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She hadn’t received many letters this week. It was a slow time of year, but she wondered if the live Dear Veronica readings were cutting into the normal mail she received. Maybe people wanted to save up their questions for the live event. Regardless, she hadn’t yet found another letter that was compelling, sounded true and focused on a dilemma she hadn’t answered already.
But she didn’t want to answer this one.
She considered digging back through the letters she’d received months ago but felt like a worthless coward even thinking about it. This woman needed help, and she needed it quickly. So...
Veronica opened a new text window, copied the letter into it and then stopped with her hands poised over the keyboard.
Unless it was a subject she knew nothing about, she tried to go with her first instinct when answering a letter. Her gut response. Then she’d close the letter, let it sit for a few hours and go over the question and her answer more deliberately later. She’d found that the key to being a good advice writer was recognizing which of her responses were based on personal triggers and then working through it from there. You could never be completely objective or you’d lose all the style and insight people were looking for, but you couldn’t base every answer on “Here’s what I’d do.”
And that was her problem with this letter. She wanted to respond by banging out in all caps, “DON’T GIVE UP YOUR REAL LIFE FOR A FANTASY OF HAPPINESS IN THE BIG CITY, BECAUSE THE BIG CITY IS NOTHING BUT LIES AND LONELINESS.”
Yes, it was her first instinct, but it was maybe a tiny bit too subjective.
She ordered herself not to close the text window, then flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulders. “Okay,” she said. “Ready.” Then she dropped her hands to her lap and let her head fall back until she was staring at the ceiling.
This woman had written in because she had dreams. Veronica knew what that was like. She’d lived for nothing but dreams for so long. Dreams that she could leave this place and find love and success and a spine. She’d wanted to find herself, as if her confidence and strength had been hidden in a scavenger hunt that wound through the dirty, damp streets of Manhattan. How many miles had she walked through the skyscrapers and the parks and the subway stations, looking for things that had never existed?
She’d never been anyone. Just an amorphous, undefined child. Who the hell was she to tell this woman what to do with her life?
Veronica closed the window and dragged the email into her Unanswered Letters folder. The letter behind it was still on the screen, yet another query stained with virtual tears over a cheating spouse. She got them every week. Some from men, some from women. Some were filled with nothing more than tortured suspicions. Some writers knew all the gritty details.
Maybe she should answer this one despite that she’d published another two months before. It was clearly a common problem. Veronica told herself she should be happy she’d never had a partner, because that meant she’d never been cheated on or tormented by the fear that she would be.
But when she thought of Gabe MacKenzie, she wasn’t sure she cared what he ever did with other women, as long as he did it with her, too.
The thought of Gabe broke through her haze of self-hatred. After all, if she’d stayed in New York or even found herself a boyfriend here in Wyoming, she’d never have kissed Gabe. And kissing Gabe had been...priceless.
She smiled stupidly at her useless hands. They might not have much to type today, but they’d been smart enough to touch Gabe’s chest. To explore him a little. She turned her phone over and pulled up her text messages. His was at the top. I can’t wait, it said.
He couldn’t wait. For their second date. An evening hike tonight.
She wasn’t quite sure what to think of that, a hiking date on a Saturday night. Her first impulse had been giddy joy that he wanted to do something she actually enjoyed. But now in the light of day it didn’t seem very...sexy. And she desperately wanted to be sexy for him, but she couldn’t wear a push-up bra or high heels on a hike. Then again, he did seem to like her legs, and they’d be exposed. Who the hell was she trying to impress with her not-quite-B-cup breasts, anyway?
And whether it was sexy or not, a hiking date would be her. The real her. Not the Veronica who’d gone on dates with stockbrokers and salesmen and middle-management bankers in New York. She’d faked her way through those dates just as she’d faked her way through everything. She’d gone to the same kinds of restaurants her dad liked instead of the homey, comforting dives she really loved. She’d gone to art shows instead of Broadway musicals, because corporate ladder–climbing twentysomething men couldn’t schmooze at the theater. And she’d worn the highest heels she could stand, along with the nicest secondhand outfits she’d been able to assemble.
Looking back, she had no idea what those men were supposed to have liked about her, anyway. The layers of falseness she’d painted over her less-than-adequate self?
But with Gabe...with Gabe she’d laid it all out on their second meeting. And he was still around. And he was taking her hiking.
The thought made her smile, but the smile vanished as soon as she looked back at her computer. Hot date or not, she still had no idea what to tell Torn.
She gave up on work and shut her laptop. The stupid column wasn’t due until Monday evening, anyway. Maybe she’d have a different perspective by then. Maybe she’d be thoroughly fucked and altogether debauched and she’d tell Torn to run after her dreams as fast as she could.
Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up, pulse already speeding. But it wasn’t Gabe; it was her father. That was a real heart-rate killer.
Charity auction Monday 8:00 p.m.
Oh, Christ, not another one. Ever since she’d returned to town, her dad had treated her like an extension of the family name, requiring her to make appearances, but this was his first request since ski season had ended. She didn’t know how to say no to him. She never had.
A second text appeared with the name of the gallery.
She checked her calendar in vain. There was nothing on it. Okay, she texted back. See you then.
That was a good enough reason to start getting ready for the hike. She showered quickly, then styled her hair and put on the bare minimum of makeup. Despite Gabe’s kind words, she wasn’t going barefaced when she could wear a little mascara and lip stain. She didn’t come by makeup skills naturally, but she was no idiot. Men could claim they liked the no-makeup look, but there was natural and then there was natural.
She grinned as she chose a pair of exercise shorts that covered only the top two inches of her thighs. If he liked her legs, he’d get her legs.
She didn’t need sunscreen, as they’d catch only the last ninety minutes of light, but that meant she couldn’t pick a cute tank top, either. She settled on a long-sleeved shirt that at least fit tightly across the chest. After packing a water bottle, a flashlight and a hoodie into a light backpack, she was ready.
