Emma pressed send on yet another text to Knightley that would likely be ignored and looked up from her phone to her bedroom window. His empty house seemed to mock her, the dark windows a glaring reminder of his absence. She missed her friend.
She sighed. She had to stop herself from ruminating, so she went through the usual excuses to justify his radio silence and decided that today he must be busy at work. He was living his life, right? She was too. It was just like every other time he was in Los Angeles while she was in undergrad. Emma had survived that; she could survive this. She was fine.
With renewed gumption, she stood up from where she was perched on her bed and walked to her full-length mirror, smoothing out the front of her black Diane von Fürstenberg wrap dress. She had a job interview today:thejob interview. There wasn’t time to obsess over Knightley. In just over an hour she would be sitting at the Met, wowing them with months of preparation. She had to concentrate on herself.
She was curious, however, if Knightley was keeping in touch with Nadine. If her friend knew he’d be going to Los Angeles beforeshe did, there was no reason to think he wasn’t keeping her abreast of what he was doing out there. Which meant he was probably looking athertexts, replying toherquestions…
Stop it, she scolded herself.
Emma slipped on her Louboutin boots and put on a pair of sensible gold hoop earrings. No time to think about whatever connection was happening between her two friends. They weren’t even in the same state.
But if he was responding to Nadine’s texts, that could only mean he was purposefully ignoring her own. Suddenly possessiveness clawed at her chest. Knightley was her best friend, and yet there was a chance he had been keeping in touch with Emma’s friend instead. How had she been so summarily cut out? She had introduced them!
But then… why was that wrong? They weren’t being malicious or secretive, even if it stung somewhat. Emma had just been too wrapped up in her own world to notice.
“Focus,” she said out loud to her reflection as she pulled the wrap tighter around her waist. Yes, Emma was fine.
An hour later, as Emma crossed Fifth Avenue, she found an unfamiliar flutter of nerves in her belly. She had been so confident for so many months, but now, as she stared up at the iconic columns framing the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s front doors, she was suddenly worried. Maybe Margo was right; she should have enlisted the help of their dad. And perhaps Knightley had a point about the brevity of her experience. God, she was even questioning the choice of these boots with this dress.
Emma stopped at the curb and let out a shaky breath, adjusting her jacket and small leather bag. No, she was fine. They all mighthave her best interests at heart, but Emma was going to do this on her own or not do it at all. And with that final thought, her doubts fell silent and she started forward, up the steps and through the neoclassical facade of the museum.
Daylight flooded the main rotunda, breathing life into the dark stone walls and towering ceilings. The air was sweet, too, likely from the massive bouquet of jasmine branches that crowned the information desk in the center of the space. Emma made her way to it, weaving through the crowd of tourists and locals. The woman behind the desk smiled when Emma told her why she was there, asking her to wait just a moment as she made a call. So Emma waited, looking around the massive room as the minutes ticked by. All around her, couples and families milled about, studying maps and waiting in line at the different ticket counters that lined the area. Their conversations echoed off the stone walls, a cacophony of sound so loud that she almost missed her name being called behind her.
“Emma?”
She turned to see a tall woman in a white oxford shirt and tailored black pants approaching her. “Yes?”
“Inez Linde,” the woman said, pushing her reading glasses up over her short black hair to shake Emma’s hand. Her red lips were a straight line across her face.
“So nice to meet you,” Emma replied, smiling.
“Apologies for keeping you waiting. Do you need to check your coat or anything?”
“Oh, I came museum ready,” Emma joked.
Inez’s expression remained neutral. “Let’s take a walk where it’s quieter.”
She turned before Emma could reply, leading them past the information desk and through the atrium toward the MedievalArt gallery. Emma followed her, trying to curb her pulse. Was this already going poorly? Or maybe Inez was just having a bad day? The questions flew through her mind as they passed across the crowded halls in silence.
The throngs of school groups and tourists thinned when they entered the sprawling sculpture courtyard at the center of the American Wing. The gallery was dotted with statues and stained glass, framed by a massive wall of windows that curved up to include the ceiling. Emma had been in this room a million times, but she didn’t care. She was still in awe.
“This is my favorite part of the museum,” Emma mused, almost to herself.
Inez stopped and turned to her slightly. “I’m sorry?”
Emma blinked, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, it’s just my favorite room here. I like to think about why things are where they are.” She looked around, taking it in. “Like the Wall Street bank facade juxtaposed with the Tiffany stained glass windows. That decision was deliberate. You’re being forced to have another conversation. It’s not just about the art, but the relationship between the art and the space.”
“And you find that interesting?” Inez asked.
“It’s fascinating! Like, when I look at the gilded statue of Diana over there, there’s the story of the artist, why and how it was made, and the journey it’s taken to get here, but then there’s the story the viewer brings to it, how it makes them feel. And then there’s the curator’s point of view. Why is it here specifically? What purpose does it serve?” Emma suddenly realized how much she was gesturing with her arms and pulled back. “I just find those connections and stories interesting, especially the less obvious ones. It’s like a secret puzzle.”
Inez was watching her, eyes narrowed in an astute gaze as if she were seeing her for the first time.
She let Emma linger for a moment more before continuing on, down a short hallway to an elevator that took them downstairs to the lower levels. When the doors opened again, they were clearly in the administrative offices of the museum. Emma followed Inez through the maze of hallways, the din of conversation wafting out from other offices until they reached a door sitting slightly ajar. Inez pushed it open and entered, not bothering to look back as Emma followed.
Inside was a large office. Its walls were lined with bookshelves, the contents of which looked to be meticulously organized. An L-shaped desk sat in the center, all papers and files lined up neatly across it.
“This is better.” Inez sighed, settling in behind the desk and motioning for Emma to have a seat in the armchair across from her.
