I’d gone home that night and written the letter in one sitting. No hesitation, no second-guessing. I was done waiting for Maggie to decide I was worth keeping.
And then she’d apologized. Out of nowhere, months after we’d been on the outs again, she’d shown up and said she was sorry. Not the half-hearted kind of sorry that came with explanations and justifications. Real sorry. The kind that cost something to say.
I hadn’t known what to do with it. Still didn’t, if I was being honest.
But Ed’s words kept circling back.People don’t lie with patterns.
I crumpled the letter into a ball. Held it for a moment, feeling the paper compress in my fist.
Then I threw it in the trash can by my desk.
This time, I didn’t fish it out.
The phone rang six times before she answered, slightly breathless, like she’d run to catch it.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Jack.” I could hear the smile in her voice, and something in my chest loosened that I hadn’t realized was tight. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Mostly. I was also thinking about how you owe me an opinion on that CIA thriller. I can’t decide if the third act is salvageable or if I should just put it out of its misery.”
“I vote misery, but it’s been a while since I read it.”
“Very helpful. Truly, your insight is invaluable.”
I smiled despite myself. This was new, the easy banter, the way we could talk about nothing and have it feel like something.
“I have news,” I said.
“Good news or bad news?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I took a breath. “The New York Times called today. They want me to come interview.”
Silence on the line. I could hear her breathing, the faint static of the connection, the sound of traffic from her street.
“Wow.” Her voice was different now. Softer. “That’s incredible.”
“It’s just an interview.”
“It’s the Times. You’ve wanted this forever.”
“How do you know that?”
“You told me.” A pause. “When do they want you there?”
“Sunday through Wednesday.”
Another silence. I waited, trying to read her reaction through the phone line, which was impossible. This was the part where the old Maggie would have pulled back. Found a reason to be busy. Started building walls I’d have to climb all over again.
“You should go,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Of course. This is huge. This is—” She laughed, and it sounded genuine. “The New York Times. I’m so proud of you.”
