But I have to ignore all those thoughts. After all, there’s already instantly something that feels sorightand comforting about being able to text with J.
??Texting timing doesn’t matter,??he says simply. Followed a few seconds later by??The editor in me wants to point out that it’s not stealing if it’s given willingly.??
??We never stop working I see,??I respond.
J: Grammar never sleeps.
??Okay, maybe I’ve changed my mind. Your tattoo shouldn’t be Grammar Nerd. It should be Grammar Never Sleeps. But in some old timey cursive font,??I type as I slump onto my couch with a grin.
J: Or, a movie title.Grammar Never Sleeps: A Biopic of a Terribly Boring Editor.
I snort a laugh. We go back and forth like that for half an hour, little jokes and quips that lead into some genuine advice about where I should go in London, ranking locations based on their nerdiness (with positive nerdiness being anything literary, and historical nerdiness being less appealing to him). After a while I look at the clock and realize I need to get up for work.
??Well, I don’t want to make you feel like you have to put your day on hold to keep giving me advice—although I’m even more excited about this trip than I already was. But now I have a whole list of things to do!??I hesitate, wondering if I should say the one thing I’m really thinking.But something about this ease has spurred me, and I don’t want to keep hiding.??I’m glad I have your number now.??
J: I’m glad too.
I look at the words for a few moments, the simplicity of those declarations. It’s warming, as though breaking through that weekly writing barrier has given me something new, to be carefully cherished. But then I see him typing again and wonder what’s coming next.
J: Maybe it’s the nature of your column, but I’ve always felt like I could talk to you in a way I can’t with other people. Is that a weird thing to say?
And there it is. The truth that’s always sat between us, written out in bare honesty by this person I don’t even know and yet who apparently feels as I do—that we actually know each other better than most of the people physically in our lives. It’s as though he’s taken the honesty we’ve always had in writing and given permission for it to exist in this new medium too. So I know he deserves for me to go out on that tightrope with him.
Nora: It’s not a weird thing at all. I sort of feel exactly the same way. I’m glad we can chat like this now.
His answer back is rapid.??Me too.??
And because I don’t want to keep bothering him while he’s working—or maybe that’s just my excuse to get my own bearings—I answer:??I hope you can get some work done after all my rambling. Thanks for chatting. Hope you have a great day.??
J: Anytime. Don’t be a stranger.
As if that were even possible.
I close WhatsApp to try and get a handle on what’s ahead of me today. I open my email, expecting nothing of importance, but staring me in the face is an unwanted and extremely annoying email from our board president.
From: Board President Hearn
To: Co-Op Everyone List
Subject: Roof Usage
Hi everyone! The Board is meeting later this week to approve renovation plans submitted by our new tenant Eli Whitman. Normally the board would handle this without input, but since part of his plans include updates to his designated roof plot, he very kindly mentioned that others might wish to see the documents he’s submitting, since it will abut the common areas of the roof. We’re planning to amend the building’s house rules to take into consideration timing for the roof (Eli thoughtfully suggested no one on the roof between 11pm and 7am and I see no reason not to implement this). If anyone has any other thoughts or questions for Eli, he says he’s going to host some neighbor drinks and snacks next Tuesday at 6pm on the roof to show everyone his plans and introduce himself to those who haven’t met him. We’re delighted to welcome him and hope you’ll join us for some neighborly fun!
Shit, shit, shit.He did exactly what Dane thought he would do. He’s been plotting, and he set all his pieces in place before I even took out my board, in the hope the game would be canceled. And now he’scosplaying as the friendly neighbor and buying them booze and snacks so everyone likes him. Damn, he probably doesn’t even realize how much this crowd of people is easily swayed by a cheese board and cheap wine. Our annual building meeting is always just a bunch of people drinking and stuffing their faces while they pretend to listen to whatever inconsequential board updates they have for us.
Living in a co-op is like having the inmates run the asylum. We’re all just hoping someone else takes care of everything enough that the building doesn’t go up in flames.
I forward the email immediately to Dane.??You were right. Look through these plans, will ya???
I pull up my unsent drafted email to the board, now lookingentirelypetty with its phrases like “according to Bylaw Article 3 Section 8 of the House Rules.” I obviously can’t send this now. He’s got friendly outreach to neighbors, and all I have is grumbly annoyance at not wanting things to change. And while that desire for stasis might actually have worked in another context (especially with the lovable elderly curmudgeons I’m surrounded by), the fact that he’s won over Hearn—the prickliest blowhard of them all, who no one ever wants to argue with because they just would have to listen to him longer—means my work is cut out for me.
George walks across the bed and quietly barks at me, his indication that he’s suffered through inane giggling and texting and now angry email forwarding and he is done with my bullshit this morning.
He’s right, though—not only is there no use trying to delay George once he’s got his mind on a walk, but I need to get moving if I’m going to have enough time to not be rushed before my first client.
I throw on a red-and-white shift dress I got at a secondhand store in Paris last summer, which always makes me irrationally happy. I think I need it today to lean into the sunnyI’m texting with J!vibes I want and not theEli is trying to ruin my lifecloud that’s threatening to rain all over everything.
I shove some of the extra cornbread into my mouth (first rule of baking: never forget to make extra), grab George’s leash, and throw on my sandals.
