I’d give anything for their insight right now, but neither of them are here, and even if they were, I’m not sure I’d be ready to confess how invested I am in Mr. Reddit and meeting him in person.
It’s moments like this that I wish I’d met him yesterday. Months ago. And I’m about to propose we rip off the Band Aid and meet ASAP…but then I think about what a risk meeting up will be. It could be great. It could be disastrous. And if it’s a disaster, I’m going to be crushed.
I can’t chance that right now. Not with what’s going on at work. I need to put all my energy into kickass sales, securing my job, and saving Bailey’s Bookshop.
With a big mopey frown on my face, I type, So, please believe me. I really do want to meet, and I wish we could meet soon, but I think it’ll be best to wait until I’m on holiday break. Is that okay?
Of course, he writes. It’s best for me as well.
Work intense for you, too? I type.
It’s…complex. It’s a bit of an uphill battle right now. I work for people who I think the world of but who are deeply resistant to a plan I’ve drawn up to fully modernize their sales approach. I’ve spent nearly a year building this out. I have a solid rationale and the numbers to back it up. It will save their business. But they’re wary of it.
I’m a little surprised he’s been so forthcoming about work, since we don’t generally share personal details, but I’m not complaining. It’s…sort of lovely, hearing more about him, learning how he’s navigating this professional challenge.
Technophobic traditionalists? I venture, smiling as I think of the Baileys.
Unfortunately, he writes back. I know why they want to keep things the way they are, what they’re afraid of losing if they embrace my idea, but they’re going to fold in the first quarter, otherwise. They don’t stand a chance without this.
I sigh sadly, thinking of the bookshop and Mrs. Bailey’s warning that we might not open our doors after New Year’s. Do you think they’ll listen?
I hope so. Not just because it’s sound business, but because I care about the people there and what they believe in. They’re very different from me, all heart and nostalgia and being a part of the neighborhood. When I started off working on this plan, I saw it as a business challenge, a puzzle to solve. But somewhere along the way, it changed—I wanted to fight to save the place for them, because they mattered to me. And then I realized I’d started fighting to save it for me, because it mattered to me, too.
My heart squeezes. I type, It sounds like you really love them—where you work and who you work with.
You see it that way? his response chimes immediately. As love?
I do. Just because you’re loving them differently than they love doesn’t make it any less loving. My mom says there are countless kinds of love, and love enough for everyone. That love is an infinite resource whose expressions are just as innumerable.
He doesn’t respond for a minute. Then, Very few people would recognize how I operate as love.
Thus, I type, your deep connection with Fitzwilliam Darcy.
LOL. Except without the “wet shirt after diving in the lake” to redeem me.
I laugh. That’s only in the movie anyway! Darcy’s more than lovable as he is in the book, at least by the end, and that’s the point of a good character arc—he grows. He learns to admit his mistakes, as does Lizzie. Two people, who couldn’t have hated each other more at the outset while battling inconvenient desire, ultimately choose humility and forgiveness.
Beautifully said, he writes. It’s like you love Austen or something, MCAT.
I smile, self-consciousness heating my cheeks. I mean, she’s the quintessential voice of romance.
Am I ever going to live that down?!
I’m just teasing you. Merciless teasing has become a reflex for me. A skill I’ve developed at my job.
Sounds like a highly professional environment, he writes. What are your coworkers like?
I only have one. And he’s just as bad as me.
How so? he writes.
I hesitate, because generally we keep away from personal specifics, but he opened up about his work, and this tension with Jonathan is painfully bottled up inside me. Even if I twist the cork just a little, release the tiniest bit of pressure, I think I’ll feel better. We’re not friendly the rest of the year, but December is our worst month. He can’t stand the holidays. I adore them. It takes our antagonism to a whole new level.
There’s no response for a minute. Then he finally writes, Have I ruined my chances if I admit I’m not very festive myself?