Gwen sits down on the bed and pulls me close. We sit in silence the rest of the night, not saying a word and yet saying so much at the same time. She watches as I cry and then regain strength to only break down again. She never judges, just sits with me, and silently hopes right alongside me that everything will be okay.
The next day, I stay in bed. I can’t face the world and don’t want to try. I get up only to use the restroom and crawl right back to bed afterward. I still haven’t heard from Noah, and the longer I go without word from him, the more I honestly don’t care.
Around noon, the text messages start rolling in. First from Rex, and then from Michael. There is even one in there from Trevor, apologizing and wanting to talk. I have nothing to say to him and swear I never will again.
Finally, there’s one from Noah. At first, they’re sweet, then pleading asking me to talk to him. When he gets the clue that I’m not responding, he asks me what’s wrong. Then they turn defensive saying how he doesn’t understand me.
Jokes on you, Noah, because honestly, I’m not even sure I understand myself.
Turning off my phone, I cry myself to sleep.
When Monday comes, I still haven’t turned on my phone or responded to any of them. I find relief in being able to lose myself in work. I’m on deadline with seven stories I have to wrap up before we go to print tomorrow, and throwing myself into work proves to be my only solace and exactly what I need.
I feel somewhat refreshed, having stayed in bed all weekend, and not having talked to anyone or even checked my email or social media. I feel ready to face the week with a new outlook. I only hope it will be better to me than the events of last weekend, and maybe soon I’ll start to wrap my brain around what happened and what I just might want to do about it.
I know I have to talk to Noah, so I make a plan to go over to his place after deadline. With work behind me, maybe I can think clearer and we can make some sense of everything that happened over the last few days.
Finally turning on my phone around lunchtime, I start off by checking voicemails and leaving the numerous text messages until later. There are a few voicemails from people I contacted late last week about stories I needed to write. Then there are a few from Noah that I skip past. I’m not ready to hear them yet and need to stay in work mode. But the one that stands out to me the most is the one I never expected.
At first, I don’t believe it. I press repeat. Excited and extremely nervous, I wait to hear the voicemail again.
“This message is for Eva Monroe. This is Carol with the lifestyles department here at the L.A. Times. We’ve been passed along your application, resume, and writing samples and would like to schedule an interview for a new open reporter position. If you are still interested in the position, please give us a call at your earliest convenience. We look forward to hearing from you.”
This is it. My dream. Someone pinch me because this can’t actually be happening.
I replay the message again, scribbling down the phone number she left at the end of the message. If I land this job, I can move home. If I get this position, I can make the dream I’ve carried with me my whole life a reality. In one instant I have just been handed the possibility to not only launch an amazing career working for one of the top newspapers in the country, but I’m able to move back to where I always felt like I belonged.
I stand, shakily, and head outside to my car before calling them back. I want privacy that the office does not provide. I climb into the driver’s seat, anxiously dial the number, and wait for the person to pick up the phone as my future hangs in the air with each daunting ring.
“LA Times, this is Carol.”
“Hi, Carol. My name is Eva Monroe, and I received a call to set up an in-person interview,” I respond, trying not to sound as eager as I feel.
“Eva Monroe, good to finally talk to you. The office is all abuzz since they opened your portfolio. The editors are very excited to speak with you, young lady.”
Learning my writing has made such an impression, I smile wider. “Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations,” I manage.
“What does your schedule look like? When will you be available for a meeting?” Carol asks.
“Well, I can be available anytime you need me,” I say, trying not to sound too desperate and forward. “I actually have an appointment in Orange County this weekend for a freelance article I am writing.”
“How about Thursday? We’ve had a cancellation, and I know I can squeeze you in.”
“Thursday?” I echo, trying to pull myself together even though my excitement is almost uncontainable. “Thursday’s perfect! I’ll be there!”
“Great! We have your email here and will send you the specifics. We look forward to sitting down with you, Mrs. Monroe,” Carol says, concluding our call.
“I look forward to it, too,” I whisper in disbelief.
I hang up feeling like I’m on cloud nine. After a weekend like I had, this is just what I needed to start feeling alive again. I have so much to plan before leaving. It will take a few long days in the office to be able to take off the rest of the week, but it’s worth it. I can drive down Wednesday night and stay with family.
My mind races with all the possibilities this job could offer. I’m finally within reach of being able to obtain all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ve ever hoped and dreamed of. I can’t wait to tell someone.
Noah! I need to tell Noah!
He might not understand at first, but maybe he will after we talk. He’ll be happy for me, won’t he? Because he loves me, doesn’t he? I would be happy for him if the tables were reversed.
There is no time to find out like the present.
