She fishes around in her handbag for the keycard. Finally, she lets herself in, kicks off her shoes and flops down on the bed. She'd been on her feet all day, attending a press conference in Chicago and then covering a speech Obama made at the University. She'd earned herself an hour's nap before writing up her article for the following day. Closing her eyes, she feels her body relax, but the early evening sun glares at her through the open curtains. Groaning, she hauls herself off the bed to close the drapes. On returning, something catches her eye by the door and she pads over to pick up a small, hand-written card.
'Miss Gilmore. There is a package for you at Reception. Please collect at your convenience.'
Her face scrunches up in confusion. A package? From who? Maybe Mom's sent me a care package to keep me going. Returning to the bed, she climbs under the covers, sets an alarm on her cell phone and quickly forgets about it.
An hour later, an incessant beeping wakes her from a very nice dream. Damnit, she thinks, but rolls over and climbs out of bed. Flicking on the tv, she catches up on the day's news and fires up her laptop. She sets about making some coffee, hotel room coffee, she was getting so sick of this. It's been almost a year now, going from city to city, hotel room to hotel room. Of course she loved it, the writing, the experience, but she had to admit it was getting old now, hardly ever seeing her mom, her friends.
Coffee in hand, she sits down and begins going through her notes from the day. After 20 minutes, inspiration has failed to hit her, she can't find a good angle to write this from. She needs a break. Turning to face the bed, the note catches her eye, still resting on the left side of the bed where she doesn't sleep. A care package, yes that's just what she needs! Grabbing her keycard, she pulls on some flats and heads down to reception.
A cheerful young man greets her, young, probably a part-time job while he studies, she thinks.
"Good evening Miss, how can I help you?"
Quickly reading his nametag, she replies. "Hi Jake, I think there's a package here for me. Rory Gilmore, room 408."
"Let me just check for you." He turns and heads into the room behind reception. She turns around to admire the foyer. It's simple and clean, all she can really expect in her current position. She's stayed in some interesting places this past year, this place will most definitely do. Friendly staff, clean bedding, what more can she ask for.
Returning to reception, Jake hands her a large manila envelope. "Here you go Miss Gilmore, if I could just get you to sign to say you've received it."
She signs in the box and thanks Jake, returning to the stairs. As she begins the 4 flight climb, she squeezes the package suspiciously. This doesn't seem like a care package. Studying the handwritten address more closely and looking at the postmark, her feet stop working and her heart skips a few beats. 'Philadelphia'.
"Oh my god," she says out loud to herself and tries to will her legs into moving again. Eventually, she finishes climbing to the 4th floor and almost runs along the corridor towards her room. She sits on the edge of the bed immediately, afraid she might fall over if she doesn't, her head's so cloudy all of a sudden. 'What's he sending me?' she wonders. 'I haven't heard from him in almost 2 years."
She turns the package over in her hands a few times, almost afraid to open it. Her heart's beating a thousand times a minute, how does he still have the ability to do this to me? He's not even here! Eventually, she peels open the large envelope and pulls out the contents.
The Strangers
By Jess Mariano
Stuck to the front cover of the manuscript, complete with cheap black plastic binding, was a large yellow post-it, complete with his scrawl.
There's no one else in the world whose opinion I value more than yours. If you have the time, I'd love to know what you think. J x
He'd included a phone number underneath. She was gobsmacked. He's done it again, he's written another book! Her article is forgotten and she sits back on the bed, upright against the headboard. She reads and reads, until 10pm rolls around. She's still only halfway through, this one's longer than 'The Subsect', but she can barely keep her eyes open any longer. Reluctantly, she places the manuscript on the bedside table and gets herself ready for bed, changing into her pyjamas, brushing her teeth and taking off her make-up.
As she turns off the light and closes her eyes, it occurs to her that she hasn't had dinner. But she's not hungry, her stomach's still doing backflips. She'll call him tomorrow, when she's finished, and she toys with a idea in her head. No, don't be stupid. You can't go there again, it's been too long. Just read the book, tell him what you think and that'll be it. Do not see him, you can't handle that.
She falls asleep with images of a brown-haired boy running through her head and she dreams of two teenagers sitting on a bridge, reading books and kissing in the spring sunshine.