Julia hesitated. If she had dinner with Quinn and colleagues, she’d have a perfect excuse not to meet Dylan. After much debate, she had decided that she was not ready.
“That sounds nice,” she said. “What time?”
“Seven-thirty?”
“Count me in,” she said, with a mixture of relief and guilt.
As Quinn walked away, Julia checked her phone. There had been no new messages from Dylan after wishing her luck in her presentation. Julia had told him she’d touch base with him afterwards, but she had not texted him yet. The afternoon passed in a blur of sessions, professional networking, and deliberate distractions that pushed thoughts of Dylan to the edges of her consciousness. By the time she returned to her room to change for dinner, she felt almost normal—focused on the conference and on the professional opportunities surrounding her.
Until she checked her phone and saw the message:
Dylan: I hope your presentation went well! I arrived in Boston early. Still hoping we might meet, but understand if you’ve changed your mind. Staying at the Hawthorne Inn.
Julia sat on the edge of the bed, the carefully constructed compart-mentalization of her day was falling apart.
She began typing a response:
I’m sorry, Dylan. Recent events have made me question whether this is a good idea.
She deleted it and tried again:
My presentation went well, thank you! I’ve made dinner plans with colleagues tonight. I don’t think meeting will work out.
Still not right. Too cold, too dismissive of everything they’d shared. She started over:
Dylan, I’m still processing our last conversation. While I appreciate your explanation, I need more time to think about meeting in person. Could we postpone?
Her finger hovered over the send button when a knock at her door startled her. She set the phone down without sending the message. Eliza was at the door, already dressed for dinner.
“Are you not getting my messages?” Eliza asked. “We’re meeting in the lobby in fifteen minutes.” She then noticed Julia’s expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Dylan’s already in Boston.”
“Whaaa . . . ?” Eliza said, stepping into the room. “And you’re freaking out.”
“I’m not freaking out,” Julia said. “I’m just . . . reassessing.”
“While Quinn waits downstairs,” Eliza said, squinting dramatically.
“It’s a group dinner,” Julia said. “Not a date!”
“Right … right,” Eliza drawled. “And Quinn just happened to mention three times how much he’s looking forward to continuing your earlier conversation.”
Julia sighed, sitting at the small desk. “I just wish Quinn weren’t so. . .”
“Verifiable?” Eliza said, fixing Julia with one of her sideway glances.
“I mean predictable. There’s no mystery to him, nothing new to know… He’s just a normal, straightforward co-worker who happens to be interested.”
“And he’s so so safe,” Eliza added.
“What do you mean?”
“Quinn’s the safe bet. You work together, you understand each other’s worlds, so there’s a kind of … pseudo-intimacy between you two. Though that’s not the same as love. You know that feeling you get when you’re falling at high speed inside an elevator that’s come unhinged? It’s the best feeling ever. And I want that for you, Jewels.”
“I don’t like the word ’unhinged.’ And you know that’s a myth. Elevators don’t come unhinged. The emergency brakes engage automatically if the car starts to fall.”
“You took words out of my mouth! You’re applying the emergency brake before anything happens with Quinn.”
