Except… whatever it was we had became real for me, real fast. I thought it did for him too. I know it did. So he’s either one hell of an actor or a coward.
Gah! That’s probably it. He’s a commitment-phobe. A thirty-six-year-old man with a job and his own place who looks like he does would not be alone if there wasn’t something wrong with him.
I bet he’s not even thirty-six. I bet he’s almost thirty-seven. Ha.
Wow. I’m not good at throwing shade. Also, I’m not sure it counts as shade if I’m not saying it out loud. I suck.
As an added slap in the face to all of this, I have a job interview.
Next week.
In London.
We were in the middle of the walking tour in Philadelphia when the call came. I slipped outside to take it while the group toured Independence Hall, standing outside with the phone pressed to my ear and a huge grin on my face. It’s a dream job for me. A dream bigger than I’d have ever dared dream if Jennings hadn’t suggested it. Pushed me, even.
It’s with Sutton International—the parent company of the tour company Daisy works for—in their London offices. I applied for it earlier in the week when Jennings suggested moving up in the company. Of course I applied as an external applicant since I don’t actually work for the company. But he’d gotten me thinking with the suggestion and I figured why not? There was no reason I couldn’t apply as myself, as Violet. So I did. And I got the call.
When I answered and realized the call was from Sutton International asking for Violet I almost thought I was caught. As if they would call me on my cell phone to ask if I was impersonating Daisy. Silly.
The position is with their design and development department. I’d be working with the team that refurbishes and redesigns the hotels they acquire—for the European market. Historic properties in some cases. Visions of charm and period details danced in my head. I almost clicked my heels together as I spoke with the human resources representative.
I spent the rest of the day feeling like I had the best secret in the world. One I couldn’t wait to share with Jennings, but there were too many people around. After dinner, I thought. I’d tell him after dinner. He’d be excited. I’d be in London—next week! I could see him again—next week! And if I get the job, I’d be able to see him all the time!
But I never got the chance to tell him any of that.
It’s funny how feelings can go from solid to cracked in the matter of an instant. I was in. All in. Totally in on the idea of picking up and moving to London. For Jennings, but for me too. It’s something I’ve always dreamed about, living overseas.
The interview is scheduled for Monday. If I even bother to go, that is. I should go. They’re paying for my flight and two nights in a hotel. It’d be my first trip to London. Not much time to do more than interview, try fish and chips and purchase a souvenir magnet at the airport. But the idea of it is sort of tainted now. Not quite how I’d imagined it. Would going be wasting their time? I’m not a time-waster. And I’m not a hundred percent certain I could take the job if it was offered.
Also, I have another option. I have an interview on Friday with a local company. It’s a good fit for me. A great commute. Well, since I don’t have a home at the moment I suppose the commute is irrelevant. But the job is about a half hour from Daisy’s place. The pay is great—about ten percent more than I was making before, plus a bonus structure. I could be back on my feet pretty quickly with this job—and back in my own place.
Two weeks ago I’d have been jumping for joy about the possibility of this job. It’s a good fit. Everything I was looking for. A good move, career-wise. A safe choice.
But now? Now I want more. I want an adventure. I want to push myself, take a chance. Spread my wings further than a thirty-mile radius of where I was born. But can I? Without love as an added incentive?
Do I have the guts to move overseas by myself? It’s insane. A totally insane idea. It’s a Daisy kind of idea, I think with a smile. I pick up my phone to call her, but as I’m thumbing through my contacts to dial, the phone rings. It’s her.
“I was just about to call you,” I say by way of hello.
“Twin win!” she replies. “Beat you to it.”
“You did. By about three seconds.”
“Are you home yet?”
“Yup. Sitting on your couch and drinking your soda.”
“Good. Rest of the tour go okay? You survived? You don’t hate me for making you go?”
“I survived. It was possibly even good for me.”
“Was that hard for you to admit?”
“A little bit. What about you? What’s going on with your frenemy?”