31. Hildy
Hildy
TWO DAYS BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING
TAMNIèS, France—“That was our first inside joke.” Walter’s eyes were wide and hopeful, like the babe in the woods she’d mistaken him for back then. This time, Hildy wasn’t fooled.
“Talk about selective amnesia.”
“I remember everything,” he insisted. “Every hour of every day we spent together.”
They’d been more or less inseparable. The excuse was that they were working on their project, but there had been long stretches where journalism was the furthest thing from her mind.
“The classes,” Walter continued, like he was working down a list, “the cocktail party full of boring old people that was somehow fun. The makeover.”
“I helped you pick an outfit. It wasn’t a makeover.” Not like the glow-up he’d had since then.
“I remember walking home with you one night and wanting to hold your hand, but I didn’t know if it would be okay. And then we got to your room, and I was desperate to kiss you.”
“But you were the one who worried it would get messy if we broke up before we finished our project. Like I was some kind of drama queen.”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking at all.”
She waved at him to go on.
“I was afraid if we crossed that line, I wouldn’t be able to think about anything else. Forget the story, forget everything.”
“As if I would ever let a personal relationship get in the way of my work,” Hildy scoffed, before recalling certain incidents of the last few days. “Shut up,” she said, though Walter hadn’t spoken beyond an eloquent lift of the brows.
“You agreed with me,” he reminded her. “Because you didn’t want anyone to make assumptions about you, since people are dicks about women in business. We mutually decided to wait … but it wasn’t easy. At least not for me. I couldn’t get enough of you.”
She tried to keep her face hard and unyielding, but the memories were like pollen, irritating her eyes and making the back of her throat itch.
For that one shining week, working with him had been as easy as breathing.
Some people fought you at every step: You say up, I say down.
Being with Walter was more like the improv game she’d played in family therapy.
Instead of a world of “no,” everything was “yes, and!”
Do you like this headline? Yes, and we can use this photo!
Does that metaphor work? Yes, and it ties back to the Cinderella theme!
No one had ever “gotten” her as quickly as Walter. She didn’t have to explain things twice or fill in the gaps between one idea and the next leap of logic to bring him up to speed. They pushed each other, and the story kept getting better.
And it wasn’t just the work. She’d liked Walter, period.
His quickness, the subtle sense of humor, the way he looked at Hildy like she was already the type of bold and brilliant person she’d always dreamed of becoming.
In her mind, reporters as a type were more in-your-face go-getters, yelling out questions and speaking truth to power, but Walter didn’t seek the spotlight.
If anything, he seemed more comfortable letting her take the lead.
Or so he’d let her believe. She swallowed, but the bitterness didn’t fade. “Too bad we didn’t keep it professional.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “That’s your takeaway?”
“Well, that is when it all went to shit.” Leaving Hildy feeling like the world’s biggest idiot.
“Maybe it was worth it.”
“Which part?” She held up a hand when he started to answer. “Let’s just say mistakes were made and leave it at that.”
“I don’t want to leave it.”
“You could have fooled me.”