Chapter 6
“It is like ghrr ghrr ghrr,” Mom says in Armenian, imitating the gurgling noises her washing machine is making.
I pause my packing to do a quick Google search for plumbers in her area and make an appointment online. “Someone will be there tomorrow to fix it.”
“Aren’t you coming home this weekend?”
“Next weekend,” I remind her. Again. “And I don’t know the first thing about repairing a washing machine.”
“If you can operate on a human body, you can fix an appliance,” she says.
“I’ve never operated on a human body.” I didn’t even specialize in surgery, not that that matters.
She sighs. “And I suppose you never will.”
I count to five. “I’ll help with anything else you need when I’m in town,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Sorry, Mayrik, I have to catch a flight.” I’m due to meet everyone in the hotel’s lobby in ten minutes to catch the shuttle to O’Hare Airport.
“Okay, janikus. Travel safe.” Her parting words land warmly in my heart, rooting themselves there.
Before I pack my laptop in its travel case, I check my inbox one more time and emit a squeal like a piglet: The email I’ve been waiting for has finally landed.
Today, 9:18 a.m.
From: nadia.chan@
To: ana@; maral@
Subject: We’re on!
Waters’s office finally confirmed last night—we’re on for next Friday in L.A. Meeting with Craig and his team re: vision for the show. I’ll fly out they have spent minds and unspent energy after a long day of meetings.
But the crowd is rapt, almost every eye on me despite the catering staff milling about with trays of hors d’oeuvres.
I’ve added a few updated anecdotes to my talk and some subtle suggestions that my book, with more in-depth stories of the same ilk, is available for purchase.
Afterward, the applause and cheering resound in the banquet hall, and through the multiple doors at the back I see a line start to form at the bookseller in the concourse.
Maral smiles broadly, standing to the left of the stage next to Ryan, both of them clapping.
I swear I see a look flash in Ryan’s eyes that’s reminiscent of our bump-in at Chicago’s hotel gym, when I caught him staring at my bare skin.
Heat would be the most apt term to describe it…
before a curtain seems to close over his expression.
Still, it serves to catapult my whirring pulse that much higher.
We spend the dinner hour chatting and networking with conference-goers, my heart like a snowball gaining momentum and heft as it barrels downhill. Connecting with like-minded people is better than any drug.
Once the crowd begins to thin, people heading off to various after-dinner events or calling it a night, the four of us regroup and Maral pulls up her Uber app to take us back to the hotel.
“No,” I whine, “I don’t want to go back yet.”
“Do you want to hit up one of the networking sessions?” she asks, holding up the brochure Devi handed her.
“Nah,” I say. I’m too antsy, pumped with post-show adrenaline and wanting to keep the party going. “Let’s go drinking!”
Shanthi raises her hand for a high five and I slap it hard. Maral’s irises gleam—she’s in too. I turn puppy eyes to Ryan and watch him fold in a matter of seconds.