Chapter 30 #2
I’m mid-sip, scanning the room for Louise, when I spot a severe woman in a champagne pantsuit, with a scarlet pixie cut and a nose that can smell bestsellers. I’ve followed Alice Sutherland’s Instagram almost religiously for three years, and there’s no doubt in my mind that this is her.
The contents of my stomach threaten to fizz and boil over.
“Stay. Calm,” I order myself through gritted teeth.
This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is the last pure piece of my puzzle to unlock post-cancer-happiness.
It’s in this moment that I learn staying calm during the culmination of a years-long pipe dream is impossible.
My hand, wracked with tremors, deposits my glass on a cocktail table, and I wipe the sweat off my palms. My body is having a hard time telling the difference between approaching Alice and running for my life from a bear. I try a few deep breaths.
Now or never, a brave voice asserts in my head. If I listen closely, I’d have to acknowledge that it sounds like Eitan’s.
“Hi, Alice Sutherland?” I say as I step into her vision.
“Hello?” she asks, razor-sharp brows wrinkling.
“Hi, I’m Penelope’s friend, Ruby Hirsch.” I hold out my hand, praying it has stopped sweating. “I’m a big fan.”
A shred of recognition twinkles in her eye and she takes my hand. Hers is dry and cool, the epitome of collected. “Ah, yes, Penelope mentioned you.”
“It’s such an honor to meet you,” I gush. “I actually remember when you found Penelope, after that one poem went viral, and I had been following you for a year—”
Alice chortles. It’s a tinkling sound like ice in a glass. “Found her? I’ve known Penelope since she was born.”
My brain glitches, and the rest of my prepared talking points evaporate. I blink a few times, making sure this isn’t an elaborate hallucination. “How’s that possible when you’ve only been her agent for three years?”
“I’ve been a friend of the family for years.” Alice lifts her Peneloptini to her mouth, her hand rattling with chunky wooden jewelry. “I’ve represented Alfred ever since Lily in the Grass. And then Louise called me to tell me her niece was looking for representation.”
“No.” A tinny laugh erupts out of me, something coming unhinged in my mind. “That’s not how Penelope tells it. She said you discovered her poetry on Instagram.”
Alice tuts. “Hardly anyone gets ‘discovered’ these days. It’s about who you know. Louise sent me her Instagram handle, I checked out her work, her following, and here we are.”
All this time, I’ve been telling myself that if I just work hard enough—write the perfect snippet, post the perfect picture, finish the perfect book—I’ll get to where Penelope is. But even Penelope didn’t achieve that.
It’s about who you know, rings in my ears. It has the same sticky residue as After the wedding has gone perfectly, I’d totally owe you one.
Something else has snagged in what Alice said. The words are off, like shoes wedged onto the wrong feet.
“But look!” Alice continues. “You’ve met the right people—”
“Louise doesn’t even know what Instagram is.”
“Lou has been on Instagram longer than I have. The woman had a Myspace page for godsakes. Don’t let her schtick fool you, she’s very tech savvy.”
Aunt Lou wants everything to go through her, Pen said during that first, fateful call, asking for help. And she literally lives in the Stone Age, like can’t do it over email or Zoom.
I thought planning the wedding together would be a way to feel closer to Alfie, Louise admitted over the phone.
Several emotions battle for my attention. Anger at Penelope, for not recognizing Louise’s ploys to spend time with her. Disappointment on Louise’s behalf.
Foolishness, for not realizing sooner what’s been going on this entire time.
“I’ve read the first fifty pages of your manuscript, by the way.” Alice pulls me back to the present. “And I’ve got a good feeling about it, especially if you make the changes Penelope mentioned.”
I cross my arms, trying to hold myself up when it feels like I’m falling. “What changes?”
“She said you’re revising it for the central allegory to be about breast cancer. Retool it to be about your experience with the illness…” Alice continues talking, but my brain is too loud to listen.
It’s not a story about breast cancer. I want to publish the book I wrote before the cancer, not hijack it.
“…will be an easy story to sell. I’ll be able to sign you, once you make the changes.”
Sign you.
This is it, some ambitious gremlin snarls in my mind, holding up the Be Yourself (Again) List, pointing at goal #3. The one that always felt the least attainable.
“That’s…incredible.” I spread my lips, baring my teeth in a smile. “Thank you,” I say, my voice rough.
“It’s exciting, kid! If you play the game, you’ll go far.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I will.”
Alice smiles at me and excuses herself.
I back toward the wall, trying to catalogue this moment. This is the top of the mountain, or at least the top of a mountain.
It’s different from what I expected. Not happy, not sad, just…tangled.
I look for Eitan, a reflex out of my control. He and Josh are by the stairs, and they look like they’re arguing.
“Testing,” someone whispers into a mic. After a sharp pang of feedback and a step back, Calliope speaks from the center of where everyone was dancing.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming to celebrate Penelope and Josh tonight.” The room applauds politely.
“Aunt Lou isn’t feeling well,” Calliope continues.
“So she asked me to read this toast.” Calliope looks down at her phone.
“Join me in raising a glass to the most beautiful couple,” Calliope recites.
“May you enjoy the little moments. Laughter at the dinner table, drinking coffee together in the morning, holding hands during a thunderstorm. And may you never lose sight of all the days before tomorrow.” Calliope’s voice shakes.
I know the words are for Penelope and Josh, but it feels like Louise wrote them for me too.
“Here’s to you. To life, to good health, and to a love like bedrock. ”
The party clinks glasses together, clapping and cheering. The memory of clinking flutes at the dinner tasting with Eitan floods me, and our eyes find each other like magnets. L’chaim, we blink at each other, from opposite sides of the crowded room. Saludozos. To life.
For one pulsing moment, I feel grateful. I’ve been stumbling through the dark, but at least I got to experience sunlight once.