Chapter 29
Charles was originally scheduled to fly back from Chicago to New York on Tuesday. But when Sawyer arrived home on Sunday evening, there was another message from him on the answering machine, apologizing and explaining that wrapping up the case was taking even longer than expected, and Tuesday’s return had now been pushed back to Thursday evening.
“I know I sound like a broken record, but I’ll make it up to you,” his recorded voice promised as it blared through the answering machine’s speaker. “Actually, I have a big surprise for you. I’m pretty sure you’re going to be blown away by it. Seriously. Can’t wait to see you Thursday! Love you, be back before you know it!”
The message ended.
Sawyer chewed her lip, anxious, frustrated. She made no move to phone him in his hotel room; she already knew he wouldn’t pick up. He was busy with the case. Or busy with Kendra.
They really needed to talk. A two-day delay might as well be an eternity.
She felt a surge of anger…and deep guilt.
With nowhere else to point it, she directed her anger at Wexler Gibbons. She was sick of hearing the name, sick of the faceless corporate entity having so much influence over the circumstances of her life.
On Monday, Sawyer’s busy weekends finally caught up with her at work, when Johanna called Sawyer into her office.
“I’ve noticed you’re a little behind on those readers’ reports you were eager to take charge of,” Johanna remarked. “I hope the workload is not too much for you?”
“No,” Sawyer insisted. “I did get a little behind, but I’m almost all the way caught up again. It’s not too much for me, and I’m really happy to be doing it.”
“I’ve also noticed,” Johanna continued, unmoved by Sawyer’s sincere enthusiasm, “that you tend to turn your reports in toward the end of the week.”
Sawyer didn’t know what to say to this.
“I hope you’re not using office hours to do the reading. In general—and while it may seem like quite a lot to ask—reading is something that takes place in addition to our regular hours in the office. You understand that, right?”
Sawyer blinked. She did know that it was “expected” in the publishing industry to do a lot of reading outside of paid office hours, but she’d never had anyone spell it out so plainly to her face, and with such imperious implication.
“Yes…” she stammered, when she found her voice. “I understand that.”
“Good,” Johanna said, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out as though relieved. “Well, anyway. I simply wanted to check in and make sure the workload isn’t too much for you.”
“Thank you. It’s not.”
“Good. Publishing is hard work if you really want to keep up with it. But by the same token, reading books is what we would all be doing for fun, anyway, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Your fiancé probably works longer hours than we do, when it comes down to it.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Doesn’t your fiancé work at Wexler Gibbons? Now, there’s a company that likes to squeeze every last ounce of dedication out of its employees—as I’m sure you’re becoming aware.”
Sawyer froze. She wasn’t sure who she disliked more in that moment, Johanna or the whole of Wexler Gibbons.
“Sure,” Sawyer finally forced herself to agree.
Johanna shrugged and turned her attention to some papers on her desk.
“Wexler Gibbons…” she repeated, with a contemplative sigh. “With a company like that, eventually, you’ll find you have to make room in your career in order to support his,” she concluded, not bothering to raise her gaze to meet Sawyer’s. “So much of the time, that’s the way it goes.”
Sawyer had no idea what to say to this. Everything that sprang to the tip of her tongue was fundamentally inappropriate.
“Thanks, Johanna,” she managed, and left.
Back at her desk, Sawyer sat still for several minutes, trying to put a name to her emotions. After a while, she realized she was stewing in a kind of quiet rage.
After saying goodbye in the park, Sawyer didn’t hear from Nick on Monday. But after getting home from work on Tuesday, she knew him well enough to know he would be waiting for her online that evening.
She opened Instant Messenger and clicked on Nikolai70.
Adventures_of_Tom:Hey, you there?
His reply came almost immediately.
Nikolai70:Hey
Nikolai70:How’d it go with Charles?
Adventures_of_Tom:Well
Adventures_of_Tom:The case is taking longer. His return flight was pushed back
Adventures_of_Tom:He’s getting back on Thursday now
There was a long pause.
Sawyer waited.
Nikolai70:So you haven’t talked
Adventures_of_Tom:No.
Another long pause.
Nikolai70:I booked a place for us to stay this weekend.
Nikolai70:Do you still want to go?
Adventures_of_Tom:I want to
Adventures_of_Tom:I guess I just thought I had more time to talk to Charles, and see how that was going to go.
Nikolai70:And now…?
Adventures_of_Tom:Now I don’t know
Yet another long pause—longer than the first two combined.
Sawyer started to type, then deleted it all.
Then she tried to type again, but deleted that, too.
Nikolai70:When did you find out his trip had been extended and his flight had been pushed back to Thursday?
Adventures_of_Tom:He left a message
Adventures_of_Tom:On Sunday
Another long pause. Sawyer could sense Nick absorbing the details and reacting, withdrawing back into his shell, and there was little she could do to stop it. Again, she felt compelled to explain, but everything she typed felt wrong, and she deleted it before hitting enter.
Finally, the screen blinked with a new message from Nick.
Nikolai70:Look, Sawyer, I don’t want to make things more complicated than they already are for you
Nikolai70:I want to see you next weekend, and I’ve booked everything for us to get away.
Nikolai70:But you know all this messaging is not my thing. And the not knowing where you stand is too hard.
Nikolai70:Send me a message on Thursday if you still want to go.
Nikolai70:OK?
Adventures_of_Tom:But if I don’t know until Thursday…will you lose money on stuff you’ve booked?
Nikolai70:Screw the money. That part’s not important
Nikolai70:What’s important is that you come if you want to come
Nikolai70:Or you don’t, if you don’t want to.
Nikolai70:Don’t worry about the rest of it.
Adventures_of_Tom:Nick, I do really want to go
Adventures_of_Tom:I’m just trying to figure all this stuff out
Nikolai70:I know. Just let me know where you are by Thursday, OK?
Nikolai70:If I don’t hear from you, I’ll take that as your answer. And I’ll understand.
Nikolai70:I gotta go. This messaging stuff always drains me, and I have some things to take care of.
Adventures_of_Tom:OK. Talk to you soon?
Nikolai70:Shoot me a message on Thursday
Adventures_of_Tom:OK, I will
***AOL User Nikolai70 has gone offline***
Sawyer stared at the screen. She scrolled up, back through their exchange, and reread it, as though looking for an answer to a question that wasn’t quite settled in her mind. Then she realized: the part that was absent was something she’d wanted to say, but hadn’t.
On Wednesday, Sawyer logged on again. She looked for Nick, although she already knew she wouldn’t find him online; he’d wait and look for her message on Thursday, just as he’d said.
Somehow, over the course of the summer, Nick had become the sole person Sawyer wanted to talk to when she was troubled—the ironic twist being that now, the thing she most wanted to talk about was him.
Sawyer thought for a moment, then picked up the phone and dialed.
It rang a few times, then clicked as someone finally answered.
“Moshi moshi?”
“Did I wake you again?”
“Nope—already up! Eating some natto for breakfast.”
“What’s that?”
“I doubt we have enough time or money for the long-distance bill in order to adequately explain what’s that.”
“Fair.”
“What’s up?”
“Well, seeing as how it’s tomorrow there, and you know all about what’s going to happen in the future…”
Sawyer explained the situation, all about Nick’s invitation to go away for the weekend, and the timing of Charles coming home from Chicago…her total fear of calling off the wedding.
“You already know what I’m going to say,” Autumn responded, after listening. “But it sounds like you need to hear me say it.” She paused, then took a breath. “Of course you need to follow your heart on this one. There will be fallout. But there will be longer-term fallout if you’re not true to yourself—you know this!”
Sawyer was quiet, absorbing.
“Look,” Autumn continued. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be there when the day comes in October…whether it’s to walk down the aisle with you, or meet your new boyfriend and help you mail back the entire contents of your registry.”
“Thanks, Autumn.”
“Although, keep in mind that no one can prove it if a stray toaster or waffle iron were to go missing…”
Eventually, they hung up, Sawyer already dreading the imminent phone bill. It was worth it; talking to Autumn had buoyed her, the way only a call with a true friend could.
She sat thinking of whom else she might call for additional fortification. After a moment, she picked up the phone again and dialed.
“Hello?”
Sawyer smiled with relief to hear her mother’s voice, suddenly feeling like a child again.
“You’ve got cold feet,” her mother diagnosed, after Sawyer hinted she was considering canceling the wedding. “That happens to everyone! I know you: you’ll be fine when the day comes.”
Sawyer was silent, surprised. Her mother had always seemed to be opposed to Sawyer getting married so young; Sawyer realized she’d been counting on Carol to affirm her own doubts about October.
“I don’t know, Mom,” Sawyer said. “I don’t know if it’s just cold feet.”
“Well, you can’t back out now,” her mother said, but in a light, joking tone. “Did I tell you? I got a call from someone at The New York Times about your wedding announcement…I was so surprised! But how fun. I suppose some of that is Kathy’s doing…”
“Yes,” Sawyer said, feeling her body go slack.
“I don’t give her enough credit,” Carol admitted now. “She’s doing so much to make your special day great. I’ll make sure I thank her properly when I see her next month for your shower.”
Sawyer closed her eyes and listened to her mother talk. The lightness she’d felt after talking to Autumn steadily evaporated. She felt herself sinking again under that now familiar mountain of pressure and guilt.
Charles finally made it back to New York on Thursday, but his flight was delayed twice, and he didn’t wind up getting all the way home to the apartment until sometime after 10 p.m.
He came in smelling like travel—stale coffee, hotel soap, chlorine-scented bath towels, and cigarette smoke. There was a chaotic, whirlwind energy about him that Sawyer hadn’t expected; his presence immediately filled and took over the room.
He put his bags down in the tiny alcove of the entry hall and hugged Sawyer immediately, then reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced a glossy envelope of some sort.
“I promised you a surprise,” he reminded her, and gestured to the couch.
She followed him and sat in the crook of the L in the couch, while he settled into one of the sides. He grinned, still holding the envelope, then slapped it down on the coffee table and slid it in her direction.
“Go on,” he said. “Open it.”
Sawyer glanced at him, her brow furrowed in puzzlement, and reached for the envelope. The outside of the envelope had the name of an airline on it, and inside, she found two round-trip tickets to Bermuda. The tickets were dated for the end of October.
“I was wrong,” Charles said. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given away the honeymoon money we’d been saving up without asking you. I was wrong and I wanted to make it up to you.”
“I don’t understand.” Sawyer shook her head. “You booked us on a trip to Bermuda?”
“A honeymoon trip,” Charles confirmed. “I also booked us into a resort—all expenses included.”
He was excited, happy, triumphant.
She was confused.
“But I thought you put the money toward your mom’s Visa bill…we don’t have anything else…not to cover something like this…”
“Well, my parents and I talked, and moved some things around. My mom and dad actually suggested Bermuda—that’s where they went on their honeymoon.”
Sawyer stared at him, bug-eyed.
“What?” he nudged.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“Aren’t you happy?”
“No.”
Now it was Charles’s turn to look surprised. “Are you kidding? I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
Sawyer was quiet. Charles shifted on the couch cushions, newly agitated.
“They’re nonrefundable, and it was a lot of money. I can’t believe you’re not happy. You wanted a honeymoon. Now we don’t have to wait another year or two.”
“We’ve got bigger problems,” she reminded him. “Problems we haven’t even had a chance to sit down and talk about…”
He looked pained, but the surprise was gone from his face. “I know,” he said. “Somehow things fell apart a little. But we can fix that. We’ve been spending too much time apart, so the solution seems simple: we spend some time together. I’ll pay more attention, now that the case is nearly wrapped up.”
She bit her lip and shook her head.
“But, Charles, there’s so much more to it, too. All this time we’ve been spending apart…is also time we’ve been spending with…well, other people—”
“Look, I know it’s been a shitty summer for us,” he continued, cutting her off. “I know I let my job get in the way and things between us kind of snowballed. Looking back, I think I expected you to be impressed by how hard I was working…but I could see that you were annoyed instead. And then I was annoyed that you were annoyed—vicious cycle!
“It stressed me out to feel like I was constantly letting you down! And then, the humiliation to find out that you know about my parents’ financial troubles. I admit that I reacted by doubling down and working even harder…avoiding things.
“But, Sawyer…I just want so bad to make it to this wedding. I can’t imagine what it would do to my parents if we don’t. They love you—you are already a member of the family.
“Going to Chicago and being apart put things into perspective for me. And I wish now, after this trip, that I could just take it back—all of it. This whole summer.”
He paused and stared at her earnestly.
“Wouldn’t you want to take this summer back if we could?”
She still couldn’t tell if anything had happened with Kendra—in Chicago, or anywhere else. But she thought about the summer—her summer, with Nick.
“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t take it back.”
Charles didn’t reply right away. He looked at her for a long time with a serious, heavy expression. He looked defeated, beaten down.
“It’s late,” he said, when he finally spoke. “I’m exhausted.”
He stood up from the couch to go, then stopped, and turned back around. He took a breath to speak, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat, and tried again.
“You know, I’m not an idiot,” he said, finally.
She was silent for a moment, unsure what he meant by the comment. She thought of the evening she’d come home from Coney Island, her hair still damp from the shower at Nick’s mother’s house, smelling like a strange shampoo. She thought of the messages Charles had left on the answering machine while he was in Chicago…because she wasn’t home to take his call.
“I know you’re not an idiot,” she agreed quietly.
“When it comes to us, I’m just trying to picture calling everything off,” he said. “And…it’s a lot, Sawyer. I would hope we could at least sleep on it.”
He picked up his bags and carried them from the entry hall into the bedroom.
Sawyer remained on the couch, unmoving for a long time.
Eventually, she glanced across the room, to the kitchen, and to where the computer sat on the small desk, the screen black, filled only with the dim, hazy reflection of the amber-tinted streetlights outside the kitchen window. She hadn’t had a chance to turn it on. Or to send a single message.
She got up from the couch and crossed from the living room to the kitchen, then stood in front of the computer. Her whole body was dying to turn it on, check her email. She knew Nick was somewhere on the other end, waiting.
She reached a hand to push the power button, but stopped when she pictured herself writing the email, an email she didn’t feel she could write. What could she possibly say? She dropped her arm.
She glanced at the time. 12:07 a.m.
It was already Friday.
Somehow, Sawyer not only slept, but overslept.
She woke up with a jolt, filled with panic, adrenaline pumping in her veins, giving her a horrible clammy sensation all over. The panic had followed her out of a dream, into real life, and she could identify enough of it to understand that it had to do with being late for something, or missing something. But she couldn’t discern whether it was a fear of being late for work, or else…the fact that she had not emailed Nick.
The bed next to her was empty. She rose in a haze of confusion, and found a doughnut—a maple bar from the deli on the corner—in the kitchen, along with a note.
I didn’t want to wake you. I gotta shake off some of this travel stress by hitting the gym, but I promise I will get off work early today and take a real summer Friday and we can spend some time together and finish our talk and hopefully you’ll hear me out.
Love,
Charles
Sawyer read the note twice. After all that, Charles had gone right back to his old tricks. She began to realize that, if she stayed with Charles, she’d be in for a lifetime of notes, of him bailing whenever there was a difficult conversation to be had.
She stood there, still holding the note, but she wasn’t really thinking about Charles. The panicked feeling she’d woken up with hadn’t left her, and she realized it had everything to do with the fact that it was Friday. She was late for work. But most of all: it was Friday, and she had not emailed Nick.
She looked at the computer again.
She thought for a minute, realizing she’d have to do several things at once if she wanted to make it to work on time. She sprang into action. First, she pushed the power button on the computer. As the machine started up, she raced around, changing into a dress and flats and brushing her hair. She clicked to log in to AOL and brushed her teeth as the computer connected to the dial-up. Then, once online, she sat down at the computer desk and took a deep breath. She clicked on the icon to start a new email.
But then, as soon as she settled her fingers over the keys, she froze, stymied again.
She couldn’t think of what to say.
The clock’s ticking grew steadily louder as she sat unmoving, staring at the screen.
Finally, she rubbed her eyes and sighed in frustration.
She checked the time. She’d already taken too long. Now, she was sure to be late to the office. She turned the computer off, defeated, then gathered up her things to head out the door.
But as she slid her messenger bag over her shoulder, something dropped to the floor with a small metallic clatter. She looked down and froze, recognizing it immediately.
A subway token.
The subway token Nick had given her as a joke, that day by the fountain in Washington Square Park.
She knelt down and picked it up, staring at it, lost in thought. She remembered the smirk on his face and the sound of his voice, right before he’d tossed her the token. I’ll let you in on a little secret…coins don’t decide anything, Nick had said. People do.
Suddenly, Sawyer’s heart was pounding, a fresh flood of adrenaline filling her veins. But this time, her panicked urgency was laced with excitement. She dropped her messenger bag on the kitchen floor and turned the computer back on, then sat. Her hands were shaking. This time, she typed fast. Her fingers fumbled at the keys; she had to keep deleting typos and retyping. But the message finally poured out of her.
From: [email protected]
Dear Nick,
I’m sorry I didn’t send this sooner, and I understand if it’s too late—or if you’re angry and I’ve blown it and missed my chance—but I’ll be ready and waiting outside with my bags packed at 2pm this afternoon if you’ll come pick me up.
I know what I want.
I want to take the leap with you. Am I too late?
Love,
Sawyer
She reread the email just once, her eyes catching on the closing salutation, “Love.”
As she clicked send, she felt that word in particular go, like releasing a bird, and she felt a sense of freedom spreading throughout her own body. It was the thing that had been missing, the thing that had been building up inside her, trapped, and sending it to Nick hadn’t made her feel vulnerable at all; in fact, it had given her a curious sense of strength.
Once at the office, Sawyer’s newfound sense of strength immediately began to dissipate. She was still full of energy, but excitement had steadily been converted into nail-biting suspense.
Nick might not even check his email before 2 p.m.
He might have spent Thursday feeling angry.
What should she do if he didn’t write back?
To top it all off, there was little way to check her personal email at work. Johanna was atypically present and social. She’d left her office door open, and the way the cubicles were angled, Johanna had a direct eyeline to Sawyer’s monitor screen. Even if Sawyer could figure out how to log in to AOL from her work computer, Johanna might see.
That morning was the longest of Sawyer’s life. She’d had zero coffee, yet her brain was practically buzzing against her skull. She tried to organize the different ways the afternoon might play out in her mind. She’d told Nick she’d be ready and waiting at 2 p.m. Charles had promised to leave work at noon, and she hoped the window of time would give her a chance to talk to him in person, as opposed to leaving a note. She had no idea how Charles might react.
Either way, Sawyer was resolute.
Finally, at noon, Johanna donned her ritual Hermès and left, and Sawyer was free to go. She raced home, even running to catch the train with an air of desperation, as if the extra five minutes to wait for the next one meant death.
When she arrived at her building, she awkwardly blew past Mrs. Kallenbach and her beagle in the lobby, shouting an apology over her shoulder.
Sawyer made it upstairs and burst into her apartment, throwing her bag and keys on the floor. She ran straight for the computer, sticky with sweat, out of breath.
She logged on and waited impatiently through the static and squelch of the dial-up connecting, then clicked on her inbox.
There it was: a reply from Nick.
From: [email protected]
Sawyer—
To answer your question: It IS too late.
For me, that is. I guess I’ve fallen. Pretty hard.
I wanted to be pissed when you didn’t get back to me last night. But all I felt was empty. So unless you have a way for me to travel back in time (which evidently involves a DeLorean and some technology that I’m pretty sure is fictional) and un-fall for you, I’m stuck.
I will be there at 2pm to pick you up.
Ditto,
Nick
Sawyer read it twice. Her heart gave a squeeze and her chest felt tight, like her lungs had filled with too much air.
She let it sink in.
It wasn’t too late.
She’d said she’d be ready at 2 p.m.—she needed to pack her things. She logged off and got up from the computer, then scrambled around the apartment, throwing together a weekend bag. Questions began to trickle into her brain as she sorted out what to bring. It dimly occurred to her that she didn’t have a single thing in her life figured out beyond the weekend. She pushed these thoughts away. The first step in jumping off a cliff was jumping off a cliff.
Once her bags were all packed, she set them by the front door. She took a quick shower, changed her clothes, and tried to cool down by simply sitting on the sofa and taking a few deep breaths.
It was a quarter past one o’clock; Charles should be home any minute. She tried to come up with what she would say, and steeled herself for his reaction.
She got up from the sofa and paced the room.
She sat back down, and tried a few more deep breaths.
Any minute now, Charles would walk in that door. They would talk. She took another deep breath—
She jumped at the shrill ring of the telephone.
Sawyer stared at the phone itself for a minute, blinking dumbly at it like it was some kind of uninvited guest. The ring was so unexpected, and so unfamiliar sounding for some reason. There was a panicked wailing to the ring Sawyer had never noticed before. It rang several times before she was able to gather her wits and reach for it.
When she finally picked up the receiver, everything that had been turned upside down in her life was turned upside down once more.