“If the investigator decided your information was relevant to the complaint, then yes,” Barry said. “Your story would certainly have some weight, at least with the faculty committee. There’seven a possibility Gray’s contract would not be renewed for the coming school year.”
“I’ll do it,” I said.
“Gray’s still quite popular with some members of the department. You could get pushback. You’ll be criticized.”
“They can say whatever they want. I honestly don’t care. Women who tell the truth have always been called witches.”
Barry looked confused. But Maeve would understand. I’d have to thank her when I saw her again.
—
Oscar excused himself after dessert (cheesecake, and it wasdelicious), leaving me alone with his agent, the mildly terrifying Susan. She had curly red hair and a throaty laugh and reminded me—in a good way—of my mother’s friends.
“I don’t expect you to make a decision today,” the agent assured me as we parted outside the restaurant. “But I love your story, and I’m a big fan of your voice. Think it over, my dear, and let me know.”
I promised to get back to her soon. We both knew my answer would be yes.
The city still felt like summer, smells drifting from grates and gutters, heat breathing from concrete and asphalt. I decided to take the bus instead of descending into the bowels of the subway. Students with backpacks swayed casually in the aisles, absorbed in their cell phones.
I pulled out my phone, too, smiling over a picture of Reeti in a classroom full of girls with blue kerchiefs and bright faces. Sam had sent a selfie, too, smirking in front of a statue of Oscar Wilde. From Tim? Nothing.
A wave of longing swept over me and rolled away. I knew I had a tendency to see what I wanted to see. Maybe Ihadread toomuch significance into those three littlexxx’s. But I’d come so far from the girl who left Kansas. I’d hoped sending Tim my story would be a signal that I was ready to take the next step with him.
I should have remembered he thought words were overrated.
But you know what? I was better for knowing him. For loving him. For being his friend. So, fine. We’d both be at Reeti’s engagement party in a couple of months. Let him try ignoring me then.
It was a ten-minute walk from the bus stop to my rental apartment, a tiny Airbnb where I was spending the month, relearning the topography of my childhood, discovering half-familiar streets, pursuing half-forgotten landmarks. The neighborhood—Ditmas Park—still felt strange. But there was an elegance to the old Victorian homes that reminded me of Dublin, an energy to the city that felt like it could be mine one day.
I rounded the corner onto the tree-lined street of my building. And there, at the bottom of the steps... I recognized the familiar set of his shoulders, the shape of his head, and the feeling of coming home flooded me so fast I was dizzy with it.
“Tim.” I couldn’t think. What was he doing here?
His tie was loosened. His eyes were worried. His hair stuck up in front. “I missed you,” he said.
Hope choked my throat. “I was at lunch. With my agent.”
“You have an agent.”
“Sort of. Oscar set us up. But she likes my story.”
“It’s a wonderful story. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
We stood there awkwardly.
“What I meant was...” Tim shook his head. “Imissedyou, Dee.”
“You could have called.”
“It didn’t seem like enough to tell you. You deserved for me to show you. So...” His gaze met mine. “Here I am.”
I was so, so glad to see him. My mouth curved. “A man of action.”
“Yes. I want to apologize for the way I behaved before you left. I tend to shut down in moments of, ah...”
“High emotion?” I suggested.
