The Dead Romantics (92)

A few minutes later, Molly called. And offered me representation.

“I know your work is good, and since the contract is over, I thought I’d poach you before anyone else got you,” she said frankly. “So, what do you say?”

I told her I’d think about it, just to make her sweat a little for keeping Ann’s death (albeit a secret) from me. Molly was one of the best agents in the business, and I liked working with her, so it was a no-brainer, but you know, I had time to sit and think on it, since I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do next.

I’d just finished a book, after all.

Was Ben going to love it? No, I already knew he would. He was going to love it because for a few days during a chilly spring in Mairmont, he loved me, and like Jackson singing a song with only good notes for Amelia, the book was filled with only the good parts of us.

That evening, instead of takeout, I decided to make some celebratory mac and cheese while Rose stopped by the discount liquor store to get our favorite pineapple wine on her way home. My phone dinged as I was draining the noodles. An email.

I looked at who it was—

And my heart slammed against the bony cage of my chest. I almost dropped my phone into the hot noodles.

The email was from Ben.

    Miss Day,

It was a pleasure working with you. I wish you all the best on your future endeavors.

Best,

Benji Andor



And that was all it said.

For the next four hours, I paced the apartment trying to decode every secret message within those twenty-two words with Rose and a bottle of pineapple Riesling.

“We didn’t even work together!” I cried, carving a hole in the hardwood floors the faster I paced. “What does he mean?”

Does he remember? No—he couldn’t. If he did, then he would have contacted me so much sooner than this. That couldn’t be it.

Rose watched me pace from her perch in the middle of the couch, sipping on her wine. “Perhaps it was just a polite email?”

“I didn’t even get one of those from my old editor.”

“You should respond.”

I stopped pacing. “What?”

She took another large gulp. “Tell him you’d like to meet, and then finish up your unfinished business.”

“I don’t have any—”

“Florence.”

“Rose.”

“I love you, but you do.”

“I love you, too, but you just expect me to waltz into his office and—and tell him what? That I’m a chaotic mess? Seven drunk ferrets in a trench coat?”

In reply, Rose forcibly set down her wineglass onto the coffee table and reached behind her on the couch to our bookcases. She grabbed one and presented it to me. “Sign, seal, deliver.”

I stared down at my own book, Ardently Yours. The book that Ben said was his favorite in the whole world. And I let out a very long sigh. “Remember your last idea involving Ben?”

She shrugged. “You got to punch Lee, didn’t you?”

She had a point.

So, the next morning, while I nursed a hangover and ate congealed oatmeal, I wrote a reply email.

    Mr. Andor,

It was a pleasure. Though I do have something for you. Do you think we could set up a meeting?

Sincerely,

Florence Day

Miss Day,

Would this Friday work, at noon?

Best,

Benji

Mr. Andor,

Noon would be lovely.

With all my best,

Florence



And that was that.

I second-guessed my email the entire week. Was lovely too strong a word? Should I have signed it Miss Day? Should I have addressed him as Benji instead of Mr. Andor? Rose told me that Wednesday that if I spiraled any more, I’d drill myself to the center of the earth.

So I tried to spiral more quietly.

I think I might’ve had a full-on panic attack if it weren’t for having to finalize plans for Carver and Nicki’s wedding that weekend. Right after the meeting with Ben on Friday, I was to take a taxi to Newark and hop on a plane home for their wedding on Saturday. Friday was the rehearsal dinner and bachelor parties, and as the big sister who did absolutely nothing to help with the wedding while I was in the deadline trenches, I had to at least show up for those. I reserved my room at the inn (to John and Dana’s pure ecstatic joy), and walked Mom through the whiplash of “I’m so happy!” and “My baby’s all grown up and leaving the mortuary!” and I managed to talk Rose into coming with me purely because I was the best eldest sister in the entire world and I knew for a fact that Alice would never ask her. She was bold at doing absolutely everything, except when it came to her own happiness.

I guess it ran in the family.

So I gave myself a little leniency when I realized that I hadn’t brought any sort of Welcome Back! or Glad You Lived! card to go with Ben’s gift until I was already in the elevator going up to Falcon House Publishers. I bounced on my heels, quite unable to stop moving.

“Beautiful day,” I commented to a man sweating through his Armani suit. He grunted and patted his forehead.

It was summer in the city, and the men in the elevator looked like they were about to sweat to death in their ironed business suits, the women in flouncy skirts and kitten heels.