Page 98 of Bad Words

“I’m a photographer,” added a man beside her, rocking backward and forward on his heels as though preparing to take a leap. “And I’ve got to say, it’s fascinating to get a peek behind the veil. These author-critic relationships, obviously I know they’re not friendly, but…”

“… but you really think he’s the scum of the earth,” said a woman across the circle. They all began laughing again.

The smile was frozen on my face. I remembered Hayden saying, It’s a feud, Selina. It’s all about you.

She’d been right. Even among other journalists, nobody had cared about my high-minded ideas of proving the value of our work, defending our history. That was never going to save us. People had followed what I’d said because they were finally getting access to the things I’d tried to keep hidden my whole career. My personal frameworks of opinion. My private biases. My petty cruelty and—in this moment, it seemed perfectly obvious—my profound shortsightedness.

“Selina?” said a voice at my shoulder. Jacob and Cassie had found me, Cassie finishing the dregs of a cocktail.

She took one look at my face and said, “Maybe we should think about heading out.”

“No,” I said immediately, “we can stay.”

“We were actually getting texts from the babysitter. Sorry to steal her,” she added to Mary’s group. Then she casually took the coat from my arm, draped it over my shoulders, and steered me toward the door.

“We can have a nightcap at ours or something,” said Jacob, flowing along at Cassie’s side. “Thanks for the invite, by the way. Great wine.”

I nodded, mute.

When we were out in the night, returning down the sidewalk into the relative quiet, Cassie said, “What were they talking about?”

“Nothing. The feud. Parker.”

“Must be weird, now that you don’t hate him anymore.” She paused. “You don’t, do you?”

“No,” I said quietly. “No, I think I seriously misjudged him.”

“You sure?” said Jacob. “I saw the video. He wasn’t exactly Prince Charming, with the yelling, and the calling you a monster, and everything.”

“Well, no, he shouldn’t have confronted me. But it was questionable of Scott to assign me his second book, considering what happened with the first one.” I buttoned my coat and folded my hands beneath my elbows. “The thing is—I thought Parker hunted me down because he was this shallow egomaniac. You know, some of these writers, they love writing so much less than they love their own image. Their end goal is to charge seventy-five-thousand-dollar speaking fees and never talk to somebody outside publishing again. And some of them do come from these backgrounds where they’re just drowning in money and entitlement, and I thought that was Parker, but—”

I glanced into the laundromat again, now completely empty, an oasis of light glancing off steel.

“Turns out it’s not?” said Jacob.

“No. It’s not.” I looked down at my shoes. Embroidered flats. The heels had really taken it out of me on New Year’s Eve.

The thought of New Year’s made me slow, then stop.

“Hey.” Cassie gave me a bracing squeeze on the bicep. As a rock climber she was probably unaware that her bracing squeeze felt like a normal person’s death threat. “This is a good thing, Selina. It’s a positive development to realize somebody’s not as bad as you thought they were.”

“Right. Yes. But I’m still the person who’s been going after him and his book, repeatedly, for—I mean, for what, then? To try to turn things around for City, like that was a realistic goal?” My parents’ email floated across my mind. “To get the last word?”

Jacob and Cassie exchanged another look. A weight was accumulating in the pit of my stomach. I’d been called a bitch since I was fifteen years old, and twice as often since I’d entered the disproportionately male sphere of criticism. Parker had even said it himself, though not in so many words, called me arrogant and cold.

Maybe his story in The Paris Review had shown me as I really was. Whereas maybe he had always just been a kind, intelligent person who deserved an apology.

“Hey,” said Jacob. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Criticism is your job, Selina.”

“I know that. But taking on his second book … it felt like punching down. Part of me even knew that. I tried to tell Scott and Hayden, but they overrode me.”

Cassie raked her fingers through her ponytail. Where Jacob had softened under my distress, she’d firmed up. “Well, if you feel bad about it, you can always apologize now. Right? Hey.” She waited for me to glance over at her. “Right?”

“Yes. That’s true.”

“There we go. Let’s get home, I’m freezing my ass off.” She moved into the crook of Jacob’s arm again.

I watched them arranged like subjects in a painting, Cassie’s black hair spilling messily past her neck, Jacob’s eyes pushing up into crescents as he smiled, his hand dappling Cassie’s cheek with shadow as he brushed back her bangs. They glanced over to make sure I’d fall into step with them.