Nora: Who said anything about normal?
Eli: Definitely not the guy who behaved like a total chump and has been mooning around wishing he could text you after dramatically declaring “no new friends.”
Nora: Well, luckily I’d already declared us friends, so I’m fully ignoring that.
Eli: Never thought I’d be so grateful for a woman telling me I’m ignorable.
I step off the train, a grin on my face, and into the vaulted openness of Paddington Station, wrought iron arches beckoning me up escalators and spitting me out into the bustle of the street.
There’s some sun poking through the clouds as I make my way and walk to my hotel. I’ve always loved the dramatic coexistence of central London—stucco and brick-fronted mews row houses from theeighteenth and nineteenth centuries are buttressed against glass office towers that have sprung up in recent decades. The hustle, diversity, languages, and verve remind me so much of New York, but the winding streets and low-rise historic features jutting out of every corner give it its own incomparable touch.
I’m grateful for theLook Leftwritten on every crosswalk as small cars, curved black cabs, and red double-decker buses zip around, fighting traffic together.
I turn onto a small cobbled road and see the white-columned-portico row building that houses the hotel I’ve been booked in. The lobby is all polished marble and dark wood, velvet couches lining the bay windows. It’s all somehow cozy and stuffy at the same time, that uniquely British brand of elegance. Although it does have the modern touch of letting me check in from my phone, so I instantly pad my way to my room and crash onto the fluffy bed, ready to get a nap in before this afternoon’s lunch. But back to texting first.
Nora: I’m glad. And I really do hope everything’s going okay.
Eli: Better now.
Eli: At least until I’m changing a bedpan again.
I send a heart emoji and leave it at that. I set an alarm for an hour and doze off, sleeping better knowing that Eli’s not lost to me completely, even if I have no idea how to deal with whatever comes next.
Chapter 29
When I wake up, I immediately make myself an espresso in the overwrought, fancy hotel coffee maker and throw cold water on my face. I have those jet-lagged sensations of too little sleep matched with my internal clock being thrown off, but they’re nothing that caffeine and a walk can’t fix.
I mosey along the Paddington Basin canal, letting the slim redeveloped waterway guide me. Soaring buildings, quirky bars, and converted warehouses line the water, a pedestrian cocoon amid a busy area.
I stop when I get to the location of the party—when Celia said it was at a place called the Cheese Barge, I didn’t realize it was going to be a literally floating barge with wheels of cheese lining the expansive windows. As I walked along the canal, I noticed a number of barges that seemed to be homes or private boats, but quite a few were restaurants or bars as well, so this isn’t an anomaly. They’re all fairly thin, to accommodate the canal, but the bigger ones stretch out to around the length of a basketball court. It’s charming in its own particularly London specificity.
I hear Celia shout “Nora!” and I look up to see her leaning off the upper deck, waving to me. I duck inside, the interior of the barge renovated in rustic wood and metal, with those large windows showcasing the canal.
“How do I get ... up?” I ask a hostess at the front, and she points me to a small spiral staircase.
When I get up onto the deck, I see that the reception has already begun. A crowd of fashionable people is standing around (and everyone with a drink, so I guess we’re still leaning into the British lunchtime-beverage stereotype). All the food appears to be cheese related, which I don’t even have a moment to wonder about before a server comes over with a tray.
“Would you like to try our infamous Westcombe curried cheese curds? Or these Stilton grilled cheeses? On the table over there is some fondue, and our delightful half kilo of baked Baron Bigod Brie.”
“Oh, when you guys say ‘cheese barge,’ you really take that literally,” I muse.
The server laughs, “Oh yes, it’s truly British cheese heaven over here.”
Since most of the options are paired with carbs, I’m not going to complain. I grab one of the little triangles of grilled cheese as I notice Celia making a beeline to me.
“Nora! I’m so, so glad you’re here. What atreatto have you!” She kisses both my cheeks and then holds me at length to look me up and down.
“You’re looking gorgeous as ever; love this dress,” she says, and I’m pleased she’s noticed my shirtdress, because it’s yellow and green and patterned with horses and riders and felt particularly apropos for a London jaunt.
“It’s really nice to see you, Celia,” I say, surprised at how true it is. As we catch up, I find myself enjoying the break from my everyday. Celia pulls in various members of the team to introduce me to and gushes over my column, gossips about people we used to know in college, and regales me with tales from the newspaper office. I meet the new boss, Donna, who immediately releases a barrage of compliments about my column in her thick Scottish brogue, and I blush with her enthusiasm.
“Your column, by the way, really does so well in digital,” she says, not letting me ever change the subject. “Not just because of thetraffic—although we do see an uptick around it—but the engagement as well in the comments. Are you checking in with the comments from time to time?”
“I can’t say I do,” I admit. “I always thought the important rule of thumb was tonotsee what others say about your writing.”
Celia cackles and gives me a squeeze. But Donna continues. “Oh, well, you should, it’s just about the most amiable comments section I’ve ever seen. I think the earnest tone of the column attracts a certain level of civility and kindness. It’s really lovely.”
Celia beams, and I appreciate her enthusiasm. (It was her goal, after all, to make a friendlier advice column.) I can’t help but think about the safe space the column has given for Eli and me to discuss our lives, and it warms me to think about anyone else getting to share in secret when they need to.
