But it’s as though Celia can sense that I’m thinking about him, because she says, “It’s really too bad your copyeditor, Eli, isn’t here. He’ssucha fantastic editor, as I’m sure by now you well know. He’s actually the person who manages the entire copyediting and fact-checking team, but he personally does all the columns and op-eds and also all the headlines. He’s been working remotely for a few months, but I was actually hoping he’d make it to the party since he’s back in London for a bit. But he has family troubles at the moment, so he’s not here.”
“Oh, is that so?” Donna says, their conversation light and breezy, while I now stand with my inconvenient knowledge weighing me down. It’s amazing to think of all these versions of a single person—Eli, my cantankerous, surprisingly layered neighbor; my beloved secret pen pal; the defensive ex-boyfriend of a client; and now the dependable wordsmith for my friend and colleague Celia. All the shades in front of me and yet currently so, so far away. The discussion is like having a ghost standing in the middle of our conversation, and the mention of him makes me ache.
“I was hoping to meet him too,” Donna continues.
“I’m trying to convince him to pop by the office at least so he can say hello to you,” Celia says to Donna. “And he edits for other sections, too, obviously, so I think everyone is looking forward to a little catch-up.”
“Yes, everyone speaks so highly of him.” Donna turns to me. “I feel so lucky to have such a crackerjack team for your column—your writing combined with Eli’s precision and Celia’s encouragement and guidance. You make at least one part of my job incredibly easy.”
I smile, trying to ignore the lurch that’s settled in with the discussion of Eli. “I hope it’s been a good transition so far,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away.
“Oh, absolutely,” Donna says, and she enthusiastically recounts the trials and tribulations of starting over at a new paper.
I can see why Celia likes her. They’re two gears that rotate together, aligned and engaged, pushing each other and hyping each other up. It’s a dynamic I’ve never really had in my work, since therapy is so solitary. It’s understandable that Celia wanted me to meet her and get pulled into the team dynamic that I’ve apparently been a small piece of, but unknowingly, from across an ocean.
The day drifts into afternoon, and I’m stuffed with every possible British cheese imaginable. Our party overlooks the canal as the barge slowly churns even while we stay stationary, attached to the land next to us.
When it’s time to go, I wave goodbye to Donna and Celia, with a promise that I’ll come in for a tour of the office tomorrow, first thing in the morning.
I’ve started to make my way back to my hotel, ready for a low-key night of a pub dinner and a book, when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out and have to sit down to take in the messages coming through now.
J: I hope the event went well—I can’t believe I had to miss a party on a barge filled with cheese. That feels especially cruel.
J: Obviously my own doing, of course.
I see the dots pop up and go away as he stops and starts his texting. Clearly he’s not just sending me a message to say hello and ask how the party was. But I wait until finally another text comes through.
J: And I’ve kept wanting to text you to say sorry that we’re not able to meet up, but then that made me feel a bit guilty because there’s actually something I’ve been keeping from you.
J: Or ... that sounds a bit dramatic, since you don’t even know me.
J: Ugh, I’m really doing great with this—that also came out wrong. You do know me. Probably better than most people. But I meant you probably don’t care one way or the other about this since we’re not real-life friends.
There’s another slew of stopping and restarting, and my heart pounds, waiting for whatever is coming next.
J: Christ, I’m really putting my foot in it today. I think I’m not sleeping well lately.
J: Since I’ve bungled that completely and implied we’re not friends even though you’re probably my favorite person to talk to (“talk to”), I’ll just come out with it.
J: You see, I live in New York now, actually. Which I know is where you live, obviously.
J: I mean, Iamin London right now. My mum really is ill. That’s not untrue.
J: But ever since we started texting about meeting up, I’ve been in New York. And I’ve felt strange about it, like I’m keeping something from you. But I didn’t know how to tell you.
J: And this week, while I’ve been here and wondering why I cancelled on you when I could pop out and say hello (and I’m going to have to make time for work things anyway otherwise).
J: I think it’s because ... I wonder if maybe meeting in real life will ruin whatever this is. There’s something safe in our conversations. And I worry that ... I’m a better version of myself in writing. What if we meet and you realise I’m sort of a mess? What if I lose the one person I don’t wreck things with?
J: I let my nan down. My ex-girlfriend tossed me to the side. And I suspect the woman I’m in love with thinks I’m ghosting her, when really I’m too scared to be honest.
J: So the thought of losing you too feels like too much.
J: Maybe I’m saying all of this and I’m already going to lose you because you’re going to think I’m completely daft and in desperate need of a good therapist (know anyone? Ha). But I hope you understand why the thought of meeting in person seems too daunting. I hope we know each other well enough at this point that you understand why I might not be able to be brave when it comes to you right now.
J: But I hope you won’t stop being my friend. Because you’re really my favorite friend.
I reach up to wipe away the tears that have started pouring out of my eyes.
