But you could go home if you wanted, right? I mean, you’re not just staying because of my work?
My thumbs hovered above the keyboard on my phone. I could give lots of excuses for not being able to go home without him feeling responsible. And the truth was I wasn’t staying because of his job, although that was making this whole break so much more enjoyable.
But I didn’t want to lie to Montrose.
Yes. I could go home. If I wanted to.
Another long pause. I braced for a barrage of questions, or even for the phone to ring. But neither happened. Just a simpleGot it.
He’d read my papers, some of them talking about my home life. None of them mentioned therealreason I never wanted to go home again, even though I missed my little brothers Duncan and Liam terribly.
So, yeah, even though he didn’t know the whole story, and stories like mine didn’t happen much in the Upper East Side, I think he did “get it.”
* * *
I slept in on Christmas,and it felt wonderful. Until I thought of my brothers opening my presents to them and not being there to see their faces. It was just clothes, anyway, nothing that would make them beam with glee like a new toy would. But I knew they’d need clothes more than ever without me there to hound my mother and stepfather that they needed them.
I rolled over in bed, shutting out thoughts of the scene in Queens, and for a half second considered staying in bed all day, something I’d never had the luxury to do, even when I was sick.
Then I thought about the lovely piles of characters I was fast becoming friends with, just waiting for me in Montrose’s office, and I flung my covers off and headed for the shower.
As I knew they would, the characters, and his notes, sucked me in, and it was four in the afternoon before I came out of my daze. And only because Lily called to wish me a Merry Christmas.
We talked for a half hour, her mostly filling me in on how her parents were taking her bringing Lucas home with her to meet them. (Apparently okay.)
She asked me how the admin testing job was going and I told her a little about it. I would have much more enjoyed talking about the job I was doing for Montrose, but for some reason, I didn’t even mention to Lily that I’d picked up a second job.
After we hung up, I wondered about that—why I didn’t talk about it with Lily. It wasn’t like Montrose asked me to keep it a secret or anything. And though I had no intention of mentioning any specifics about his notes (not that Lily or Jane would care, but plenty of folks in the New York literature world probably would) there was no harm in saying I was doing filing for him.
And despite my wish for it to be more, based on the two great conversations I’d had with Montrose about his work, I basicallywasjust helping him with his filing.
Certainly, if it had ever been more, it was back to note straightening and transcribing now.
Jane called next, and I wondered if Lily texted her and told her to call me. But, if Jane was making a pity call, she hid it well, spending the duration of the call bitching about her mother driving her nuts and the upcoming wedding of her half sister, of which Jane was a reluctant bridesmaid.
That was the thing with Jane—it very wellcouldhave been a pity call, which she covered by talking only about herself. Or, it could have just been Jane bitching, as she did semi-frequently.
Either way, it was good to hear their voices.
I hadn’t even gotten back to work after Jane’s call when my phone rang again with a number I didn’t recognize. It was a local area code.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Sydney O’Brien?” a man with a very heavy Chinese accent asked.
“Yes?” I said hesitantly. Not really comfortable with confirming my name as I sat alone in a deserted building on an empty campus. But, he did know my name, and he had my number…
“I have delivery for you. Out front of Snyder Hall. Please come to door.”
“What kind of delivery?” I flipped through stuff on Montrose’s desk, looking for a campus phone directory to have security’s number if needed.
“Dinner. Dinner from Peking Delight for Sydney O’Brien. That you?”
“Yes, it’s me. But I didn’t order anything, so—”
“Order from a Mr. Montrose. All paid for. Said to deliver to you here. You no want?”
I had grabbed my keys and keycard and was through the door as I was answering, “I want. I’ll be right there.”
