOL Instant Messenger.
Instead, she checked the weather forecast. Unfortunately, a big rainstorm was predicted for Friday. Almost everything on the list she’d sent to Nick revolved around doing something outdoors.
She’d have to come up with something else. Sitting on the computer desk was an old copy of New York magazine. Sawyer picked it up and idly flipped through a few glossy pages…until something caught her eye. She folded the magazine covers together, and read closely about the little-known historical spot in the city that was becoming newly trendy.
She came up with a plan, and clicked to open a new email draft.
From: [email protected]
Dear Nick—
You’re right. I was weird about getting on the phone. I’m sorry.
I’d like to apologize in person.
I’m inviting you to meet me this Friday, at 1:30pm, by the clock in the main hall inside Grand Central. And if you can, dress up just a little—no jeans.
Forgive the email invite—you’re under no obligation to write back. (I know you said you find this mode of communication tiring. Personally, I’ve never enjoyed checking my inbox so much as I have since I’ve met you, but I get it, I hear what you’re saying.)
And if you don’t show up, I guess that’s a kind of reply, too, and I’ll understand.
Still hoping I’ll see you, though—
Sawyer
Sawyer looked the email over, reread it twice, and clicked send.
It was her turn to plan a Friday.