And, yes, she’d wanted to write some of that great literary fiction herself. But she hadn’t written a word in months.
She’d started to question if she really belonged here, if this job, if this career, was really for her. Something she barely wanted to admit to herself was that working at TAOAT had spoiled her previously uncomplicated love for books and reading. Reading used to be her greatest hobby, her source of relaxation, comfort, joy. Always reliable, always there for her. Now reading felt like homework, in a way that it never had back when she was in school. Now she felt guilty when she read for pleasure, because she knew there was always something else she should be reading, always another manuscript out there, always something Marta was waiting on, an author was waiting on, an agent was waiting on. It made reading stressful, when it never had been before.
Izzy sighed. She might as well deal with that pile of books she’d shoved to the side of her desk.
A few minutes later, Marta walked in, chatting with Gavin. As they got closer to her desk, it was clear they’d run into each other skiing over the weekend. Ah, that’s why they’d both left early on Friday.
Izzy couldn’t help but envy Gavin’s relaxed, easy relationship with Marta, who still completely intimidated her. Even though Marta stressed her out constantly, Izzy wanted so much to impress her. She wished she had any idea how to do that.
Marta nodded at Izzy on her way to her office. That was more of a greeting than she usually got; Marta often didn’t even seem to notice her there. Gavin stopped by her desk on the way to his own.
“Hi, Isabelle. How was your weekend?”
Izzy smiled at Gavin. “Good, thanks. How was yours? Did I hear you saying you were skiing?”
Izzy had heard the whole conversation—they hadn’t been quiet—but she’d let Gavin tell her about it. He was always a little pompous and long-winded, but he’d also always been kind to her—he’d given her lots of advice about working with Marta and had always been something of a mentor for her. Lord knows Marta wasn’t.
Months ago, Gavin had found her in the office, after hours, printing out the draft of her manuscript, and had asked to see it. She’d been nervous to show it to him—she hadn’t really shown it to anyone at that point and had only really told Priya about it, but she’d handed the printed copy over to him then and there. He’d given it back to her a week later without any notes on it and a pat on the shoulder. She shouldn’t have asked him what he thought; she’d known from the look on his face, but she couldn’t help herself.
“It’s a really sweet first effort, Isabelle,” he’d said. “But…I’m not sure this is your path. I…could tell you were trying to be literary, but, well…” He stopped himself. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I shouldn’t say anything more.”
And because Izzy was a glutton for punishment, she’d asked him to say more, and he had. At length. She hadn’t written a word since.
Izzy shook that memory off and tried to pay attention to whatever Gavin was saying about Vermont or wherever he and Marta had been.
“Oh,” he said after a few more minutes of talking about how he’d ridden up a ski lift with Jonathan Franzen. “You know how you were wondering last week about whether you’ll get promoted this year—when I saw Marta on the slopes, we talked a bit about that, and…don’t tell Marta I told you this?”
Izzy could barely breathe all of a sudden. “Of course not, I wouldn’t,” she said.
He smiled at her, but she could tell from his smile the news wasn’t good. “Not this year, Isabelle. Maybe not at all, from the way Marta talked about you.”
Sudden tears sprang to her eyes. Why did that hurt so much? She hadn’t realized how much she’d still hoped until just this moment.
“But you know how she can be,” he said. “Are you okay?”
Izzy refused to let anyone here see her cry. She put a smile on her face. The bright, cheerful one she always wore at work. The one she knew she had to wear.
“Oh, I’m fine. Yeah, I know how she can be. Thanks, Gavin, for letting me know what she said.”
He smiled at her one more time and walked over to his desk.
Izzy turned to her computer and let the smile fall from her face. She wanted to leave the office, go outside to scream or cry, but it was too cold outside, and she couldn’t cry in the bathroom where everyone could hear you. Instead, she clicked over to her travel itinerary. That made her smile for real. She needed some sunshine, she needed an adventure, she needed an escape. Even though she was only going to California for a few days, she would do everything she could to make them count.
Izzy and Priya walked into their hotel room and turned to each other with huge grins on their faces. There were palm trees and sunshine, right outside their hotel room. When Izzy had seen the Pacific Ocean out the window of the airplane as they’d descended into Los Angeles, she’d determined that she was going to enjoy this trip, no matter what.
Izzy unzipped her suitcase, and Priya laughed.
“You know we’re only here for four days, right? I thought I packed a lot!”
Izzy shrugged. “I like to be prepared.” Okay, sure, she’d definitely overpacked, but still, she liked to have options! Clothes for the conference, all her favorite pairs of pajamas so she could truly enjoy this hotel room, the workout clothes she knew she wouldn’t wear but had packed anyway, a few sundresses out of sheer optimism that she’d get outside and have a chance to experience LA weather and not just hotel-ballroom air conditioning, the notebooks that she brought everywhere out of habit, even though she hadn’t written in them in months, a few pairs of flats, and…yeah, nope, she was definitely not going to work out, she’d forgotten to pack her sneakers. Oh well.
Izzy looked around the room and sighed a little. She wished she’d had her own hotel room. She loved Priya, but after living with her parents for the past three years, she just wanted a place for at least a few days where she wasn’t sharing space—or a bathroom!—with anyone.
After an afternoon where they’d both run back and forth and back and forth across a convention center at least a dozen times, Izzy and Priya returned to their room to change for the conference cocktail party.
As Izzy swiped some lipstick on, Priya grinned at her.
“I, for one,” Priya said, “am ready for some free wine and tiny snacks. Are you?”
That sounded absolutely fantastic.
“I definitely am.” She checked out Priya’s outfit—a deep red dress, huge dangly gold earrings, and flat gold sandals. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re devastatingly beautiful?”
Priya tossed her hair so her earrings jangled. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”
They both cracked up. A very drunk guy at a bar a few months before had told them each, separately, that she was devastatingly beautiful, and they’d been trading the compliment ever since.
“But really, that lipstick is amazing. Hot pink is good on you. And obviously I love the dress.”
Izzy smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror. She liked this dress too. Priya had helped her buy it last summer. It was color-blocked, red and pink—a combination that she hadn’t been sure she could pull off until Priya had gasped in glee when she’d come out of the dressing room. But Priya had been right, these colors looked great against her brown skin, especially with the hot-pink lipstick.
“I figure we’re in California, might as well wear something other than black.” She tucked one of her braids back into her big topknot and slung her badge over her neck. Okay, she was ready. “Come on, let’s get there before people eat all the good snacks.”
They made a beeline for the bar as soon as they walked into the cocktail party and managed to immediately snag glasses of the cheap white wine the bar was serving. Izzy turned around to tell Priya they should go find some of their other friends from TAOAT—and the snacks—when she came face-to-face with Josephine Henry.
“Isabelle, hello,” Josephine said. “So nice to see you again.”
“Hi, Josephine,” Izzy said. Did she sound normal? Probably not. She’d wondered, too often, how different things might be for her if she’d gotten that editorial assistant job with Josephine instead of with Marta. How much better Josephine would have been as a mentor, how much more she would have learned, how much more comfortable she’d be about speaking up.
Maybe none of this would be the case. Who knew? Maybe this was all about the grass being greener on the other side. But she didn’t think so.
Izzy shifted her wineglass from one hand to another and tried to look casual. “It’s great to see you,” she said. “How are you?”