Page 70 of Ten Years and Then…
What? She knew she was up for consideration, and she wanted it desperately—but wasn’t this too early to announce it? Ben hadn’t officially gotten the job until the final week of the semester last year.
Was this a test? Did she have to sleep with him to clinch the job, as her mother had implied?
She wanted to sleep with him anyway—at least part of her did. He was ridiculously handsome, he had great eyes—maybe not as pretty as Daniel’s, but still great, and he was incredibly sharp. He was everything she should want.
And now he was taking the glass out of her hand, when she’d only had one sip. And holding both of her hands in his. And …
“Ben, I can’t do this.” She pulled her hands away from him. “I—God, this is hard. I like you. But I have to be honest. I don’t trust …”
He looked—not quite hurt, not quite angry. Sort of a combination of the two, with half a dozen other emotions she couldn’t even guess at mixed in.
“You don’t trust me. That sucks, Nora.” He looked like he wanted to use a stronger word. “But—look, I’m not a jerk. I don’t want to be with somebody who doesn’t want to be here.”
She cursed under her breath. “It isn’t you I don’t trust, Ben. It’s me. My judgment. I can’t go to bed with you if I don’t know how I feel. How I should feel.”
He was silent for a while. She wished there was something she could say to make this less awkward. Less horrible.
“I know there’s more going on with you, Nora. You’ve been cautious with me—with us. Not like you are at the paper, or in the classes we’ve had together. I kept hoping you’d relax, or whatever you want to call it.”
She sighed. “The last relationship I was in. It’s been over for a long time, but I guess I’m still not over him.” She took a breath to steady herself. “And that makes me question you. Doubt you, even when you don’t give me any reason to. I’m sorry. I—I thought I was ready.”
He didn’t quite laugh. “Well, that explains everything. I can’t compete with a ghost.” He stood up, paced around for a minute or two. “Fine. Let’s just call it a day, then. But just so you know, you’re still going to be editor-in-chief next year. And I’m still going to be working you like a dog so you’re ready for the job come September. You’re not getting out of it by breaking up with me.”
So she was wrong all along. He wasn’t pressuring her, or using the editor job as bait, or anything else she’d feared.
But she was also right. She wasn’t ready, and she had no idea if she’d ever be.
Daniel, February 28
“Still no word?”
Valerie stood in front of Daniel’s desk in the lab.
“What gave it away?” At least he was able to manage a smile, even if it was half-hearted.
Before she could answer him, the phone rang. Which was weird, because nobody ever called the lab phone. “Hello, Mac Lab.”
It was Jack McKenzie from the dorm. Daniel didn’t really know him well, except that he’d been pestering Jack every day for the past few weeks; Jack picked up the mail for the dorm from the Administration building and delivered it under everyone’s door.
“Daniel. You’ve got a letter. From them.”
He didn’t need to say anything more. Daniel hung up the phone, jumped out of his chair and grabbed Valerie’s hand. “Please—just come. I need someone with me for this.”
He’d dragged her out of the lab, down a flight of stairs and nearly to the door of Ellis Hall before he stopped, and blushed furiously. “I’m sorry. It’s just—that was the guy who delivers the mail.”
Valerie laughed, and started off again. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”
They jogged all the way across the quad and to West Hall, and once they got inside, Daniel took the stairs three at a time. They were both panting when they got to the door of Room 318.
He fumbled with his keys until Valerie grabbed them out of his hand and unlocked the door for him. Then she shoved him inside and locked the door behind her.
The letter was there, on the floor. He could see the logo for Quantum Networking Systems in the corner where the return address went. He bent down slowly, picked it up gingerly, held it in his hands, not daring to open it.
After a minute, Valerie said, very gently, “Would you like me to open it?”
Yes.
No. He was almost twenty-two years old. He was nearly a college graduate. He was dating a beautiful lawyer—well, almost a lawyer, anyway. He was mature enough, confident enough, to open a letter, no matter what it might say.
