Today's Reading
She stops midsentence. "You feeling energized yet? 'Cause I can do this till the cows come home."
"I'm up," I say in a hush. "They're about to open the doors."
"All right, all right, I know you're..."—she pauses, clearly hunting for a clichéd phrase—"busy as a cat on a hot tin roof, so I'm going to cut to the chase 'cause this is key. Here we go!" she says, and I pull the phone from my ear after a thunderous clap. "Repeat after me: I, Bryony Sophia Page, am a strong and intelligent woman—"
My mouth remains clamped shut.
"—and I don't care if I have had three agents tell me my stuff was crap—"
The doors burst open, lanyards swinging from the necks of two conference staff. People begin to stream out.
"—or that that woman said my proposal wasn't worth the paper it was printed on—"
My heart begins to beat frantically. I clear my throat. My jaw tightens. "—and I will not waste my time on anyone who's slicker than pig snot on a radiator—"
You can do this, Bryony. You have gotten this far—you can do this.
Do it for The Bridge.
Do it for your students.
Do it for you.
"—or waste my time on anyone who's as useless as a screen door on a submarine—"
A young woman's face is as red as a tomato as she walks unsteadily on skinny stilettos, eyes unfocused ahead as she clings to her dignity and, apparently, aims for a trash can.
Two more walk behind her, already pulling out their phones to break down everything that happened in the past fifteen minutes. The fifteen minutes that feel like both a lifetime and a blink.
Fifteen minutes.
That's all the time I have, ever again most likely, to sit before a real professional and give my novel a real shot.
"—because I am Bryony Sophia Page, summa cum laude in literature studies at NYU, beautiful woman with the voice of an angel—"
I flush slightly. I do like my voice.
"—and the best English teacher hundreds of your students have ever sat under. A world changer. And a heck of a writer with a story to tell. My sister."
"You changed your POV," I murmur.
And sure enough she's done it. She's managed to put a hint of a smile on my face.
"I'm going back into court, but I'm calling for an update the second I get out."
I nod and drop my phone tab down to silence it. Pause just before hitting the airplane button. Check one last time for a text message from Parker. Nothing.
Still nothing.
Of course, he has his own life and his life is on the other side of the world currently, but still, I had hoped he would've remembered to message me sometime today. Anytime, really. Given this moment has been all I've been able to think about the past six months.
I shake my head, forcing myself to remember. It's hard being in a long- distance relationship. And it's particularly hard when it's the middle of the night his time.
Every victory I'm awake for, eager to share about, he's sleeping through. And vice versa. It's hard to be present for somebody else when you can't even see the sun and moon at the same time.
I push aside my pride, ignore the little internal wound of neglect, remind myself about that one conversation when he said, "Bryony, it's impossible to bother me when I'm asleep. I'm just over here dreaming of you. How much better is a conversation with the real thing?" and quickly type the words: I'm about to go in. Final pitch appointment! Wish me luck.
It sounds a bit forced. And I'm rethinking the command to wish me luck, wondering if I should add something else, something lighthearted and totally off topic, when the typing bubble on his end forms.
I stare as people start walking past me for the doors, my feet planted to the ground.
...
