Page 69 of Ten Years and Then…
She hung up the phone and stared at the wall for a full minute, unsure if she wanted to scream, cry, or laugh. Maybe all three.
Daniel, February 26
“Any news yet?”
Daniel gripped the phone tightly. It was all he could do not to scream at Bianca. But they hadn’t talked in three weeks. She had no way of knowing that he held his breath every day when he got back to his room and the day’s mail was waiting for him under the door.
“Not yet, Bee. It’s driving me crazy. I keep thinking, if they wanted me, I’d already know. And if not, it shouldn’t take this long to send a rejection letter.”
The interview with Quantum Networking Systems had been almost six weeks ago, and he’d thought everything had gone great. Valerie had asked him tougher questions in her apartment than anyone had in Chicago. Unless he’d completely misjudged everything, which was possible. This was the first real interview for a serious, professional job he’d ever had. What basis did he have for comparison?
“Big companies can take forever sometimes, Danny. It took three months for them to get back to me before I got my job, remember?” That wasn’t as comforting as she probably thought it was. But he didn’t need to tell her that.
“Yeah, I remember. I’ll just be patient and keep hoping for the best.”
His cousin chuckled. “Then we can talk about something else. Or someone else. Anything to share about this mysterious girl you barely mentioned last time we talked?”
“She’s—she’s great, Bee. Her name is Valerie, and she helped me prepare for the interview, and we’ve gone out a bunch of times.”
There was silence on the line. He should have known he wasn’t going to get away without more than that.
“And—and we’ve kissed. Well, made out, I guess.” He sighed. “Remind me why I’m telling you all this?”
Now Bianca laughed. “Because who else are you going to talk about it with? So you’ve kissed her. And obviously that means you’ve managed to convince yourself you’re allowed to move on only two years after you broke up with Nora. I guess congratulations are in order.”
He wished she hadn’t put it that way. Not because it was unfair but because it was exactly the truth, and it stung worse coming from someone who knew him so well.
He didn’t feel remotely like he’d moved on. Yes, he could spend time with Valerie, and laugh with her, and kiss her and in the moment it was fine—better than fine. But afterwards, every time, he still felt—not guilty, exactly. But definitely not fine.
“Thanks, Bee. I really do appreciate it. And when I have news about the job, or Valerie or anything else you should know, I’ll call you right away. Fair?”
“Sounds fair, Danny. You take care of yourself. I love you.”
“Love you, Bee.”
He hoped there would be news soon. About the job. About Valerie. About anything that might feel like a step forward.
Nora, February 27
Here she was, in Ben’s apartment. Nora had come up with a half a dozen excuses not to be here alone with him over the last month. She hadn’t even realized herself they were all excuses until afterward.
But there weren’t any more excuses. He was in the kitchen opening a bottle of wine, and she was sitting in the one comfortable chair he had, facing the TV.
It was a studio apartment; the bed was right out in the open. Nora didn’t like that. There was no way to ease into things—you couldn’t pretend that anything else was intended. Especially because she could smell that his sheets had just come out of the dryer. He’d done laundry just for her visit.
Was that flattering, or creepy?
Was he, as Mom had put it, lazy or was he horny?
What had happened to her judgment? Back in high school she’d done a lot of things she wasn’t proud of—but she always knew where she stood. Almost every rotten situation she’d gotten into, she’d walked into with her eyes open.
And now, almost three years later, she couldn’t recognize what was going on right in front of her? She didn’t trust herself anymore.
It was all Daniel’s fault. She’d never needed to trust herself with him; never needed to make snap judgments on his intentions. It was all there on the surface. No pretense, no subterfuge. Just him, for better or worse—and always better.
She’d lost the ability to spot trouble because she’d never had to use it with him. So what did she do now?
Ben came over, handed her a glass, clinked his against it. “To next year’s editor-in-chief, Nora Langley.”
