“How was your holiday?” Phil asks, as we head down a corridor. “Your dad was jumping mad when he found out about Ken Avery. What a snake that man was. He’d been so reluctant to hire a management company for so long, and now this.” He pulls his lips back in a pronounced frown and takes a sharp breath. “I don’t know what he’s going to do. I don’t see him trying to replace the management company. This could prove to be quite the headache for you, in a few years.” He opens the door to a conference room.
I step inside and pause, my gaze traveling from the wall of windows and regal desk to the couch, and then back to Phil. “What’s this?”
He grins. “Your new office.”
Pride inflates my chest, allowing me to memorize the feeling and realization that my dream of running our family’s company is becoming a reality. “Could I have a moment?”
His grin turns into a smile, he knows how much this moment—the Banks Hotels—mean to me, after all, he’s been working for my dad for nearly twenty years. “Absolutely, sir. I’ll grab us some tea to celebrate.” He gives a brief nod and steps out.
I reach for my phone and check the time. It’s just after two a.m. in Seattle.
I unlock my cell phone to see Brighton’s academic calendar still there from stufying it this morning. Labor Day is only a few weeks away, and I’m planning to hold to my promise to Chloe about San Francisco. It’s going to be a gruesome weekend for me to fly that far in such a short period, but I’m determined to find creative ways to make this work. If that includes staying up late or waking up early to talk or stealing weekends or catching up on a thread of text messages we each send while the other is supposed to be sleeping.
Me: How was your job interview? I’ll bet they hired you on the spot.
The dots beside her name appear, and my chest constricts. We both try to blame beign used to a different time for why we can’t sleep, though we know time has nothing to do with it.
Chloe: I talked too much and too fast. But, I think it still went all right. They’re supposed to follow up with me next week.
I grin, remembering our walk to the Golden Gate Bridge as she explained the theory of white holes to me, and how her passion behind the subject led her to talking faster.
Me: It’s going to be great. You’re going to be working at an observatory.
Chloe: MIGHT be working at an observatory. I haven’t been hired.
Me: Yet.
It’s difficult for me not to try and influence the situation. A donation would certainly help to ensure her the position, yet, I have absolutely no doubt she’d be livid and doubt herself and her abilities if she ever found out. Still, it feels like being sidelined during an important game.
Chloe: How are you? Are you ready for your first day of work?
I send her a picture of my new office.
Chloe: Look at you! All official! Tell me there’s a nameplate on the door.
Me: No nameplate. I might need you to get me one.
Chloe: With a picture of Uranus beside it.
Me: Are you calling me a god, again? ;)
Chloe: Clearly.
I laugh, hearing the sarcasm behind her words.
Me: How’s the hotel?
Chloe: It’s so nice. Nessie is already dreading not having one of the hotel beds. We all appreciate you allowing us to stay here. It’s been nice to not have to rush through the unpacking process.
Me: I’m glad. You can stay as long as you’d like.
Chloe: Thank you. We move into our apartment tomorrow, though.
Me: September 7th you’re off for Labor Day. What would you say to meeting me in San Francisco on the 3rd? You could fly home late Monday, be back for classes on Tuesday.
Chloe: Yes!!!! I’ll start looking for flights.
Me: I’ll take care of the arrangements. I just wanted to check with you before I made plans.
Chloe: I have a four-day weekend for Thanksgiving. I can meet you closer to the East Coast. Or come to England so you don’t have to fly.
I stare at her text for a second, rereading her words that are offering to give up one of her traditions for me. I know the significance without it being spelled out.
My office door opens and Phil returns, holding two mugs with a bottle squeezed to his side with an elbow. “I thought we should celebrate with a bit of whiskey.” He walks to my new desk and sets the cups down before liberally splashing a heavy hand of alcohol into each glass. “Oh, my apologies,” he says, noticing my phone is out with an unwritten reply. My response to Chloe should likely be thought out or at least something more than a thumbs up, and yet, my thoughts are firing off on all cylinders, making it seem nearly impossible to find the right words.
“It’s all right,” I tell him. “We can get started in just a moment.”
Me: I miss you. We’ll figure something out for Thanksgiving. I have a meeting to attend, but I’ll chat with you later, after you wake up.
Chloe: I miss you, too. Good luck on your first day.
I pocket my phone and move around to the front of my desk. It doesn’t feel that far outside of my norm to be in an office setting, focusing on spreadsheets and projections, in fact, it helps to be at work where I can focus all my thoughts and efforts on things that don’t have me considering how long a flight would take to get me to Seattle.
31
Chloe
It’s been a week since we returned from California. Four days since Nessie and I moved into our apartment downtown. It’s barely bigger than the suite I was staying in, and the amenities pale in comparison, but the normalcy is comforting. We have two bedrooms and one tiny bathroom,
