Page 47 of Is This for Real?
“Sure,” I say.
We say goodbye outside and turn to go Uptown while Jamie goes Downtown. As soon as we’re out of earshot, I say, “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about applying for the teaching job.”
“I won’t say I’m not disappointed.” Rory’s face looks stern.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s just something I thought you would tell me—as a good friend.”
“I should have told you,” I say. “I just really did it more to placate Theresa than with any real hope of getting it.” And I was afraid to tell him because he’d be disappointed. But now he is disappointed that I didn’t tell him.
“But you’d do it if you got it.”
“Yes.” I nod. “Teaching might be a good career path for me.”
“You’ve got to do what you want to do and not worry about Theresa.”
“She was giving me her usual lecture in the hospital, and the machines started beeping,” I say. “The nurse directed us to leave.”
Rory rubs my back. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m also sorry Jamie was weird.”
“I think he just saw you as more than a friend,” Rory says.
I snort. “Too late now.” But is it? I wanted this for so long, but I just don’t feel any desire for Jamie. I feel annoyance. That he felt he could act like that when I had a boyfriend. As far as he knew, anyway. Jamie has changed. He’s become more corporate and less the best friend that I played with. The sun glints off the Hudson River. “Anyway, I don’t think he’s really interested. I think he did it to annoy you.” And as I say that, I know it’s true. Jamie is never going to like me romantically. Jamie did it because he’s still annoyed that Rory was the one who ended up dating Marie, Zelda’s work colleague. Both Jamie and Rory pursued her when they met her at one of our parties two years ago.Thatwas a fun party for me.
Rory asks, “Would you like to come to the art show tonight? As friends?”
“It’s okay. I don’t have to come. Olivia knew I didn’t know about it, and I told her we hadn’t had plans. And she was putting too much pressure on us.”
Rory entwines his fingers with mine. I was expecting him to drop my hand now that we’ve turned the corner. “Well, I’d still appreciate the company. It’s my parents’ thing, so I didn’t think to invite you. I’m going as more of an obligation to them. It will be more fun with you there.”
The wind dies down now that we’re away from the water.
“I’d love to,” I say. “And ironically, I am writing this scene at an art show, so this will be perfect.”
“I’m having dinner with my parents first. Do you want to join?”
I bite my lip. “I should probably write. I’m worried about meeting the deadline.” I squeeze his hand, willing him to understand.
Rory nods. “I’ll meet you at the art gallery, then.”
He kisses me on the cheek and says goodbye as he jogs down the steps of the Broadway subway station. I should have tried to tell him again that I like him, but I was too thrown by repairing the damage done by my revelation about applying for a teaching job and Jamie’s behavior. Tonight.
Chapter fourteen
TheartgalleryinDUMBO, Brooklyn is an open, white space with eleven-foot-high ceilings, gothic columns, and a tin metal ceiling. A bar is by the windows. Lots of people mill around, their dark clothing standing out against the white backdrop. No Rory is in sight. At least I accomplished my writing goal for the day, even if I just eked out those last words. I’ve also decided to do a miniature art gallery for the charity project. I considered making another gym, but an art gallery is easier. It can showcase my food and my flowers, the things I’m best at making in miniature.
I sip my drink and study the paintings. At least at art shows, it’s okay to be alone admiring the art. The artist’s palette is mixed—some very vibrant pink, yellow, and some more pale green blue—very much like a romcom book cover. The pale green blue evokes a misty feel. One orange-and-black painting gives off an angry vibe. The painting in front of me has hieroglyphics and stick figures over a very pale lavender and green color. Two stick figures look like they are dancing. Hearing Rory’s voice, I search the crowd for him. More tall, attractive men are here than I expected. I should have brought Zelda.
I wander through groups of chatting, well-dressed people. Rory is leaning against a white column. He sees me, and a big smile breaks out on his face. I love the way he smiles when he sees me. He leaves whomever he is talking to and joins me.
“What do you think? I really like the work,” he says.
“Yes, it looks like the artist has developed this whole language, kind of like Miro.”
He nods. “Exactly.”
