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I turned to see a couple of some sort looking desperately awkward trying to talk to each other. Or desperately awkward standing together and not talking to each other. Their eyes on the floor.
“No, of course, of course . . .” I said. “Thank you for giving me as much time as you did.”
She stood up again, towering over me in an embarrassing way. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Annie Adams,” she said.
“You too, Melinda,” I said.
Then she handled me a final crab cake and ran off.
I watched her go, her bright polk
a dots moving away with her, and started to look around for Peter, to let him know I was ready to leave. But just then my phone rang, BLOCKED coming up on the caller ID.
Griffin, I thought immediately, and hopefully. We hadn’t talked since I’d left the house earlier in the week—heading first to New York, and then to London. We hadn’t talked since we had really talked. And I knew it had to come down to me, reaching out to him, if that was what I wanted. And I knew I didn’t have forever to do it. I had far less than forever if I were going to turn things around. Still, I found myself hoping. But it wasn’t Griffin on the other end.
It was Jordan.
“Are you still mad at me? ” she asked. “And, before you answer that, please note that I’ve made a list of several very compelling reasons why you shouldn’t be. Almost like an ode to my favorite column. That’s number one, actually. That ‘Checking Out’ is my favorite column.” She paused. “And I’ve written more letters to the editor than anyone on earth to say so.”
I stepped out onto the balcony, where I could get some peace and quiet, the party still visible—like a silent film, before me—through the glass doors.
I sighed. “What’s the point of being mad now?” I said. “It feels like a lot of energy.”
“Really?” she said. “That’s great news!”
“I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“You have no idea.”
“But I do reserve the right to be mad again, when I’m feeling more up to it. And less jet-lagged.”
“Reserved!” she said. “So, tell me, how is it?”
I looked at the festive party happening before me, and then turned to stare up at the starry sky above, the dry wind feeling nice against my skin.
“Unseasonably mild,” I said.
“That’s a good sign!” she said. “That’s a very good sign! And you start this week?”
“First thing tomorrow.”
I spotted Melinda through the window, which wasn’t hard to do. She was doing a little tap dance for a group of guests—a chocolate layer cake in her hands, the guests applauding wildly. Whether it was for her or for the cake wasn’t entirely clear.
“My new boss seems pretty great, actually,” I said.
“That’s the spirit!”
“Is it?”
“Yes! It’s good, Annie, it’s right.. . .” She paused. “And have you seen Nick yet? You know he’s still there.”
I almost hung up the phone, right there. “You’re fired,” I said.
“Okay, okay. I take it back,” she said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It doesn’t matter. You’ll call him, you won’t call him. I’m just glad it’s all coming together out there in the world.”
Through the window, I saw Melinda still tapping away, holding the cake high above her head now, moving it up and down in quick succession. Then I looked around the room at everyone else: Peter and the other editors, Melinda’s many friendly friends. The nice greetings they’d all given me.
And I couldn’t help but think of what Thomas the driver had said, just a few hours earlier, the two of us standing by my new living room window.
