Page 17 of I Need You to Read This
After dinner we were curled up together on the couch with the fireplace on and he took my chin very gently and tilted it up toward him.
“What do you think about moving in?” he asked me.
“Here?” My chest swelled up at the thought of it. I looked behind him at the shiny new kitchen and the big views over the park. Was he really saying that this could be mine too? I pulled back to look at him better. Was he joking? But his eyes were calm and serious.
“It’s fast, I know.” He took my hands in his. “But listen, I feel so happy having you here. More than I’ve ever felt with anyone. Look at me, I can barely think about anything else.”
I gave in and rolled toward him, saying yes as he pulled my top off and picked me up off the couch, carrying me into the bedroom.I felt like I was watching myself from above. Like this whole thing wasn’t happening to me but to some other girl. Someone who is actually worthy of it.
I texted my mom before I went to sleep and told her I was moving out and coming to live with Brian. I watched as she started to reply, the little gray text bubble appearing and disappearing. And then finally going away completely without her sending me anything. I think she’s probably angry or maybe even jealous that things are working out for me.
I woke up in a panic, sitting straight up in bed gulping for air, my heart pounding like I’d forgotten something. Why does it seem like the people I’m closest to aren’t happy for me? It makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong. I should just ignore them, right? Brian is wonderful. Maybe the best thing that ever happened to me. I hope you read this. I need someone to tell me that it is going to be okay. Why do I have the strangest feeling that it is not?
Please help,
Lost Girl
FIFTEEN
“So, how’s it going up there at theHerald?” Raymond asks suspiciously as Alex slides onto her stool on Tuesday morning. The sky is heavy with clouds today, trapping the hot air, pulling it down like a blanket over the city where it steams up the front windows of the Bluebird.
“Oh, leave her alone,” Janice scolds as she drops off Alex’s coffee. “She hasn’t even sat down yet. Usual?”
Alex nods. “To go today, Janice.” She catches the worried glance between Janice and Raymond. “I have to catch up on work,” she explains.
“Look at you, already putting in overtime,” Raymond says.
“Just don’t make it a regular thing,” Janice says, turning to put the order in. “We sit, we eat, we talk here. This isn’t a McDonald’s.”
Raymond leans toward her, toast in hand. “So, what’s it like up there?”
“It’s interesting. Her—myoffice is down this long hallway. Apparently Francis liked the old part of the building. But it’s nearly empty, so it’s really quiet back there,” Alex says slowly, taking a sip of coffee. “But it’s good.”
“You don’t sound so sure,” Raymond says. Alex frowns.Doesn’t she?Maybe that is because she’s not. Alex still feels like she is in a sort of limbo. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t started the week’s column, or maybe it’s because she still hasn’t spoken to Howard Demetri sincethe interview. The last image she has of him, his head buried in his hands, his shoulders convulsing, is not one that she wants to linger on. Or her feeling may be due to the fact that she is afraid that she might be tragically inadequate. Even though the job is all she’s ever dreamed of, it is hard not to feel like an interloper in the sanctity of Francis Keen’s office.
“I’m just very behind already. There are so many letters. Piles of them. More than you could possibly imagine. But I have an assistant,” she says, trying to tell him the good parts.This is a good thing, after all,she reminds herself. “And a very large desk overlooking the city.”
“Ooh, someone’s hit the big time.” Janice grins and rubs her palms together.
Raymond yawns theatrically, flipping to the next page in theDailywhere there is a photograph of a bikini-clad woman lounging on the deck of a yacht under the headlineHeadless Corpse Was Once Senator’s Mistress.
“Oh, and look, I found something strange in a book of her poetry.” Alex digs into her purse, looking for the notecard.
“What poet?” Janice asks, surprising everyone. It’s out of character and it makes both of them put their coffee down to stare at her.
“Keats, I think?” Alex says.
“Oh, I love Keats,” Janice says. “I had a boyfriend who used to read it to me in bed.Seasons of mist and mellow fruitiness,” she begins with a faraway look in her eyes.
“Someone put me out of my misery,” Raymond moans.
Alex’s hand closes around the smooth edge of the card and she draws it out of her bag, placing it on the table. “Anyway, I found this inside the book.” Raymond looks up from his paper, his curiosity suddenly piqued.
“What is it?” Janice cranes her neck to read upside down.
“I’m not sure,” Alex admits.
Janice picks it up. “I know? What does that mean? What do they know?”
